SOPHIE TRIED TO PRETEND she was Julia Roberts, making her grand entrance at the end of Pretty Woman. There were some very gratifying, confidence-boosting double takes, and a few conversations that went silent as she made her way through the crowded room, but, mostly, Sophie didn’t think Julia had anything to worry about. If Sophie could find Tolliver before she disgraced herself by falling off the impossibly high heels she was wearing and into a platter of passing crab canapés, she’d consider it a job well done.
Having seen Tolliver at his less-than-commanding best, it was Sophie who did a double take when she finally spotted him, standing near one of the cases displaying part of his collection. In this instance, the tux definitely made the man. He stood out, even in a sea of custom-cut tuxedos. His gleaming silver hair was a far cry from the damp, stringy mess she’d seen, postshower. Instead, it was quite the elegantly styled, leonine mane, shown off to great distinction by the black-on-black perfectly tailored tux, with a single-button jacket, placard-front shirt and expertly knotted silk bow tie. His laughter was rich and melodic, and carried effortlessly over the conversational noise of the crowded room, naturally drawing people closer.
Sophie was part of that wave, trying to look both conspicuous and inconspicuous at the same time and likely not pulling off either. As she approached, she could hear snippets of his conversation and marveled at how completely different he was here, in this setting, than he had been in the privacy of his suite. Granted, there he’d been quite upset, unlike here where he was making contacts and trying to impress people. But she’d have never thought the man she’d inadvertently met just out of the shower could ever transform himself into this charming, elegant leading man. Sean Connery could take lessons.
She could only hope her change in appearance was equally dramatic, so there would be no chance he’d recognize her as the maid who’d trespassed into his room. And then the time to worry was over, as the ebb and flow of the crowd flowed more than it ebbed, literally pushing her directly into his immediate circle of sycophantic followers and hangers-on.
Conversation stuttered to a halt as she barely righted herself with the help of someone’s hand on her elbow, then turned to thank them with what she hoped was a gracious, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry.”
It was Tolliver’s hand on her elbow. She hoped she hadn’t gone completely pale. Her smile was frozen as she tried to swallow past the sudden tightness in her throat.
“My, my,” he murmured. “I’m not remotely sorry. Good evening, Miss…?”
How was it that the voice that had been so chilling, so soulless, so…dead, was now so warm and lively? She carefully withdrew her elbow from his light grasp, apologized to the gentleman next to Tolliver, whose foot she’d just missed puncturing with her heel, then turned to face him again with what she hoped was a natural-looking smile. “Maplethorpe. Sophie Maplethorpe.”
She extended her hand, which he quite gallantly lifted as he bowed over it. Fortunately he’d stopped short of kissing the back, as she didn’t really want to find out exactly where Simon was quite yet. Nor did she need to add nausea to the list of things already making her supremely uncomfortable. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tolliver. Quite the collection you’ve put on display here. I’m sure my fellow Chicagoans agree that we’re fortunate to be the recipients of such generosity.”
My, my, indeed. Wasn’t she suddenly just the chatty little socialite? Maybe Julia Roberts should watch out after all. She swallowed again and tried to maintain direct, easy eye contact.
“Why, thank you. I’m so pleased to hear you think so. And, call me Langston.” He turned to the stunning brunette standing next to him, who was presently looking daggers at Sophie, but who smiled quite impressively when cued. “Please allow me to introduce my guest this evening, Marcelina Brand.”
Look at her face, look at her face, Sophie schooled herself. Which shouldn’t have been all that difficult. Millions had before her, as Marcelina’s exquisite visage had graced numerous billboards and magazine covers. But it was almost an impossible assignment when she was wearing a huge, honking emerald necklace around her neck. Sophie tried to remember her as the giggling bimbo from the shower, but staring at Marcelina now, it was hard to believe she’d ever cracked a real smile, much less a laugh.
Realizing she was gawking, though she assumed Marcelina was quite used to it, probably expected it, given the rather bored expression on her face, Sophie quickly extended her hand for a brief, feminine hand-clasp before giving up the battle entirely and simply staring at the stunning array of stones covering the full stretch of the supermodel’s neck and collarbones. “That is an amazing, amazing piece you’re wearing. Did you have it specially designed?”
