Waking Sleeping Beauty (19 page)

However, the rumor still ran deep that Marcus, longing for a huge score for King’s, would stand in as the mystery groom. Another culprit alleged it was all a ploy to lure customers in and deceive the public. A grand scheme with no real wedding in the end. He had Mrs. King to thank for adding fuel to that fire as she leveled another shot at him.

Fake husband or no-show groom? Poor Francine would suffer either way.

With all the tension growing, he’d ditched the office nearly an hour ago and now found himself standing in front of Stu’s house. What better way to get his mind off Francie and the store than to move on with his partnership plans? He tapped the white envelope he held against his hand.

“Change of scenery,” he muttered. He tried the doorbell. Nothing. He knocked once, twice. He looked over at the Range Rover he’d ended up giving them as it sat in the driveway. “Come on. You’ve got to be here.” He pounded on the wood again.

Suddenly, the door thrust open. Stu, holding a screaming baby, greeted him. His hair stuck out and his shirt had streaks of something green across the front. “Yo, Marcus, what are you doing here?”

“I tried the The Grill. They said it was your day off.”

The baby’s cries stuttered as hiccups took over, but the noise level increased as two whirlwinds rushed toward them. The twins yelled and zoomed past their dad and smack into Marcus.

“Uncle Marcus.”

“No, Uncle Mac and Cheese,” the second one corrected, and then burst into shrieks of glee. His twin joined in.

Both of them hung onto Marcus’ legs. “Guys.” He rustled their curly-topped heads.

“We’re hungry.”

“Always,” their dad said, shaking his head. “Hey, buddy, help me out, will ya?” He lifted the eight-month-old. “Diaper change?” He nodded to the boys still hanging on Marcus. “Or feed these animals for me. Geena was called in to work today, so I’m watching them. Lend me a hand.”

Marcus laughed, tucking the envelope in his inside suit pocket. “You know my choice.” He lifted each leg over the threshold and half dragged, half carried the boys as he followed his friend inside.

Toys littered the floor, and baby bottles and baby food jars covered the counter-top. He shucked off his jacket and tossed it on one of the bar stools. “Name your poison.”

“Huh?” Big brown eyes looked up at him.

He turned to the other one, who looked equally confused. “Poison?” He grimaced.

“Figure of speech,” Marcus explained.

“What’s a figure ’o speech?”

Their dad chuckled. “Nothing fancy for these two, Marcus. PB and J.”

“No crust,” the one wiping his nose and clutching Marcus’ pant leg again said.

Marcus grinned. “Okay, buddy. Coming right up.” He looked at his friend. “I never thought this was your style.”

“Wife? Kids? Me, either.”

“So what gives?”

His friend pointed to the bread and jars lined up near the fridge, and then dug for a diaper out of the box. “You tell me. One minute I’m partying at this club and the next minute this hot chick—” He stopped himself. “Lady walks up to me and asks me to be the father of her babies.”

“You fell for it.”

“Head over heels. That was five years ago.”

Marcus stopped spreading jelly on a slice of bread. He watched his friend cooing at the baby, making her giggle and blow saliva bubbles. His friend kissed her tiny hand. With a stab of envy, Marcus watched Stu morph into a loving, caring dad with a giant grin on his face. He’d never seen him happier. “No regrets?” It wasn’t really a question.

“I never knew what I’d been missing.”

He’d known Stu for almost a dozen years, crossing paths as they both rose through the ranks of the restaurant industry and club scene. Great food, liquor, and beautiful women were frequent companions. The heady feeling propelled them both to seek more and live on top of the world.

Somewhere along the way, Marcus convinced himself that was success. Having everything he wanted and when he wanted it fed his appetite.

Now, with a start, he realized how alone he felt. There was no one to come home to, no one to share his hopes and dreams with, and especially no one who really loved him. Or was there?

***

Francine halted outside the door to the upscale beauty salon. Cold air rushed over her, making her huddle in her coat. But, she still stared into the reflection of the glass door.

It wasn’t what she saw that stopped her in her tracks. It was what she had to face on the other side. Not what, but who, she corrected herself.

