Makin' Miracles (21 page)

T
he anniversary party for Spencer's parents was held in the historic section of downtown Richmond in a fine old establishment called The Colony Club. It was elegant, tasteful, and upscale—and beautifully decorated. Over two hundred guests were expected. Gordon and Marion Jackson had been residents, and business owners, in the Richmond area for a very long time, and many friends and business associates turned out to wish them the very best on this special occasion.

Zola may have spent most of her life in the rural regions of Tennessee, but she had royal Tahitian blood. She'd been to many formal events in the islands and knew how to dress and act appropriately in high society.

She saw Spencer's eyes rove over her appreciatively once again as they started into the main ballroom of the club. The twinkling lights of the chandeliers winked off the sequins on her dress.

“You look very beautiful, Zolakieran Devon.”

She smiled. “So you've told me, Spencer Jackson, but of course I'm pleased to hear you say it again. And you look very handsome yourself.”

It was a formal night, and Spencer and most of the other men attending wore tux coats. The women wore long, shimmering dresses. Zola's was white-sequined on the top with a black-sequined skirt below, flowing from a high waistband. She'd tamed her cascade of curls back with jeweled combs and wore black pearls from the islands in her ears and in a drop pearl necklace. This dress was one she'd worn before to a happy occasion with her family . . . and wearing it again gave her confidence. She knew she looked stunning in it.

Spencer led Zola through the crowd to where his parents stood greeting their guests at a small alcove near the row of banquet tables. The banquet tables were loaded with food, lavishly displayed, and a beautiful tiered cake stood to one side.

Zola leaned toward Spencer. “Did Rita create the cake?”

“Yes.” Spencer looked toward it and smiled. “She's fantastic, isn't she?”

Zola nodded. The cake was a masterpiece with sugared ribbons that looked like real satin looped around the cake layers, and with incredible, delicate flower creations spilling over the top and sides.

Spencer and Zola joined the circle of family and friends around Spencer's parents. They lingered there at Gordon and Marion's request, along with Rita and her date, Bryan Hall, to greet their parents' friends and to be introduced to friends and associates they hadn't met yet.

Zola managed to lean in to compliment Rita in a lull between greeters. “I love the cake, Rita. It is absolutely unbelievable.”

Rita smiled. “Maybe I'll create your wedding cake if you'll invite me down. I like you, Zola, and I'd enjoy the chance to get to know you away from the bosom of our happy family.” Her voice took on a humorous tone toward the end of her words, and she lifted her eyebrows meaningfully at Zola and wiggled them.

Zola suppressed a grin.

Rita leaned closer to her. “Honey, with this family, you need to learn to laugh. It's the only way to keep your sanity.” She pointed toward the doorway. “For example, here come Bowden and Geneva now. They always come late to every event so they can make a grand entrance. Grandfather and his current woman of the moment won't be far behind.”

Zola looked through the crowd to see Bowden and Geneva poised at the ballroom doorway. Bowden, like Spencer, was dressed in a tux—a handsome man, even more handsome in crisp, formal dress. Geneva, as Zola had envisioned, was incredibly beautiful.

They moved through the crowd like a Hollywood couple, drawing attention with their confidence and beauty. They were a striking couple, and they stopped to greet friends along the way with artful diplomacy.

As they moved closer, Zola could see that Geneva wore a sleek, form-fitting red dress. It dipped low in the front and was made of a sheer, silky material that glided over all her curves revealingly. Her blond hair glinted in the light of the chandeliers, as did the diamonds at her ears and a multitude of sparkling bracelets on her arms.

Zola looked over to see Spencer following her progress across the room with his eyes. She sighed. She didn't like the look she saw.

Geneva dutifully greeted Marion and Gordon, Rita and Bryan, and then came to stand in front of Spencer. “Well, well,” she said in a throaty voice. “Look who we have here.”

She took his hands, wrapped them behind her, and walked right into the embrace she'd created, kissing him full on the mouth. “It has been a long time,” she drawled, pulling back slightly to study him, while keeping his hands captured in hers behind her back.

