Marrying the Wrong Man (22 page)

He was a Mitchell, after all.

Kory glanced down the table, where he lounged seemingly in mid-execution of a formidable Ben Affleck impression—aloof but oddly attractive. It annoyed the crap out of her. His chair sat too far from the table, and he reclined in it, legs long and slanted, left arm slung along the back of the chair beside him. He was slouching, literally slouching, and that struck her as particularly annoying since he was a thirty-year-old dressed in a tuxedo.
Sit the hell up
, she wanted to say, but she bit her bottom lip instead and turned her gaze back to the dance floor.

Four beats of the music later, he was sliding into the chair beside her.

“How’s Chicago?”

“Windy,” she answered, her tone clipped. What she really wanted to say was, “Amazing, teeming with vibrant life and opportunity—things you don’t have here.” Because after all the time and effort the Mitchell family had put into saving this town from economic decay and population decline, the reminder they still had so far to go was bound to irk him. Irking him would feel good. But saying all that meant saying more to him than she wanted to, so she kept it short, but hardly sweet.

“You’re doing some medical training thing, right? Alice mentioned it. How’s that going?”

Medical training thing?
Somehow Kory managed not to roll her eyes. “It’s a traumatic brain injury fellowship, and it’s challenging.” In the best way possible. The move away from Harmony Falls to a major city had afforded Kory challenges and experiences she never would’ve found in this closed-minded little town, where the mailman had once informed her that men were doctors and women were nurses. As furious as that had made her, she considered the source. These people bought chewing tobacco in bulk and thought the first day of buck was worthy of a holiday. In one short month she’d be graduated from fellowship and ready to take her place as assistant medical director of the in-patient rehabilitation unit at the world-renowned Chicago Northern Rehab Institute. She’d have a prestigious title, a fat salary, and too many cultural experiences to count.

Beat that, Will Mitchell.

“So…uh…how much calculus do you use on a daily basis?”

She looked at him through squinted eyes, a pinch in her chest telling her exactly where this was going. “Excuse me?”

“You know, calculus? We were in that class together in high school.” His grin turned wolfish as he gave her a very obvious once over. “Let me tell you. If you’d looked like this back then, I never would’ve passed.”

Kory glared at him. Did he seriously not remember what had happened in that class? They’d
both
tested out of the usual Algebra classes offered to ninth-graders at Harmony Falls High—the only two in their class to do so. In Calculus, he’d been like a ten-year-old, poking his pencil between her shoulder blades, tugging on her ponytail, and cracking gum in her ear—but Kory hadn’t minded. Will had been one of the cutest boys in the class and his playful teasing had made her feel special, like they were friends, facing a senior-level math class together. She’d found the attention from an attractive, smart, and charismatic guy charming.

Not charming, however, was the way it escalated. Unlike Kory who didn’t even like to raise her hand in class, gregarious, funny Will had been able to fit in quickly and easily with the senior boys. After a few weeks, his new friends started teasing her too, but without the playfulness Will had. Instead, they cracked overtly sexual jokes that made her crazily uncomfortable.
Kory, what do math and my dick have in common? They're both hard for you.
That one had brought her to tears. Anger at their taunts and disappointment that Will—whom she’d thought was her friend—hadn’t stood up for her but had laughed along with them made her even more withdrawn. The teacher and principal got involved and punished the boys, but it had been as if Kory was punished, too. Despite her ability to handle the classwork and her protests, the principal had also transferred her back to Honors Algebra. Will had remained in calculus, the only freshman in a senior-level class. And she hated him for it.

Once, when Will was without his entourage, he’d stopped her in the hallway between classes, and she’d suspected he was going to apologize, but she’d walked away before he could say a word—she’d felt too betrayed to accept an olive branch. He’d barely spoken to her after that, which was probably best. By then, Kory didn’t trust him, and she had vowed revenge, working extra hard to beat his scores.

Thankfully, things were different now. Dr. Kory Flemming was successful in a male-dominated field, which meant she hadn’t so much as blushed in years. Whatever Will had hoped to accomplish by bringing up the calculus topic tonight wasn’t going to happen.

