Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (88 page)

There’s no going back now, I smile to myself, turning onto the highway. Even if I wasn’t deeply, hopelessly, irreparably in love with the man, I could never give up the way his body makes me feel. And I know that once I’m with him again, holding him close, everything will be OK between us again.

It has to be.

I DRIVE FOR hours, following directions out to the address Hunter left with his guy at the ranch. The route takes me through the city and out to one of the richest neighborhoods on the outskirts of town. Here, sycamore trees swathe the street with a green canopy and the road winds past huge estates, the kind where you can’t even see the house, just tall, wrought-iron gates and perfectly manicured hedgerows guarding against unwanted guests.

I feel a flicker of nerves as I reach the Covington turn-off, and find a set of gates at least twice as high as the rest, flanked by stone columns with matching gargoyles.

You’re here for Hunter,
I remind myself
. Just ignore all the rest.

I approach the gates, rolling my window down to call up through the security system. A moment later, a reply buzzes.

“Yes?”

“I’m, umm, here to see Hunter? I’m a friend. From home. I mean, not home home, this is his home,” I hear myself babbling, but I can’t stop. “Anyway, my name is—”

There’s a buzz, and the gates swing open.

I catch my breath. I’m already sweating, and I haven’t even stepped foot inside! I wipe my palms on my skirt, and put the truck back in gear, slowly driving through the gates and up the winding road leading back from the street.

At least this time, I’m dressed for the part. I stopped to change after leaving the bar, and now I’m wearing my most conservative outfit: a pale green 1950s sundress I cut from a vintage Vogue pattern. I usually wear it with a hot-pink bra peeping out, and chunky boots, but today I have on gold strappy sandals, my hair smoothed back in a neat braid. I look like a stranger, but I’ll do whatever it takes not to feel like a common tramp—or whatever it is his ice-queen mother thinks when she looks at me.

I drive around a wide bend, emerging from the trees, and see the house rising up in front of me for the first time.

Holy shit!

I gape up at it, dumbstruck. I always knew the Covingtons were wealthy, but this is something else: a huge, Antebellum-style mansion with columns and balconies, and white trim running around the whole place, like icing on a cake. Perfect beds of roses line the driveway, manicured lawns rolling gently away from the house to… I blink, squinting in the distance. Is that a lake?

By the time I pull up outside, my nerves have blossomed into a full-on panic. This is a long way from Beachwood, and I am so far out of my league. I put the truck in park beside a line of vans. There are people milling around in uniform, carrying trays and flowers like they’re setting up for something. Nobody gives me a second look as I get out of the cab and slowly climb the front steps.

“Excuse me,” I ask a passing man, with his arms piled high with paper lanterns. “Do you know—”

“Out back,” he waves me through. “And watch out, someone ordered lilac instead of mauve so Her Highness is on the warpath.”

I frown. “I’m not—” I start, but he’s already hurried away.

OK then.

I walk slowly through the house, my eyes wide at the luxury. Everything is silk-covered and gilt-edged, huge rooms opening up into each other with polished floors and thick Persian rugs, like something from a glossy magazine. I can’t believe that Hunter grew up in this place. Now that I’ve seen him in his jeans and boots, I can’t think of him any other way, but the family photos lined up in the halls show him in tennis whites and preppy blazers, reluctantly posing with his parents.

With Jace.

I stop to look at a picture of them together. It must have been taken right before the accident, because they both look fully grown, towering over Camille’s bird-like frame. Jace’s hair is darker than Hunter’s, his smile wider and less strained. But they both look like a matching pair, two bookends holding the family up: solid and full of life.

I swallow back a pang of heartache, and keep moving, stepping out of a long, gallery-style room to the wide verandah at the back of the house.

It’s chaos.

The immaculate gardens are a hive of activity. Staff in black uniforms scurry around, laying electrical wiring from the house all the way to the huge white canopy tents being constructed on the lawn. People are setting up a wooden dance floor by a half-built stage, and marking out the location of tables with ribbon and seating charts. Gardeners are on ladders up the old sycamore tress, stringing lanterns and tiny bulbs, and a dozen workers dismantle an elegant fountain in the middle of the lawn and move it to the edge of the gardens.

