The Spiral Path (20 page)

"Because
they'd assume I inherited Clementine's estate, like you just did?"

"You
weren't her heir?"

"She
never updated her will after I was born, and almost everything went to good causes.
Save the whales. Battered women. Animal rescue. My grandparents disliked what
she did so much that they refused to contest the will on my behalf."
Rainey smiled. "I'm glad, actually. Clementine did set up a small trust
fund when I was born, and the income from that helped me support myself when I
first moved to Los Angeles. I think if I'd inherited her whole estate, it would
have been a straitjacket."

He
envied her casual dismissal of a fortune. For him, money was his shield and
fortress, protecting him from the world. "You inherited her voice, which
is quite a legacy. You could be a singer if you wanted."

"Not
really. Clementine's voice was much bigger, and she was a real musician who
sang from her soul. I'm not on that level."

He
compared her delicate features with what he remembered of Clementine, who had
been a robust, earthily sensual woman. "It's not obvious, but now that
you've told me, I can see some resemblance to your mother. You must look more
like your father, though."

Hearing
the unspoken question, she said flatly, "Haven't the foggiest idea who he
was. Maybe Clementine didn't, either. She had a very ... liberated
lifestyle."

"And
it cost her her life. Such a great, great waste."

"Indeed."
She gave a humorless smile. "I was the one who found her body after her
drug overdose."

"Dear
God, Rainey." He pulled her close, aching to dispel the terrible pain
expressed in her taut body. No child should have to endure what she did. Yet
she had survived, and successfully engaged with life on her own terms.

Now
he understood the mysterious resonance between them. Coming from different
countries, different social levels, unimaginably different upbringings,
nonetheless they had much in common. No wonder she affected him as no other
woman had. Maybe ... perhaps with Rainey...

Swiftly,
before he could remember all the reasons this was insane, he said, "Marry
me, Rainey. We can drive to Nevada tomorrow and be married by dinnertime."

She
pulled away and stared at him. "Marriage? Why, because you pity me?"

"No.
Because becoming husband and wife says we want to be together whenever we can.
Isn't that true?"

"I
... I thought we were just having a fling. Fun, no complications, and go on our
merry ways."

"Is
that what you think the last week has been about?"

She
bit her lip. "No, but I'm not the marrying kind, and neither are you. Our
careers are too demanding to have time for family life. What kind of marriage
starts with the spouses halfway around the world from each other?"

"One
where they both intend to get together again as soon as possible." He
kissed her breast, feeling the nipple tighten against his tongue. "Maybe
it won't work, but isn't risking failure better than not trying at all?"

A
week of sensual abandon had taught him exactly what she liked best. How to
touch, how to kiss, how to build desire until she cried out uncontrollably.

Until
she whispered, voice breaking, "If it's what you truly want--yes, Kenzie,
I'll marry you."

It took ten minutes
to get a marriage license--thirty-five dollars, cash only--at the Washoe County
Courthouse in Reno, Nevada. The process would have been quicker if the clerk
hadn't recognized them. "Oh, my God, it's Raine and Kenzie!" she
gasped as her gaze went from the application to their faces.

Kenzie
repressed a sigh. Celebrity meant having everyone call you by your first name.
"Indeed. Is there a wedding chapel you would recommend where we might be
able to married without waiting?"

"Celebrate
Chapel is real nice and only a couple of miles away. I'll call and see if they
could fit you in," the clerk offered.

The
chapel was not only available, but could provide rings and flowers, and it
turned out to be in a pretty Victorian-style house. Under the excited gazes of
the husband-and-wife proprietors, Rainey chose a beautiful bouquet of white
roses and silver ribbons. She was almost as white as the flowers, but her eyes
glowed.

After
they selected plain gold wedding bands from a range of sizes, it was time.
Kenzie's memories of the actual service were sketchy, apart from the fact that
he had a death grip on Rainey's hand, fearing she'd change her mind. This was
the most foolhardy thing he'd ever done. He'd never wanted anything more.

Voice
resonant, the minister intoned,
"I now pronounce you man and
wife."

In
the flowing green dress she'd worn at the London wrap party, Rainey was the
most beautiful bride Kenzie had ever seen, but she was trembling when he kissed
her. He enfolded her in his arms, stroking her amber hair until the shaking
stopped. "We'll make this work, Rainey," he whispered. "We can,
and we will."

Smiling
tremulously, she took his hand, and they walked outside into a seething crowd
of reporters and onlookers. Kenzie swore to himself. Either the courthouse
clerk or the chapel owners must have called every TV and radio station and
newspaper in the Reno area, then every one of their friends and neighbors.

Microphones
stabbed toward them like spears and question pounded in from all directions.
The loudest voice bellowed, "How did you get Kenzie Scott to marry you,
Raine?" The tone made it clear that he was a prize, and she was a nobody.

Swearing
to himself, Kenzie wrapped an arm around her shoulders, walking them both
toward the car. "That's the wrong question. The correct one is how did I
manage to convince the loveliest, most intelligent woman in the Northern
Hemisphere to be my bride? And I think the answer is that I was very, very
lucky."

Rainey
gasped when a particularly aggressive reporter shoved her aside, crushing the
bouquet against her chest as he jammed the microphone in Kenzie's face.
"Where have you two been hiding for the last week?"

Seeing
no reason to reward rudeness, Kenzie ignored the man and answered a question
from a woman with better manners. The crowd was coagulating in front of them,
and Rainey halted, unsure how to proceed. More experienced with press mobs,
Kenzie cleared a path with his free arm, surreptitiously crunching down on the
foot of the rude reporter. "Keep moving," he murmured in Rainey's
ear. "If we stop, they have us."

She
nodded and managed to answer the next question, an innocuous one about making
The
Scarlet Pimpernel
together. As they neared the car, a cloud of soap bubbles
drifted toward them, blown by a group of giggling teenage girls. Surrounded by
fragile, popping bubbles, Kenzie used the keyless remote to open the passenger
door. He bundled Rainey inside and locked the door instantly so no one could
open it again.

He'd
have liked to drive over the whole damned lot of them, but experience had
taught him that a measure of cooperation worked much better. Before getting
into the car, he said in his best stage-trained voice, the one that could carry
to the cheapest seats in the back of a theater, "Ladies, gentlemen. This
is a very special day for Raine and me. I hope we have your best wishes."

That
disarmed the reporters enough that they allowed Kenzie to slowly maneuver the
car away. He turned at the first corner into a residential area, weaving among
the streets until he was sure they weren't being followed.

When
they were safely away, he glanced at his bride. Rainey was staring down at her
crushed bouquet, her face pale. "What have we done, Kenzie?" she
asked in a low voice.
"What have we done?"

"The
right thing, I hope." He captured her tense left hand and carried it to
his heart. "Thank you for marrying me, Rainey. Wife."

She
gave him a fragile smile. "Will it always be that bad?"

"No.
We're a new item, and far more interesting as a couple than either of us were
individually. Soon we'll be old news."

"I
hope you're right." They had survived the first assault on their marriage.
But they never quite recaptured the uncomplicated joy of that week on the
California coast.

The New Mexico night
was turning cold. Wearily Kenzie rose from the balcony chair and went back
inside. It would have been better by far if he and Rainey had never married.
For himself, he couldn't be sorry, despite the agony of losing her. Better this
pain than emptiness.

It was subjecting her to equal pain that was unforgivable.

CHAPTER 11