With a shove, she pushed away from the table and stood. “Calculus,” she said with a bitchy grin. “I remember it well. I learned a valuable lesson in that class.”

“What’s that?” he asked, smiling up at her.

“That you’re a dick.” She spun around on the bare balls of her feet and charged the dance floor.

• • •

Will watched her go, the smile fading from his face. First words she’d said to him all damn weekend and she’d insulted him. Then again, he probably deserved it. His booze-soaked brain had been scrambling, trying to come up with something,
anything
that might get more than a one-word answer from Kory. He’d succeeded, but at what cost? After that hostile exchange, he wasn’t likely to get another word out of her for the rest of the night. What a shame.

They’d been friends when they were little. Teachers were always sticking them together for some project or another. But by high school, they’d gone their separate ways. The truth was Calculus was the only class he could think of that they’d had together. And apparently it was a sore point. That or Kory didn’t take kindly to his attempt at flattery. Although she was definitely better looking now than she had been in high school, he probably should’ve tried a subtler compliment.

Shit.
He thought about going after her, because Alice would read him the riot act if she thought he was being mean to her best friend, but he didn’t trust his liquored-up self not to say something even worse, maybe something about tangent curves. After all these years, he didn’t know her very well, but from the way she reacted to his previous come on, he wouldn’t be surprised if a similar comment came with a slap across his face. Besides, watching her now, he couldn’t see many curves. From the top of her bronze head to the tip of her honey-colored toes, she was long and lean, straight and strong.

She grabbed her mother’s hand and then her father’s and the trio did some awkward square dance move, shrinking the circle and then widening it again to the rhythm of a popular rap song. Will hoped she was a better doctor than she was a dancer, a thought that had him chuckling against the rim of his whiskey glass. He knew she didn’t want to be out there, but the alternative was being here with him, and apparently that was a worse kind of torture—because he was a dick. Flinching, he swallowed another hefty mouthful of liquor.

The alcohol burned a path from his throat to his stomach, and he sucked cake-scented air into his nose. He caught sight of his smiling brother, and managed to smile, too. He was happy for Justin and Alice. He really was. But he would’ve been even happier had they eloped.

Justin approached from the opposite side of the table, and reached for his water glass. “You mean to tell me out of all these beautiful women you can’t find one to dance with?”

Will looked at Kory, which was a laughable direction for his attentions to take. After their exchange, she’d be the last beautiful woman in this room to dance with him. Hell, she’d already managed to weasel her way out of their one official dance by partnering with the ring bearer and insisting Will dance with the flower girl.

He glanced at his brother. “If I’m dancing, I can only appreciate one of them at a time. From this vantage point, it’s equal opportunity admiration.”

“You’re full of it.” Justin skirted the table, and sat. “One of these days you’re going to realize there’s more to life than hefty profit margins at work and an Australian Shepard in your bed.”

“Never.” Will opened his mouth for an extra-large swig of whiskey.

Justin’s hand landed hard on Will’s shoulder. “I used to think success was measured by bankrolls and titles, too, but look at her.”

The
her
Justin referred to was Alice no doubt, and Will obliged, scanning the dance floor until he found his smiling sister-in-law.

“She glows,” Justin said. “She literally lights up my life. Before her, there was only darkness.”

Will looked at the water glass in Justin’s hand. “Please tell me you’ve had more than that to drink, because if you’re saying all that sober, after Morgan Parrish cheated on you and made your last attempt at a wedding a laughing stock, while—may I remind you—simultaneously destroying your congressional career,” Will said, shooting an incredulous glare at his brother, “I might just have to smack you.”

Justin whistled. “First of all, that’s ancient history, and second, damn, it’s no wonder you’re sitting alone. You’re a real downer. You need to work on that, bro. This is a wedding.”

“Yeah, a wedding. It’s a fairytale for one night. But it isn’t real.” His gaze automatically skipped to his widowed mother who sat alone at a nearby table. “Reality is the so-called lucky ones finding somebody tolerable, getting married, and annoying the shit out of each other for decades, until one of them finally dies, leaving the other one an emotional void.”