I watch for a moment, amazed. Then my eyes land on a figure in the center of the storm. Hunter. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and khakis, his hair cut shorter than when I saw him last. He’s holding a clipboard, directing staff and consulting with a blonde woman at his side. She shifts, shielding her eyes from the sunshine, and I see that it’s Alicia, the woman from my interview, the one Hunter introduced as being an old college friend.

As I watch, she leans over to check his papers. He says something, and she throws her head back to laugh, her glossy blonde hair falling in waves around her face. She rests her hand on his arm, gazing up at him adoringly.

Her feelings couldn’t be clearer if they were flashed up on a billboard in Times Square.

This is why he didn’t want you here,
a treacherous voice whispers in my mind.
He’s got better things on his mind.

I’m wrestling with the whispers, when I feel someone arrive beside me. I whirl around. It’s Camille, watching Hunter and Alicia with a smug smile on her face. “Such a lovely girl,” Camille coos. She’s wearing a linen sundress, with a bright silk scarf knotted casually at her neck. “You know they went to school together? Her family is very well-connected, and of course, she has those wonderful manners: always helping out, the first to come and greet her hostess.”

That last part has a pointed tone. I flush bright red. “Hello, Mrs. Covington,” I stutter. “I’m sorry, they just waved me through. I was looking for Hunter.”

“Well, you’ve found him.” Camille trails her eyes up and down my body. Her lip quirks with amusement, and in that instant, it feels like I’m wearing an old trash sack, not my prettiest sundress. “He’s a little busy right now, with the party. Alicia is a dear to come help out.”

“Party?” I echo, feeling totally clueless.

“Richard and my’s anniversary. We’re throwing a big soiree tomorrow night. It’s the social event of the season, everyone’s coming.” Camille gives me a patronizing smile. “But of course, Hunter must have told you all about it.”

I stare at her, an icy chill spreading through my body.

“No?” Camille catches my hesitation. Delight dances in her eyes, but she quickly covers it with a sympathetic pat on my arm. “Never mind dear, I’m sure he just didn’t want to worry you. Parties like this can be so… stressful. Socializing in a different circle, wondering if you’re saying the right thing. Wearing the right clothes…” she trails off, but the message comes over loud and clear. I’m nothing, and there’s no way I’ll be able to make it through one of her fancy events without insulting a guest or accidentally flashing the crowd.

And clearly, Hunter thinks it too.

I feel a blade of rejection cut through me, sharp in my chest, but I’m determined not to let Camille see how much I’m hurt. “Oh, this party?” I manage to keep my voice bright, “I forgot all about it. Hunter hates these things so much, I wouldn’t drag it out for him. He’s so sweet to stick around here long enough to help before he comes home.”

“Home?” Camille arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean that little town of yours. But Hunter’s not going—No,” she stops, “It’s not my place to say. I’m sure he’ll explain.”

Explain what? I stare at her, frozen, but Camille knows that she’s won. She breaks into a syrupy smile.

“So nice to see you again, Brittany. Have a safe trip back.”

And with that, she waltzes away.

I turn back to the lawn, reeling over her words. Hunter’s not going—what, back to Beachwood? Is that what she almost told me, or is she just trying to mess with my mind, drive a wedge between us any way she can?

As I watch him, Hunter keeps chatting with Alicia, pausing to direct the staff that flock to him for approval. Alicia is wearing loose silk pants and a casual draped T-shirt, understated and natural. With her tan and hair, she matches Hunter perfectly. They look like they just stepped out of a magazine together, glossy and rich and perfectly comfortable.

The golden boy in his natural setting at last.

This is where he belongs, a voice whispers, cutting right to my very core. Can’t you see it? He’s supposed to be here, running the world, with a girl like Alicia at his side.

I shiver, ice cold. All my happy anticipation at seeing Hunter is gone now, leaving nothing but a terrible sense of foreboding, thick and shadowy in my veins. Part of me wants to slink away: just turn around and go like I was never here at all, but I know I can’t do that. This could all just be Camille trying to stir things up. I need to talk to Hunter, hold him in my arms. Then everything will work out, I tell myself desperately. Everything will be OK.

I brace myself and start down the stairs towards them.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“…AND IF WE RUN a dessert buffet as well as the sit-down meal, people will feel more able to mingle and dance,” Alicia is saying, when I get closer enough to hear. A couple of the staff make notes, and then hurry away to do her bidding.