Bowden stood by, watching with indulgent pleasure.

Geneva backed away then, sure of the effect she'd had on Spencer. She'd caught him off guard with the kiss and rattled his reserve. Zola could hear him breathing more deeply than normal. Oh, boy.

Bowden tucked an arm into Geneva's. “I don't believe you've met Spencer's little fiancée, Zola Devon. She owns a nature shop, or something, near Spencer's gallery down in that little tourist town in the mountains.”

It was a typical subtle put-down from Bowden.

Geneva held out a hand languidly toward Zola. “My, what lovely golden skin, Zola. Most of us need to spend hours in the tanning bed to get that look. How nice that it comes natural for you. Are you Hawaiian or Asian?”

Zola avoided the outstretched hand. “My father is a missionary doctor in Mooréa in the South Pacific Islands. He married my mother there.”

“He married a little native. How sweet.”

Zola smiled at her. “Actually, he married one of the Kasior daughters of the Pomare dynasty.”

Bryan, the newscaster, jumped on that fact. “I know about that family. They're not reigning now but they're still recognized.” He looked thoughtful. “That makes you—in a sense—a royal princess by relation, doesn't it?”

“I guess.” Zola shrugged. She saw Geneva stiffen, a hard look coming into her eyes.

“Bowden,” she said smoothly, linking her arm through his. “I see the Arnsworths coming in. We need to go speak to them. You will excuse us, won't you?” She passed a cool look over them all dismissively as she and Bowden started moving away.

Then she looked back over her shoulder. “I'll want the sixth dance, Spencer. It was always traditional for us to share the sixth dance together, if you'll remember.”

Spencer made no response.

Rita patted Zola on the back as the couple walked away. “Well done, princess. You rattled the cage of the queen.” She leaned over to hug Bryan. “And you, Bryan Hall, just went up a notch in my estimation. Very well done indeed!”

He laughed. “Glad I could be of service. Hey. It looks like people are starting to go to the buffet. Does that mean we can, too?”

“Lead on!” she said, taking his arm and starting toward the line already forming.

Zola turned to see Spencer's eyes still following Geneva across the room. Swell. He looked mesmerized.

Spencer seemed to sense her watching him and turned his eyes back toward her. He looked suddenly puzzled as his attention refocused. “Are you really a princess?”

“Only by bloodline, Spencer. The Pomare dynasty is not in power anymore in the islands.”

He scowled. “You never told me about that.”

She took his arm as they started toward the buffet line, too. “The subject never came up, that's all. I'll tell you all about it later, if you want.”

He seemed satisfied. Or maybe it was only that he was distracted. Geneva, with her golden girl looks and sexy red dress, certainly seemed to be a distinct distraction.

They loaded their plates with food from the buffet and nibbled on it as they visited around the room. Many people remembered Spencer and wanted to say hello to him. With pleasure, Zola saw that Spencer's professional reputation was better known, and more celebrated, with his Richmond friends than among his family.

A heavyset buxom woman in a jeweled dress laid a hand on Spencer's arm. “I have several of your lovely photographs in our entry hall, Spencer.” She smiled at her husband beside her, a genial-faced balding man with an equally heavy girth. “Robert and I do so enjoy telling everyone they were taken by one of our neighbors. And that you used to come climb in our trees as a boy.”

Spencer answered distractedly, and Zola looked to see his eyes following Geneva around the room. Her tinkling laugh trilled out—carrying across the ballroom from her social group.

When the dancing began, Zola and Spencer waited politely until Spencer's parents started the first waltz number to a round of applause, and then moved out onto the floor. Her steps soon easily matched his.

“You dance very well, Spencer.”

“All of us were sent to ballroom dancing classes.” He wrinkled his nose with distaste. “I hated them, but I learned what I needed to learn.”

He spun her easily around in a turn.

“You dance well, too, Zola.”

She looked up to now see his eyes clearly focused on her. They were warm with affection and admiration.

She smiled at him. “We both clean up nicely when we need to.”

Spencer chuckled. “That we do.”

He pulled her into a closer embrace as they circled the ballroom. It felt nice to be the center of Spencer's attention again.