“Thank you,” Marcelina said, managing to sound all breathless sex-kitteny, even as her green-eyed gaze said careful-or-I’ll-cut-you-bitch. “For some reason, Langston thought I was the one to showcase them.”
Sophie had heard the word cooed used to describe a tone of speech, but, until now, she’d never heard it in action.
Marcelina slid her arm possessively through Tolliver’s and Sophie wanted to reassure the supermodel that she was quite safe from any attempt at poaching her date. As if Sophie had a prayer. In fact, that Marcelina felt the need to make a public show of claiming him at all was rather unbelievable. Like any sane man would switch partners while she was on his arm.
“I don’t see how he could have chosen anyone better,” Sophie said, part of her marveling at how well she was maintaining the flow of conversation in such a surreal situation, even as her mouth continued to move and words continued to come out. “I can’t imagine how it feels to wear something like that.”
“Priceless,” Tolliver interjected. “The feeling of wearing the Shay emerald is as priceless as the piece itself.” He covered Marcelina’s hand with his own, but his gaze was focused purely on Sophie. “I believe it would turn any woman into a piece of art.”
Marcelina frowned slightly, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she’d been properly complimented—Sophie doubted she’d ever even consider she’d been insulted—but then must have realized she was wrinkling her perfect skin and immediately smoothed her expression to one of bored tolerance.
“You look quite familiar, my dear,” Tolliver was saying. “Where would our paths have crossed?”
Sophie’s heart came to a full stop, then raced ahead like a rabbit. “I beg your pardon?” she managed, as if she hadn’t properly heard the question, still so taken with the radiance of the necklace. She smiled brightly. Well, mostly, she tried not to throw up on the man’s shiny black leather shoes.
“I don’t recall meeting her,” Marcelina was saying.
“Darling, I meet people every day,” he said dismissively, still gazing at Sophie.
“We haven’t met,” Sophie assured her quickly, before Marcelina could stab her with a hairpin, which, if the look in her blazing green eyes was any indication, she was a heartbeat away from doing. “I work for the Wingate. In fact, I helped with the new security detail you requested. But we didn’t meet.”
“Perhaps that’s it then,” he said, smiling quite congenially. “I’m quite certain I’d have remembered specifics had we met face-to-face.” He took her hand again, and bowed. “A woman who could put a work of art to shame with just her smile.”
My, my, Sophie thought, wanting desperately to press a hand to her stomach. He really was quite the smooth one.
“So, you’re here in some kind of professional capacity, then?” Marcelina asked, her interest clearly feigned, as if she was being hard-pressed to be nice to the help, but managing all the same for the sake of appearances.
Sophie assumed she’d had tons of practice with that. “Why no,” she said, slipping her hand from Tolliver’s once again and turning her brightest smile toward the model. “Why do you ask?”
Marcelina lifted a slender shoulder, as if she could hardly be bothered to respond, now bored with the conversation. “I assumed the Wingate must be catering the affair or some such. After all, the guest list is quite…” She ran her gaze over Sophie, from her self-styled hair to her store-bought heels. “…exclusive.”
“Actually, she’s with me,” came a feminine voice from behind Sophie. “Us, I should say.”
Delia. Sophie turned with the first honest smile she’d had all night. “And Adam,” she finished out loud, surprised to see him, though she couldn’t have said why. Mrs. Wingate was nothing if not clever in her campaign to earn as much media attention as possible. If she couldn’t get the Art Institute to change the date, she’d simply make sure the Wingate family was represented at the gala and garnered some of the spotlight away from the event, during the event.
Still it was a surprise that Arlene had employed her about-to-be-married son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law in the battle, considering the packed calendar of duties that Sophie knew firsthand from her friend was dominating literally every second of her waking hours until the wedding began. In fact, Sophie wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Arlene had ordered instructional subliminal recordings to be played while Delia slept.
“What a pleasure to meet the happy couple,” Tolliver said, his charm not ebbing for so much as a millisecond. “I’ve heard so much about you both. I trust everything is moving along smoothly with the upcoming nuptials?”
