The Jane Austen Marriage Manual (36 page)

“You’d make a great mother.” It was Griff. He had been watching us.

“I don’t think so,” I said shyly.

“Why not?” he asked, puzzled.

“I don’t know,” I said and realized I didn’t have a real reason. “I like to travel and be free to do what I want. A baby needs stability.”

Griff pondered this for a moment and then said, “Maybe that’s because what you’re missing is a reason to be still.”

Thomas squeezed my finger and I smiled. “I don’t normally hold babies, or babysit,” I admitted. “But he’s Marianne’s and he feels like family to me.” I realized then how much I missed Ann and wished she were here. Part of me also missed Iris and now regretted my decision not to include her. It was for the best, I reminded myself. Soon she would know the reason for my detachment.

“Life can be quiet, Kate,” Griff said and stroked Thomas’s head. “Love doesn’t have to be explosive twenty-four/seven. If you’d slow down long enough, you might be happy.”

I ignored his comment as there was no proper response, and was content to watch as Thomas stroked Ratina once again and giggled even more. We both laughed.

“He’s a natural horseman.” Griff smiled.

I kissed the baby’s head. “I’d better get him back to his mother,” I said and put him back in the stroller.

“Before you go, I need to know one thing,” Griff said with an abrupt note of seriousness. I stopped and waited. “I can’t stop thinking about the dinner conversation last night. This whole charade of yours, chasing after Scott, pretending to be a lady, is all for an article?”

I felt my shoulders slump. It did sound bad the way he said it. “It started off that way,” I admitted, forcing myself to look at him. “I was just going to write a story, but then I realized I could do it. I could be like Elizabeth Bennet and fall for the wealthy man and marry him and have it all and I did. And I needed to.”

“What do you mean, ‘needed to’? I know you’ve told me you’re broke, but this seems extreme.”

“It’s complicated,” I said and fussed over Thomas to distract myself. “And I never wanted to tell you about the article because you’re English—Austen belongs to England. I didn’t think you’d like an American co-opting one of your literary stars.”

“Austen belongs to everyone,” he corrected me. “Though I admit it wouldn’t be something an English girl would likely attempt. You Americans take a lot of, shall we say, creative license?”

I bristled at this. “It’s a fun idea; loads of girls back home would benefit from a better understanding of what it means to make a good marriage and—”

“Yes, yes, I get it. So, you fell in love with Scott and the article is—”

“Not written yet,” I said, choosing to ignore the fact that I wasn’t in love with my fiancé. “I guess I’ll finish it after the wedding. Not that I need the money now.” I smiled faintly.

“What does your fiancé think of your writing a self-help guide with him as one of the case studies?” he smirked.

My stomach lurched.

“He doesn’t know yet, so please don’t tell him!”

“He doesn’t know?” He grunted.

“It hasn’t come up, but I will tell him. I’ll let him read the first draft and if there’s anything in it he’s uncomfortable with, then I’ll edit it out,” I said rapidly, thinking on my feet. “He’ll find it amusing, I’m sure.”

“You appear to have it all worked out. But if I were him, I’d want no part in a Jane Austen Marriage Manual,” he said icily.

Good title, I thought, filing it away. But he wasn’t finished.

“Though you should know that Elizabeth Bennet was not so calculating in her choice of husband,” he added.

“I have to go get dressed for the party,” I said and pushed the stroller and Thomas away. So much for my escape.

I
once again slipped into my Chanel dress, now as comforting as an old slipper, a very expensive old slipper. I stood in front of a gilt-edged mirror and examined my reflection. The dress was as elegant as ever, but something was missing, and I knew what. I picked up the pearl necklace that Ann had given me at Christmas and did up the clasp. There. Perfect. I was ready for anything.

A knock on my door told me that it was time. Sure enough, Scott stood on the threshold in his bespoke tuxedo and held out his arm for me.

“Darling,” he grinned.

I swallowed hard and forced a smile. I was suddenly afraid to leave my room. Nothing seemed real—it was as though I were an imposter about to be unmasked, which wasn’t too far from the truth. Scott gently kissed my forehead as if he understood.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’re with me.”