Hunter groans with relief. “God, you’re a lifesaver, Alicia.” He throws an arm around her and pulls her into a hug. “I wouldn’t know where the hell to start without you.”

I stand behind them, frozen in place. They don’t see me there, and after an agonizing wait that seems like an eternity, I clear my throat to catch their attention. “Umm, hey.”

Hunter turns, pulling away from Alicia. “Brit!” he exclaims, eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing here?”

I try to smile brightly. “I figured you couldn’t get away, so I’d come to you.”

I wait for him to kiss me, hug me, reach out and touch me in any way at all, but Hunter doesn’t move, like he’s seen a ghost. His eyes go to the duffel in my hand. “Are you… staying?”

The horror in his voice is clear. My heart lurches in my chest.

“No,” I say quickly. “I brought you some stuff from home, I didn’t know what you needed, so I just threw everything in.”

“Oh. Thanks.” Hunter looks relieved. He reaches out and takes the bag from me. “Uh, this is Alicia,” he adds, like he’s just remembering she’s standing there.

“I know,” I give him a puzzled look, before turning to Alicia. “We met.”

“Right!” Hunter exclaims. “The interview.”

“It’s good to see you again, Brit.” Alicia gives me a wide smile and moves in to drop air kisses on both my cheeks, perfectly at ease. “How are you? I have to apologize again for what happened,” she adds, looking guilty. “Maxwell’s brand of tact is blunt, bordering on cruel.”

I wonder if that’s all she’s feeling guilty about.

“It’s fine.” I stand up straighter, staring her down. I move in closer to Hunter, slipping my arm around his waist, but he doesn’t react, and his body is tense beneath my hand.

Alicia stands there, awkward. The silence drags.

“Looks busy,” I say at last, nodding at the construction site.

“It’s madness!” Alicia exclaims, too bright. “I know it looks crazy now, but come tomorrow night, it’ll be looking like a fairytale.” She beams. “Hunter’s got everything under control.”

“Not even close,” Hunter corrects her, but there’s a faint smile on his face.

“Please.” She laughs. “It’s like mid-terms all over again. He wouldn’t do a lick of study until the night before,” she tells me, in a conspiratorial tone. “And he still wound up getting the best grades.”

“Panic is a pretty good motivator,” Hunter remarks wryly.

“So try panicking now,” Alicia teases him. She turns to me with another friendly smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll have everything set up in time. You’re going to love it.”

I stand there silently, drowning in humiliation. Alicia thinks I know all about the party—and why shouldn’t she? I’m Hunter’s girlfriend, of course she thinks I’m coming. Only I know the truth.

Me, and Hunter.

I sneak a look at him, but he avoids my gaze, staring at the ground. I fight to stay calm. There’s a good explanation, there has to be.

“Anyway, I better get back to the office.” Alicia checks her watch. “Brit, lovely to catch you. We’ll talk more at the party, I’m sure. And you,” she turns to Hunter. “Don’t call unless it’s an emergency.”

“But—”

“Ordering the wrong color lilies is not an emergency.” She cuts him off.

Hunter sighs. “Tell that to my mother.”

Alicia laughs, then trots back up the steps to the house, leaving us alone.

I turn to Hunter, my heart in my throat, waiting for his big explanation. An apology. Hell, any kind of reason at all why I’ve been going crazy missing him, snatching brief moments on the phone, while he’s been picking centerpieces and canapés. I figured he was caught up in major family drama, but now I see, it was all a lie.

“Hunter?” My voice trembles, and I hate myself for it. Hate feeling this way: like I’m lingering on the edge of the cool kids’ crowd in school, waiting for someone to invite me in. I’ve spent my life watching everyone else get their happily-ever-afters, telling myself that I didn’t care.

Now, I care more than ever, and I’m right back where I started: the nobody, white-trash loser with my nose pressed up against the glass of the prince’s mansion, begging desperately for him to let me in.

A lifetime of insecurity whirls through my mind as Hunter clears his throat. “I wasn’t expecting you. My mom called Alicia in,” he adds quickly. “She used to help host events for the society lunches, so she knows all the people—“