Delia stepped forward and gave Marcelina a direct snub by taking Tolliver’s hand and favoring him with a smile, while appearing not to notice that he was there with a guest. Much less a guest of such international acclaim. Sophie wanted to applaud, but she felt it would be in poor taste.
“Why yes, thank you, Mr. Tolliver. It’s been a true fairy tale, from beginning to end.”
Sophie’s urge to applaud continued, but now it was for the complete transformation of her best friend. She’d sounded so…sincere. And she truly looked like Cinderella at the ball. Her blond hair in a perfectly coiffed chignon, elegant, shimmering blue gown, diamonds and sapphires on her ears and around her neck. Who was this perfect princess? Certainly not the same woman Sophie had consumed copious amounts of almond rocca and Chunky Monkey ice cream with after yet another bad date or failed relationship.
“Not that there will be an end,” Adam so perfectly interjected, smiling his handsome Prince Charming smile as he reached out to pump Tolliver’s hand.
“Well, and who wouldn’t live happily-ever-after with such a stunning bride on his arm,” Tolliver said. “I wish you both the best.”
“Thank you,” Delia said. “So, Mr. Tolliver, tell us about your collection. Very impressive. And it’s all from your personal ancestry?”
“You must call me Langston,” he said, before launching into a detailed description of the various pieces.
Sophie took a much needed moment to regroup and step out of the immediate spotlight, listening with half an ear, but privately scanning the crowd to see if she could spot Simon.
Then Marcelina, apparently upset with not being the center of attention for more than thirty seconds, took possession of Tolliver once more by leaning closer and saying, quite petulantly, “I’m still waiting on my drink, darling.”
“Come with me,” Adam said, jumping in like a man rescued, then winked at Tolliver. “I’m sure you won’t mind if I steal your stunning date away for a moment.” He laughed then, and added, “I’ve only another night as a free man, so it will be the last time I can be seen with such a lovely woman on my arm who isn’t my wife without raising a scandal.”
Everyone smiled and laughed, because Adam’s golden boy good looks and beaming confidence—not to mention his bank account—demanded it, but Sophie could only look at Delia, who did a remarkable job of hiding her disappointment in once again being ignored by her fiancé and left standing without so much as a backward glance, much less a drink order, as he took off with Marcelina. Sophie imagined Delia hadn’t missed the fact that Adam took the time to work the room with the supermodel on his arm, as he traveled a very circuitous route to one of the several bars that had been set up for the night’s event.
Unfortunately, Sophie was so caught up watching her friend attempting to mask her disappointment, that she missed spying on Tolliver to see if he’d sent any kind of signal to anyone to follow Marcelina. Maybe he felt she was in safe hands, given Adam’s superstar status in the room. The entire event, for that matter, was heavily, and quite visibly secure, making her wonder how Simon planned on removing the piece from the premises even if he could get it away from the model.
“Yes, there has been a lot of attention. People magazine will be doing a spread,” Delia was saying. “We just confirmed today.”
Sophie turned her attention back to the conversation at hand, wishing she could follow Marcelina and Adam—or, more to the point, the necklace. But with Tolliver’s date and Delia’s date abandoning them, it rather forced them to remain and make small talk. Sophie could have likely come up with some reason to excuse herself before she lost sight of the couple, and might have, if it weren’t for the death grip Delia now had on her arm.
“You must be so thrilled,” exclaimed a female member of the small throng enveloping Tolliver, Delia and Sophie in a circle of attention.
“Yes, it’s all very exciting,” Delia responded, sounding slightly less authentically enthused than she had moments before.
“You know,” Sophie said brightly, sliding her arm through Delia’s, “with the whirlwind of events, we’ve barely been able to get two seconds alone.” She beamed at the group, then looked at Tolliver. “Would it be horribly rude if I stole her away for a few moments?”
“No, no,” Tolliver assured her, already turning his attentions to another twentysomething ingénue who had joined their circle. “It was a pleasure making both of your acquaintances,” he said with a brief smile, then was fully engaged in his new conversation, bowing over another slender hand, before they’d even broken the sycophant circle.