I smiled up at him and tried to relax as we descended the staircase and entered the ballroom. My eyes widened at the room’s altered appearance. It had been given the wedding planner treatment; everywhere were flowers and ribbons in my colors of blush pink and white. Peonies and roses practically leapt out of vases and urns. Candelabras lit the entire ballroom, their flames emitting warmth in all directions. The room was packed with people. I scanned the crowd for familiar
faces and realized that I had only my small entourage—none of whom were visible at the moment—and that the rest belonged to Scott.

“You invited a ton of people,” I said with panic.

“Don’t be shy, you’ve met most of them; they’re mainly business associates,” he explained nonchalantly as he paraded me through the sea of middle-aged men and women. He was right; most of the people I had met before over endless lunches and dinners and they greeted us enthusiastically. There was lots of “Kate, we’re so happy you met Scott …” and “Scott needed a wife with a touch of class,” or my very favorite, “You’re such an improvement on that Slovenian girl; thank God he didn’t marry
her
.” It wasn’t long before my nerves faded and my confidence returned. I was about to become a permanent member of Team Madewell and I had to enjoy it. But as I stood surrounded by well-wishing strangers, I wondered if Scott’s crowd would consume my life as it had done in London. The thought made me want to be with my friends—people who knew me, the real me. I politely excused myself and went in search of my gang, who weren’t exactly tough to locate. All I had to do was find the bar.

“You look gorgeous,” Brandon said and kissed me gently on the lips.

Clive shook his head and gestured to Scott. “Does he ever stop working?”

“I was surprised he’d invited so many people,” I admitted, and seeing Scott scan the room for me, ducked behind my friends to avoid detection. “All clients and financial types.”

“That’s not the only type he invited,” Fawn scoffed and pointed to a far corner. I turned around and my jaw dropped.

“Tatiana!” I said in disbelief.

“Who is she?” Marianne asked. “And
what
is she wearing?”

“That’s his ex,” I said stiffly. Tatiana was wearing the shortest minidress I’d ever seen, and worse it also had a plunging neckline. “
Tsk, tsk
,” Marianne said in her best fashion editor voice. “You should never show that much leg
and
that much boob at the same time.”

“Yes,” agreed Emma. “One or the other, never both.”

But Clive, Brandon, and Marco couldn’t stop staring. Clearly, they weren’t offended by Tatiana’s crime of fashion. Emma eventually stepped on Clive’s toe.

“Why would he invite her?” I asked, puzzled and angry.

“Don’t look now,” Fawn advised. “But she’s coming this way.”

Sure enough, Tatiana was moving toward us, swaying her hips and running her hands through her hair as if she were in a music video.

“She’s going to knock someone over swinging those hips like that,” Brandon said with a gulp.

“Pick your tongue up off the floor,” Marianne snapped.

Then we were face-to-face.

“Hello, Kate,” Tatiana purred. “Congratulations.”

“Hello, Tatiana,” I said with fake warmth. “So nice of you to make it.”

“So nice of you to invite me,” she said.

The girl had nerve.

“I didn’t,” I said honestly and tried to sound snooty.

She looked surprised. “But Scott said you wanted me here,” she said, dismayed. “I would not have come otherwise.”

No one knew where to look, least of all me.

“Well, you’re here now,” Fawn said, smiling. “What are you drinking?” With that, she escorted Tatiana out of my field of vision and to the bar.

“That bastard!” I seethed. “Why would he invite her and not ask me first?”

“She looks harmless,” Clive piped up.

We women rolled our eyes. “She looks many things and harmless isn’t one of them,” I said.

“Are you going to say anything to Scott?” Emma asked.

My mind raced over the past month. Who knew what he had been up to in London? All those weekends he was too busy to visit me? All this time I was feeling guilty about Griff and he’d been spending time with Tatiana or at least talking to her enough to invite her to my wedding.

I spotted Scott in a small circle of people, puffing on a cigar.

“I’ll be right back,” I said staunchly and marched over to him. “Can I speak with you a moment?”

“My fiancée needs me,” he said, grinning at his friends.

Once we were out of earshot, I whispered angrily, “What were you thinking, inviting Tatiana?”

“She’s a friend,” he said with feigned seriousness. “Besides, I thought you liked her.”

