Replacing Gentry (4 page)

Daniel spoke again. “Look, sugar, I’m not sayin’ that I will be the perfect husband. As a matter of fact, I’ll likely forget your birthday and our anniversary every now and again, and most nights I won’t even make it home for supper.”

A tear pushed its way from my eye and rolled down my cheek. “That’s okay,” I whispered, wiping it away.

“But I can guarantee you that I will never belittle you;
never
be unfaithful,” he promised with a hopeful smile. “And you can be assured that I will make love to you as many times and as often as you will allow me to for the rest of our lives.”

Chapter Four

O
ne Year Later

“Sugar.” Daniel’s shoulder brushed mine as he brought his lips to my ear, his breath warm and moist on my neck “You’ve hardly said a word all evenin’. Is everything all right?”

A shy smile tweaked my lips as my gaze swept the elegantly minimal decorations. Flickering candles peeked from boughs of simple greenery. Twinkling lights swaged along the top of the tent cast an amber glow over the fifty or so guests, the men stiff in custom-fitted tuxedos, the women dazzling in enough wealth to feed a small third-world country. Gorham sterling silver fanned away from Limoges antique china like a road map for the dinner to come. Waterford crystal flutes for champagne, wine and sparkling water sent diamonds of reflected light shivering across the Irish heirloom linens cascading over round table tops.

I would have gone for a more casual, earthy look with less sparkle, only no one had asked me. I’d asserted my opinion of course, but who knew that Gerbera daisies and white lilies were white-trash wedding flowers? My suggestion to use hydrangeas had been met with less offense but then dismissed without further explanation. What did a psychiatric social worker know about planning a proper Southern wedding?

I turned to Daniel, my lips touching his. “Everything’s perfect,” I said, because it was the truth.

An hour ago, I’d married the man of my dreams. How could it matter that I knew practically no one in the room and had nary a say in the planning of my own wedding? It wasn’t Daniel’s fault his mother and sister felt an incessant need to micromanage everyone around them—all the time.

“I don’t mean to sound cliché, but I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.”

Daniel’s dark blue gaze took in mine with a hint of irony. “Cliché or not, but by association that would make
me
the luckiest
man
in the world,” he said, the lines around his eyes folding into his olive skin.

Reaching over, he fingered one of the curls hanging loose from my updo. The stylist had wrangled my hair into a perfect jumble of soft ringlets, dotted with delicate white flowers.

“You’ve hardly touched your soup. Don’t you like lobster bisque?” he asked.

I looked down at the broth faintly steaming from the bowl in front of me. I’d never tasted lobster bisque. I picked up my bullion spoon.

“I’m just so overwhelmed by the wedding and everything that I forgot I was supposed to be eating.” I dipped the spoon in, scooped up a chunk of white flesh, and brought it to my lips. But before I had a chance to slurp it down, a low roar of laughter erupted from the table of teens next us.

Glancing over, I watched as the faces of Daniel’s twin sons reddened with the snickers they were holding back. Bridger and Bodie had only been eleven when their mother died. Though I’d been to Nashville more than a half dozen times in the last year, I knew very little about them. They were cordial to me when their father was around and all but ignored me when he wasn’t, which made it even harder for me to tell them apart.

Daniel shot them a look of censure. Bridger straightened (at least I think it was Bridger since he was the eldest and quicker to behave than Bodie), cleared his throat, and elbowed the arm of his brother. Bodie’s gaze lit briefly on his father, the devious smile on his lips easing slightly. Both boys had their father’s gentle smile, and though I’d never known her, I was keenly aware they’d inherited their mother’s brown eyes.

The soup hovering beneath my waiting lips had gone cold with my hesitation. I dropped the spoon back to my bowl. A moment later, a member of the catering staff reached in from my right to remove the bisque, replacing it with a plate of spring greens scattered with sugar-crusted almond slivers, plump raspberries, and tossed in a berry vinaigrette.

As the wait staff worked their way around the table, Anna-Beth leaned my way. “I can’t believe you got married before me,” she said for about the tenth time today, her lips pushed out into a full-blown pout.

I’d first met Anna-Beth in the dorms at San Diego State University. Angry with her father for registering her at Lipscomb without consulting her first, she’d taken off for the west coast determined to teach him a lesson by marrying a California liberal. Unfortunately for Anna-Beth, SDSU wasn’t exactly the place a respectable woman went to find a man willing to settle down; a matrimonial quest that continued to elude her.