“Thank God,” Sophie breathed, as they cleared the group. She immediately scanned the room, but had completely lost sight of Adam and Marcelina. A quick look back at the cluster around Tolliver didn’t show any obvious muscle lurking about. She’d been too stunned by the change in his appearance and demeanor to make note of that earlier when she’d first approached the group.
Then Delia was all but dragging her off to the side of the room they were in, ducking them both around behind another display. “I was so surprised to see you here. Why didn’t you tell me? And where in the world did you get that dress? You look really amazing. I can’t believe it’s you.”
“Thanks,” Sophie said dryly, “I think.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I just had no idea you’d be here. Why are you here? And who are you with? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“Ditto. Although you making the guest list is far less surprising than me making it. Still, I’m amazed Arlene let you two out of her evil clutches for so much as five minutes. I figured she’d have you both in shackles until you were standing in front of clergy.”
“We weren’t supposed to be here, but she decided it was an ‘advantageous opportunity’ to talk about the People magazine spread and—”
“Steal the spotlight away from the very worthy cause the benefit is promoting and hog the media wherever possible?” Sophie finished brightly, then immediately recanted when her friend’s expression wobbled. “I’m sorry. But, come on, it’s not like we haven’t both bashed Arlene before when we’ve had the chance. You and I both know she’s a barracuda, but I shouldn’t have been so thoughtless with everything you must be going through. It’s almost over,” she said, rubbing her arm. “Day after tomorrow.”
“I know,” Delia said, but she clearly wasn’t really paying attention to Sophie.
“What? What is it, Dee? What’s wrong?”
Dee pulled her farther into the shadows, leaving Sophie to pray that Simon had somehow seen Marcelina and Adam’s defection and was, right this very second, hot on their trail. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Everything.” Delia’s eyes grew suspiciously glassy. “I don’t know.”
“Is there a problem? Did something happen?”
“Remember how I told you earlier this week that I’d decided to just fully commit myself to becoming a full-fledged Wingate wife, that my goal was to be the partner Adam truly needed and desired?”
Uh-oh. “Yes, of course I remember. Why, is Arlene giving you a hard time again? Did his sisters say something? Because, if you truly love him and want to support him, you’re going to have to find a way to develop a thick skin with them. In fact, I think it’s high time you considered standing up a little for yourself where they are concerned. Otherwise I’m afraid they’re going to make your life miserable forever.”
Dee’s eyes went from glassy to teary. She dabbed at the corners as first one tear escaped, then another. “Oh God,” she said, “I can’t cry. Not here, not now. If anyone sees me crying, it will be a spectacle. Arlene hates spectacles, and so does Adam. Unless, of course, they’re the ones creating the spectacle, then all bets are off.”
It was the first time in a while that Sophie had heard that particular tone in her friend’s voice. “Come on, we’ll find the ladies’ room, do a quick repair.”
“There is no quick repair that will fix this,” Dee said, sniffing.
Sophie could spy the imminent collapse of whatever reserve of strength her friend still had left. “Let’s get out of here. Some fresh air and privacy. Just for a few moments.” She took her hand. “Come on. We’ll figure this out.”
Delia sniffled behind her as Sophie looked for the most direct but private exit. She sent a steady stream of silent apologies to Simon, wherever he was, for once again screwing up her assignment. Clearly she was not cut out for the job, but that didn’t keep her from feeling horrible about it. “Here,” she said, spying an exit door in the rear of the room. Praying it didn’t set off alarms, she pushed through it, and a few seconds later, spied another door leading to a side exit from the building. This one was guarded, but the uniformed gentleman took one look at the obvious distress on Delia’s face and opened the door for them. “Ladies,” he said, nodding. “You’ll have to re-enter at the front.”
“That’s fine. No problem,” Sophie said, tugging Dee out behind her. “Thank you.”
She saw him radio something, and assumed it was just to alert security that he’d let two guests out the side door, but Dee had given up completely and started crying in earnest, so she couldn’t follow more of what the guard was saying as the door closed behind them.
“Over here,” she said, spying a metal bench seat. “Come on, sit down. Tell me what’s going on.”
In between sniffles and choking back tears, Delia said, “I—I overheard them. Talking. About me.”