“She doesn’t belong at my wedding,” I insisted.

“It’s my wedding, too,” he reminded me coldly. “She called me when she got back from Slovenia, poor kid; she doesn’t know many people in England, so I invited her. Big deal.”

I was fuming but it was clear that I wasn’t going to get any real answers. Not now. Just then Marianne interrupted, trying to stop the situation from getting worse.

“Excuse me,” she said politely. “Brandon has taken over DJ duties and he’d like you two to dance.”

We looked over and saw that Brandon had indeed taken up the post at the DJ table. He waved as the old jazz standard “A Sunday Kind of Love” came over the speaker system. Scott rolled his eyes.

“I don’t dance,” he said firmly and smiled. “Now, I have to get back to those people. I handle millions of their dollars and they deserve a little face-to-face time.”

“But what about me?” I stammered. “Don’t I deserve it?”

“They have real concerns about their financial statements,” he said angrily, implying my concerns weren’t real. “It’s my responsibility to ease their stress.” Then he walked away leaving me there to fume; this was our first fight and I wasn’t winning. I became aware that I was standing there like a fool but I didn’t know what to do next—run after him or run away from him? I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Marianne, I need to be alone,” I began, but a man’s voice cut me off.

“May I have this dance?”

I turned to find Griff standing in front of me wearing a tuxedo.

“I have to get another drink.” Marianne smiled and scurried off.

I stared at him in disbelief. I hadn’t expected him to show up, let alone ask me to dance.

“I thought you’d be in London by now,” I stammered.

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“But don’t you have to pack?” I asked stupidly.

“I’m not a fashion plate like you are, remember? Or so you keep
saying.” He smiled. His hair, though slicked back, still managed to fall across one eye. There was something wild about his appearance that unnerved me: something dangerous and glamorous at the same time. “The song will be over before you answer me.”

“Yes, I’d love to.” I smiled reluctantly.

“A Sunday Kind of Love” is without a doubt one of my favorite songs of all time. Brandon wasn’t holding back. I looked over to see if he knew it wasn’t Scott he was inspiring. Brandon nodded and grinned. He knew, all right. I should explain that “A Sunday Kind of Love” is a romantic ballad that I’m sure was the 1940s equivalent to “Stairway to Heaven,” with lyrics that were impossible to ignore. The words spoke of a love that went beyond one night and that first blush of romance, a love that endured beyond Saturday date night and into the reality of Sunday.

As the song played I was suddenly all nerves and self-consciousness and couldn’t bear to look at Griff, so instead I buried my head in his shoulder, which didn’t help because it reminded me how good it felt to be this close to him. I tried to distract myself by being thankful he didn’t smell like the barn, but it was no use. Then the song ended. As the music faded, I worked up the nerve to look at Griff. He gazed back and the corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly into a smile. Both of us stood there, motionless and speechless, but still holding on to each other. I knew he wanted to kiss me, and worse, I wanted to kiss him. The fight with Scott was affecting my judgment. Any concern about what we might do vanished very quickly. Remember what I said about Brandon’s talent for breaking up awkward moments? Out blasted Tony Bennett singing “Rags to Riches,” all about love making you feel rich, like a millionaire. That did it. Griff and I leapt apart as if we were on fire.

“I have to get back to my friends,” I blurted out awkwardly and practically ran away. I needed a drink and fast. Oh God, no matter how much I’d tried to deny it, I was still attracted to Griff. I grabbed a glass of champagne and drank it like water. What was I going to do? Loads of people repressed feelings for one person in order to marry another, I was sure of it. I couldn’t think of Griff, not now, not ever. Scott would take care of me. He didn’t still love Tatiana. She was just
a friend. I was being petty. I repeated the above over and over as I drank and drank.

The party continued and I was quite drunk as I circulated among the guests, avoiding Tatiana. I had watched Griff sitting next to Clive and Emma. He was no mingler. I supposed that was expected; they were his only true friends in the room. I slumped onto a sofa next to the rest of my group and sighed heavily.

“I think you’ve had enough,” Brandon said and pulled a half-empty glass from my hand.

“They call it a cup of courage,” I slurred.

“You have enough courage by now,” Fawn added.