Dad had been dead for decades, but Will remembered what their mother had been like before cancer obliterated the man. He had a singular, sharp memory of her sitting at their long dining table with Aunt Dorothy, laughing until she cried, her whole body shaking at some joke. He’d never heard her laugh like that again. It was like she’d shut off everything the day Dad died—the laughter, the warmth, the love. All she lived for now was the family business. Will tucked a finger into his shirt collar and pulled, making some room for the next swallow of whiskey.

Justin stared at him for a long moment, and then shook his head. He drained his water glass and stood. “Before I return to my glowing bride, who is infinitely better company than you, let me remind you that even when our father was alive, our mother was never a naturally happy woman, and despite all the bad things that happened to me, I’m here, happier than I ever dreamed I could be.” He squeezed Will’s shoulders. “I’d rather be mayor of Harmony Falls with Alice by my side than President of the United States with Morgan Parrish any day. Sometimes when you lose you win.” After one more squeeze, he walked away.

Will sat there, polishing off the whiskey. His gaze wandered back to Kory who seemed to be using her parents as a shield, but not shield enough for him to lose sight of her completely. Her long arms remained locked at the elbows, and her bare shoulders were tight and square. He pushed fingers against his throat and rubbed at some sort of discomfort as she tossed her head side to side, the blunt ends of her straight hair whipping her jawline.

She looked at him, an icy glare that changed before she looked away. It didn’t soften, but it definitely lost some of its intensity. And when she looked at him again—fast enough for him to miss it if he blinked—it was something else entirely. Pricks of pleasure scattered across the back of his neck and crawled onto his face. And they were perplexing as hell, because she hated him. Didn’t she? She’d barely talked to him all weekend.

Let’s think about this for a minute…
But the liquor melted more than everything in its path, turning his belly into a bucket of jelly and his brain into a dehydrated sponge. He reached for an unattended plate of wedding cake and polished it off.

“I totally take offense to people not dancing at my wedding.” Alice seemed to come out of nowhere, plopping down in Kory’s chair and grabbing the long-stem glass of champagne Kory had neglected.

“Did my brother tell you to come over here and
glow
on me so I’d quit being a wallflower and find a suitable dance partner?”

“He may have mentioned you being moody.” She drank, leaving a vivid lipstick print on the rim. “I also saw you talking to Kory, which didn’t seem to end well. Were you picking on her again?”

“More like reminiscing,” Will lied, dropping the fork and rubbing a palm against the back of his overheated neck. He told himself not to, but he lifted his gaze to the lady in question. She was still dancing, if that was what one could call it. It was more like jerking with a little thrusting thrown in, and…
damn
. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“You know, if you keep picking on her, she’s going to think you like her.”

His nose twitched as he looked at his new sister-in-law. “We’re not in elementary school, Alice.”

“Exactly. So grow up, Will. Stop looking like you want to pass her a note that involves checking yes or no.” She swatted his arm and threw back her head for a cackle. “Or is that how you ask all your dates out? Because it might explain why you never seem to have any…” She batted pitch-black eyelashes and pursed her lips.

He did not want to talk about his lack of a meaningful social life or the fact that he felt more comfortable with things he could measure and compute. Who wanted to spend life tethered to something abstract like what another person thought and felt? It was too subjective for him—too ripe for real rejection. Fortunately, as a wealthy, decent-looking, single man, he didn’t have to risk much to find a willing woman for his bed. The hard part was dealing with her disappointment when she realized he wasn’t going to change his mind about having anything close to a relationship. That sort of thing just wasn’t for him.

“I’m perfectly happy being single, Alice. I can work as many hours as I like, close as many deals as I can, and I don’t have to worry about sharing the profits with anybody.”

“Sounds lonely,” Alice said, adding a pout.

If Will were being honest, he’d admit sometimes it was, but lonely was a hell of a lot easier than finding someone whose eyes didn’t glaze over when he started talking about the law of diminishing marginal returns. That sort of reaction was no ego boost, and it was exhausting trying to hide part of him simply so he could keep somebody by his side. It was better to keep things casual. That way nobody got to know what was buried beneath the Mitchell polish.