“Who? His sisters? His mother? You know they haven’t come around yet, but they will when you show them what you’re made of. It will take time, but you’ll win in the end, I know you.”
Delia lifted her tear-and-mascara streaked face to look directly at Sophie. “Not them. I know they hate me. Adam. I heard him. With my own ears.”
“Who was he talking to? His friends? His mother?”
“I don’t think he ever loved me, Soph,” she said, her voice wobbling and a fresh wave of tears brimming over to trickle down her cheeks. “Adam—he was talking to his best friend, Trevor, his best man. He got into town last night with his wife, and I didn’t know he’d stopped by. I inadvertently walked in on their conversation, but they were out on the balcony, they didn’t know I was there. I—I heard him.” She buried her face in her hands.
“What was he saying? Because men get cold feet. You had cold feet, remember?” Sophie couldn’t believe she was supporting Adam, of all people, but she was trying to keep up with what Delia wanted and needed, and, right now, it seemed like she needed to believe this wedding was a good idea. Lord knew Sophie had wasted enough breath trying to convince her it wasn’t. Now wasn’t the time for I-told-you-so’s.
“Oh, he wants to marry me.”
“Okay,” Sophie said brightly, trying to grasp for any scrap of good news. “That’s a positive. What else did he say?”
“Trevor said he was surprised that Adam chose me given my lack of pedigree. That he couldn’t believe Arlene was letting him get away with it. And—and then, Adam said…” She sniffled again, then took a deep breath and blurted, “Adam laughed—laughed!—and said he’s doing it, marrying me, as a way to get even with his mother. Th-that he’s only marrying me to drive a wedge between them so he can get some breath-breathing room.” Delia looked up again, anguish clear on her face. “He’s using me, Soph. I’m just a tool he’s using to get out from under Mommy-dearest’s rule. He plans on shoving me at his mother to keep her occupied and off his back. He—he even said he’d knock me up—his words—if that’s what it took to get some space.”
Sophie didn’t know what to say. That was the hard part. Because nothing her friend was saying surprised her in the least. “At least you found out now, Dee. Before you said I do.” Sophie held her and rubbed her back, and let her get it out.
“He—he even told Trevor that he had no plans to remain faith-faithful to me!” she squeaked. “For all I know, he’s already cheating on me. And Trevor, he just laughed, and said, ‘Join the club, buddy. Join the club.’” Delia sat up. “Who are these people, Sophie? And where in the hell do they get off toying with others like this? I know you told me, but he was so sincere, and so handsome, and so willing, I was just swept away. But he—he…he never…” She broke down again.
“I think he did care for you, Delia. I don’t know when his plan kicked in about his mother, but I don’t think he chose you in some cold, calculating way.” Actually, Sophie wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done exactly that. “But now that you know where he stands, what are you going to do?”
“That’s just it!” she exclaimed on a sob. “What can I do?”
“Um…call the wedding off? I mean, Dee, you can’t marry the guy now. You know that.”
“I don’t know anything. What I know is that they’ve spent millions on this wedding. Millions, Soph. I know it’s hard to comprehend, but seriously, the money alone… And then there’s Arlene and her standing and how it would look. Oh, can you imagine, the ‘cocktail waitress’ ditching her son? Can you imagine?”
Sophie’s lips twitched, and then she smiled, and then she laughed. “I’m sorry, really, I am, but, oh my God, Delia, can you imagine it? Because I can. In fact, I can’t think of a better way for this to end. With you in the driver’s seat, calling all the shots. If I thought you could pull it off, I’d have you ditch him at the altar. He deserves the public humiliation for all he’s put you through, and I don’t just mean his little speech to Trevor. Hell, you could call Trevor out, too. And Arlene. Right there at the pulpit, with camera recorders blazing.”
She immediately started to apologize, but then she saw Delia’s lips twitch, and then she was spluttering, and laughing, and then they were both laughing until anyone passing by would think perhaps they needed an intervention of some sort.