“I’m happy for you and all, but I really didn’t see this comin’. You’ve never even cared ’bout gettin’ married before.”

“Just because I didn’t whine all the time about finding a husband, like
some
people, doesn’t mean I wasn’t interested,” I said, brushing off her stupefaction. “And I don’t understand you anyway. First you take off after college to join the FBI and then you quit to start med school. Honestly Anna-Beth, if you were really serious about marriage I’d think you’d have picked a career path that was more conducive to relationships.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Speakin’ of family, how does yours feel ’bout missin’ your weddin’? My momma would never talk to me again if I got married without her sobbin’ and carrin’-on in the front row.”

I looked away to hide the emotion staining my eyes. “I’m sure they would have liked to be here too, but they understand, especially since it will be another six months before they can be state-side again,” I explained, a prick of guilt snagging the trail of my words.

It bothered me more than I wanted to admit that they weren’t here. But with the Tennessee State Legislature back in session, and the increased time constraints added to Daniel’s already busy schedule at his record company, he’d been anxious to put an end to our long-distance relationship. And since I was unwilling to move in with him until we were married, we’d both decided it would be best to go ahead with the wedding.

“And my sister would be here if she could. But as you know, she’s not the least bit happy about me marrying a man
she
thinks I hardly know, not to mention moving hundreds of miles away. And since her baby came a full six weeks early, she couldn’t come see for herself how happy I am.” I lifted a shoulder. “So I guess you’re the only family I have here today.”

Anna-Beth patted my hand with a sympathetic smile. “And Daniel’s family. We’re all your family now, you know?” she said, and I wished I could believe it.

Sure Anna-Beth was like a sister, and since she and Daniel were cousins I supposed that officially made us cousins-in-law, but Daniel’s family? They seemed as distant as they’d been the day he’d first introduced us.

Anna-Beth gave me an inquiring look. “How are you gettin’ on with his momma?”

My gaze drifted across the table to my mother-in-law, my fingertips moving to touch the Garnet necklace belonging to Daniel’s grandmother his mother had given me as a wedding gift. She had russet-colored hair, teased and curled up around her neck, and sat with her back held perfectly erect as she lifted dainty bits of salad to her red lips. She’d moved to Atlanta when Daniel’s father died a few years ago so I’d only met her once prior to the wedding. Rumor had it, according to Anna-Beth, there was another man.

“Well, you’ve got to respect a sixty-year-old woman who still gets her makeup and pearls on by six a.m.,” I said under my breath. “And she takes her mothering very seriously, always gushing over the twins and Daniel. You know she cut the crust off Daniel’s toast the other morning right before she shooed me up stairs to ‘get my face on before seein’ my husband.
’
” I shot Anna-Beth an amused look. “I’m sure she means well, but I’ll be glad when this wedding’s over and it’ll be just me, Daniel, and the boys.”

With a flick of her wrist, Anna-Beth corrected me in a hushed tone. “Oh, honey, you’ve married a Southern man. It ain’t never gonna be just you and him. You marry Daniel, you marry the whole family. His momma and sister will be in your business from now on.”

I forced a chuckle. “Thanks for the warning.” I took a bite of salad, my gaze moving one chair from Daniel’s mother to his sister—Cooper.

Cooper Cannon Collins to be exact. Say that one three times fast.

Her head jerked toward me, sending a flow of dark auburn hair gliding up and over a slender shoulder. Her eyes, sapphire globes, were identical to Daniel’s, though unlike his, they held no warmth. She sent me a cool look before a comment from the man next to her magically swiped the grimace from her face, replaced by a sweet smile as she released an airy laugh.

“Why, Paul, you naughty boy, I had no idea you were such an authority on women’s intimate apparel,” she cooed, her frosty demeanor flipping to coyness at the attention of a gentleman.

Only I hesitated to put Paul in the gentleman category. His short frame, strong opinions, and overactive need to make others feel mentally inferior to him added up to an irritating Napoleon complex. He turned his beady eyes to me with a vague look that made me want to squirm, his mouth curling into a thin-lipped grin that reminded me of that gecko from the insurance commercials—cute on a cartoon reptile, unnatural on a real-life man. As it turned out, he and Daniel had been fraternity brothers at the University of Virginia. Now he was not only Daniel’s political advisor but also Cannon Record’s risk manager and a constant presence at my husband’s side.

The waiters moved in again, this time replacing my salad with a silver champagne-type bowl holding a ball of orange sorbet.