Zola danced with a number of different partners after that. Spencer's father danced a waltz with her, and Bryan Hall made her laugh through an old fifties number. Spencer, too, was caught up in obligatory dances with family and old friends.

Several times Zola caught sight of Geneva. Her red dress was hard to miss. Zola noticed Spencer wasn't the only one she acted overly intimate with as a married woman. She flirted with many of the men at the gathering.

Zola's eyes wandered to Bowden on several of these occasions, only to find him involved in flirtations of his own—schmoozing, networking, dancing with many women. Seemingly unconcerned about Geneva. When they came together, there seemed to be something plastic and contrived in their relationship.

The sixth dance, that Geneva insisted belonged to her and Spencer, was a sultry slow number. Zola wondered with annoyance if Geneva contrived that in some way. While dancing with a talkative dentist, reminiscing about a trip to the Smokies, Zola kept an eye on the couple. Geneva had wound both arms around Spencer's neck and plastered herself closely against him. Zola could see her talking and laughing intimately with him, and she didn't like the enraptured look on Spencer's face.

“How long have you lived in Tennessee, Miss Devon?”

The question brought Zola's attention back to her partner. He was a nice man, and Zola answered his question and soon got into a discussion with him about favorite places in Gatlinburg.

When the dance ended, she looked around for Spencer but saw no sign of him. Wishing for a break from the noise and heat of the ballroom, Zola let herself out a side door into a corridor that led to a lovely courtyard.

She could hear the sound of a fountain and murmured conversation. Zola stopped short behind a pillar and a screen of greenery when she recognized Geneva's and Spencer's voices.

Through the edge of the potted ficus trees, she could see Geneva standing by the fountain, with her hands running up Spencer's chest.

“Oh, come on, Spencer. Don't tell me you haven't thought of me and wondered what it would be like to be with me again.” She reached up a hand to trace a red-nailed finger down his cheek. “I've certainly thought about you. And I like the handsome, more confident man you've become.”

Her talk was intimate, and her actions not ones a married woman should engage in.

Zola felt guilty for watching and listening, but she wanted to see how Spencer would react. It was important to her.

Just now, he was quiet, watching Geneva intently.

“Do you still think I'm a beautiful woman, Spencer?” She hunched her shoulders forward, revealing more of her bosom with the move.

Zola rolled her eyes. It was such an obvious ploy.

She heard Spencer draw in a breath. Great.

Geneva swayed toward him, offering her lips up to him.

But Spencer stepped back. “You're a married woman now, Geneva.”

She let her hands rove up his chest again. “So? Surely you've seen that Bowden and I both give each other liberty.”

Spencer scowled. “That may be,” he said. “But I am an engaged man, Geneva. There is someone else in my life now.”

“That cute little island girl?” Geneva laughed dismissively. “Oh, really, Spencer. Surely that girl is not someone you're going to actually marry. She's hardly your type.”

“Isn't she?” Spencer's voice sounded hard. “And who is my type?”

Geneva practically cooed. “Well, we were always very good together.”

Spencer stepped back. “Maybe once, but you've changed, Geneva. Or maybe I'm the one who's changed. I don't remember you being so brittle and insensitive before about the feelings of others, or so self-serving.”

Offended, Geneva stepped back, her eyes flashing with anger at the insult. “You were never very perceptive about people, Spencer—always very naïve and unrealistic. It used to worry me.” Her voice sounded annoyed.

Zola saw her study her nails one at a time, trying to regain her composure.

“Did you ever really love me, Geneva?” Zola saw Spencer watching her carefully as he asked this. “I always wondered how you could go to Bowden so easily . . . not even call me yourself to tell me it was over between us. It wasn't the honorable way to act.”

Geneva rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Honorable is hardly a word I would use to describe me, Spencer. That's a word more suited to you.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. “For me, better words are clever, smart, or ambitious. While you were young and dreamy, and not sure who you were or what you wanted twelve years ago, I knew exactly what I wanted. And I began to see early on that it was more advantageous for me to marry Bowden than you.”