But it was cathartic, and healing, and it just felt really damn good.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you,” Delia said, when they finally stopped long enough to draw in a breath. “It’s like I’ve been inhabited by another person all this time. Like I’ve been above myself, watching this happen, and being alternately amazed that I was getting to be Cinderella at the ball, but wondering who in the hell this person was I was becoming.” She stared at Sophie, heedless now of the black streaks on her face, and the red, splotchy cheeks. “I can’t marry him, Sophie. I can’t believe I ever wanted to marry him.”
“I know, Dee. I know.” She took her friend in her arms and hugged her tight. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. I’ll be there with you when you tell him, whatever you think you need. We’re all behind you, you know.”
“Oh God, you must all think I’m a total fool.”
“No, we think you wanted the fairy tale as much as we wanted it for you. We just didn’t want to see you hurt, that’s all. It’s a lot easier to see the big picture when you’re not the focus of all of it. We were just worried about you. We love you. You know that.”
She nodded and snuffled again. “What am I going to do, Soph? How am I going to tell him? I wish I could do the altar thing, he deserves it, but I don’t think I have it in me.”
“I know. I think you’re just going to have to sit down with him, and tell him you can’t go through with it.” Sophie thought about how controlling Adam was, how mad he was likely to be that his big plan was being thwarted, not to mention how he was going to look in all of it. “On the other hand, maybe you shouldn’t be completely alone when you tell him. Maybe you should tell the whole family.”
The horror that immediately leaped into her friend’s eyes had her quickly backpedaling. “Okay, okay, maybe not a good idea.”
“They’d railroad me, Sophie. I don’t think I could stand up to all of them. They don’t like me, and they don’t want me in the family, but they’re committed to this now and there is no backing out. I don’t know if I could take them on collectively.” She sighed. “Maybe it’s easier to just go through with it, then live with it until I can’t take it anymore, and file for divorce. I mean, at least I know what I’m getting into now.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t know what I am. Except exhausted. I’ve been running on fumes for what feels like an eternity.”
“What you need is a good night’s sleep. Away from the Wingate influence.” Sophie pulled her tiny clutch purse onto her lap. “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight.” She handed Delia her apartment key.
“Why are you giving me the key? Won’t you be there?”
She thought of Simon, and the very strong possibility that by choosing to help her friend rather than help steal a priceless emerald, she might have very well screwed up her chance at the future she’d been allowing herself to envision for the past few days. “I—I’m not sure.”
Delia narrowed her puffy eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Trust me, you have enough on your plate without me cluttering it up more.”
“Sophie,” she said warningly. And she sounded so much like the best friend Sophie had thought she’d lost forever, she wanted to hug her and hold on tight.
“Later. I’ll tell you everything, I promise. But…just let me say that I’m far more sensitive to what it’s like to be making decisions while inside the whirlwind and it’s not easy. Nothing is simple.”
“No. It’s definitely not.”
She pressed the key into her friend’s hand. “Do you want me to come stay with you?” She smiled. “Keep you from jumping? Buy some almond rocca? I have ice cream in the freezer.”
Delia smiled through a fresh sheen of tears. “No. I think I need to be completely by myself for once. And do a lot of thinking. I know I need to end this. I can’t marry him. I just have to decide how I’m going to do it.”
“If you change your mind, if you need backup, or just some bolstering, or someone to bounce ideas and thoughts off of…” She grinned. “Or just someone to have a plain old bitchfest with, call my cell and I’ll be right there.”
“Maybe after I tell him,” Delia said, a smile wavering through the tears. “I will definitely need some artificial sweetening by then, for sure.”
“Sugar high, here we come.”
Sophie stood and pulled her friend up by the hands. “Come on. I’ll sneak around front and direct a cab here to the side of the building for you.”
“What about Adam?”
Sophie wanted to tell her he’d probably hardly miss her, as taken as he was with Marcelina, but what she said was, “I’ll tell him you didn’t feel well, your stomach or something.”
“He’ll demand to know where I went.”
“Yes, well, maybe it’s time he stopped having the right to know your whereabouts every single second.”
“He’ll go crazy trying to find me.”
Sophie smiled. “Yes, he will.”
Delia smiled then, too. “Right. You can just tell him you have no idea where I went.” Her shoulders straightened and her chin notched up a bit higher. “I hope he has a very, very long night ahead of him.”
And Sophie knew right then her friend was going to be just fine.