“But not to worry Marlie,” Anna-Beth said, daintily slipping a cool bite between her lips. “I’m determined not to die a lonely old spinster with no grandbabies for my momma to scold. She’d never forgive me.” She tossed a demure look over to a man sitting at the next table—Steven, the plastic surgeon from the ball. He and Anna-Beth were working on a biogenetics PhD together in conjunction with med school. From the looks of things, since the ball, all those late nights in the lab had ignited more than just shedding a little light into the origins of life.

“That’s the spirit—” I started to say when the feeling that someone was staring at me split my attention.

I didn’t need to glance over my shoulder to know who it was but I slanted him a look anyway. His sandy hair was messy over his forehead and the top of his head. His nose swooped down into a gentle hook over soft lips and a cleft chin.

“Anna-Beth, who’s that man over at the next table, the one with his tie undone?” I muttered, careful not to let Daniel hear me. I sensed he wouldn’t approve of my inquiry. “I think I’ve met him, but I can’t remember when.”

Anna-Beth pushed her blonde hair away from her face, shaking the straight strands down her back as she stole a subtle look. “Oh him, that’s Johnny Hutchinson. He’s a lawyer for Cannon Records and a close family friend so you’ll see him from time to time,” she said simply. “You may have met him in passin’ on one of your trips out here durin’ y’all’s engagement.”

I chewed my bottom lip, my heart notching up a beat or two. There was something about him, something unusually appealing. “I doubt it. I’m pretty sure I would remember,” I said, sneaking another peek in his direction.

“Shame on you,” Anna-Beth scolded in a harsh whisper. “Wipe that wanton look off your face before someone sees. Good heavens, Marlie, you just married the most eligible bachelor in the entire southeast,” she added, then the look of reproach in her baby-blue doe eyes quickly changed to inquisitive, indicating that her thoughts had switched to a more interesting subject—gossip. Speculation was Anna-Beth’s favorite hobby.

“Besides, Johnny’s no good. He left his wife and children a few years back. Rumor has it, he got this young singer pregnant and then dumped the poor thing, saying he wanted nothin’ to do with her, her career, or the baby. A few days later, she killed herself. Jumped from the top of the BMI buildin’. The whole scandal put the skids on that school benefit he was plannin’ with Gentry—” My eyes popped. “That’s him? The man Daniel’s wife was sleeping with?”

“Yes.” Anna-Beth scrunched her petite nose. “Johnny and Daniel used to be good friends, until . . . But since Johnny’s the golden boy of Cannon Records, and has brought in more talent, and made the company millions in the last five years alone, Daniel has no choice but to keep him around. Besides, none of the allegations against Gentry or Johnny were ever proven.”

Tilting closer, Anna-Beth lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “Some say that whatever was goin’ on between them may have had somethin’ do with the accident that caused her death,” she said then rolled her lips together.

“Is that a fact?” I was saying when, again, a waiter moved in, this time removing my sorbet, replacing it with a plate of beef tenderloin, spears of asparagus, and brown sugar-glazed yam medallions. I lifted my knife and fork, Anna-Beth’s words stirring my thoughts. This was the first time I’d heard Gentry’s death linked directly to the scandal.
Were the affair and the accident related somehow?

A member of the catering staff lost his grip of the tray he was carrying, sending a few half empty flutes of champagne to the floor. Droplets of golden liquid landed on Paul’s wife.

She stabbed the waiter with a scathing look. “Why is it so hard to find good help these days,” she said, her plump lips moving stiffly from what I assumed was too many anti-aging treatments. She dabbed a cloth napkin to the round cleavage bursting from the neckline of her gown. Her kind was common in Daniel’s social circle. The original wife turning herself into the trophy wife, in hopes of making herself irreplaceable.

The waiter mumbled an apology, his eyes flashing with injustice, an instant before he lowered his gaze and squatted down to retrieve the fallen crystal.

My heart began to race, driving an ache to the pit of my stomach. Pressing the heel of my hand to the arch of my ribcage, I attempted to suppress the pain. Such blatant disregard for the feelings of others in a casual, cold-hearted manner always elicited a strong physical response in me. A further confirmation that I was among strangers.

When the waiter moved away, Paul’s wife turned her wooden scowl into a smirk and aimed it at my husband. “So Daniel, Paul tells me that Nashville is finally goin’ to have a National League ball field.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened.

“Only if our deputy speaker will stop screwing around and send the appropriations bill to the floor,” Paul said teasingly, while his eyes met Daniel’s with a staid look.