A car’s horn blared nearby, snapping her out of her resistance. “Now or never,” she muttered under her breath as she stepped forward.

Dread followed her inside the warm reception area.

The young woman smiled. “Are you here for an appointment?”

She swallowed hard. “I’m here to see Mrs. King.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Ah, she’s under the dryer at the moment…”

Not waiting for a dismissal, Francine pasted on a tight smile and, using her mother’s commanding ways, brushed past the girl. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“But, but—”

She marched through the aisle of gawking hairstylists and to the alcove of dryers. Spotting her mother flipping through a magazine, Francine headed that way. She eyed the empty foot-stool in front of her mother, and then plopped down on it, facing the older woman.

“Oh my,” her mother shrieked, thrusting the dryer hood up and off her head. “Francine?” She blinked several times and then reached up to hide the purple rollers covering her head

Rarely did she see her mother this vulnerable. In the back of her mind, Francine realized she’d unconsciously chosen this neutral public place to ward off any further verbal attacks. She scooted closer, reaching over to twist the knob of the dryer. The whirling air halted. When she settled back, she came eye to eye with her mother.

Lines feathered out at the corners of her dark eyes. Her ruby red lipstick, perfectly applied, couldn’t conceal the slight pursing of her lips. There were traces of the great beauty she’d once been; however, the years of harping had taken their toll.

“Must you? Here? I’ll be done in thirty minutes. We can talk then.”

Francine didn’t like to see her mother like this, uncomfortable and awkward. Somewhere deep inside, she still wanted to protect her. Right now wasn’t the time, though. Bracing herself, she said, “Mother, you have to stop—”

“Stop what, may I ask?” She looked around, lowering her voice. “You’re making a spectacle out of us.”

“No more attacks on Marcus. Public or otherwise.”

Her startled look instantly turned into a scowl. “I warned you. You did not listen.”

“If it’s me you intended to hurt, you succeeded.” Her voice caught. She cleared her throat. “I love him.”

“You fool!” she spat.

“Probably.” She shrugged. “It’s not as if I didn’t know.”

“You’re not…” She glanced down at Francine’s belly. “In the family way?”

Francine chuckled, but it hurt. She shook her head.

Her mother sighed. “Good. Now, we won’t tell a soul. I’m sure Doctor Neal wouldn’t know the difference. Get him liquored up on your wedding night.”

Somehow she’d turned this all around again. “You’re mistaken, Mother. I’m not marrying Neal. In fact, if or when I do marry, it will be to the man of my choosing, not yours.” She sucked in a painful breath. “I came here to wash my hands of any trust fund, any inheritance, or even a dime you are trying to hold over my head. I don’t want your house or your things. I don’t want your money. I never did. I…I just wanted you to love me.”

“No money?”

She stared long and hard at the woman sitting opposite her. Obviously, she hadn’t heard the last. A well of sadness rose up in her chest. A cold dose of reality hit. She would never have the mother she longed for, because that woman didn’t exist any longer; she had died the same day Francie’s stepfather did. And all her dreams died that day, too. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? If you have your lawyers draw up the paperwork, I’ll be happy to sign them.”

“Is this a bluff?”

“No, Mother, this is goodbye.”

***

Over the next few days, Francie moved about with decided purpose. No longer burdened by the desperate need for approval, she threw caution to the wind. No request for a wedding seemed too bizarre now.

“Petting zoo?”

“That’s what they asked for.” Rico grimaced. “I am not picking up the poop.”

Francie agreed. “You’ve got your contact at the pet store?” She held out her hand for the slip of paper. “I’ll go and arrange it. While I’m gone, can you check with housewares for the engraved sterling silver doggie bowls?”

“Fido and Bow Wow or whatever that little scrappy one’s named will stand up for them. Can you believe that?” He tsked. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

She giggled. “Did you see the matching doggie outfits our wedding department created?”

“No way. Where? Let me see.”

“Under the counter. They came in just before you arrived.”

He raced to the area, snatching the lid off the box. “Oh my.” He picked the little white wedding dress up with two fingers and dropped it on the counter. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he shrieked as he nudged the little red panties.

“Just like the bride’s.”

“Ewww!” He grabbed a pencil. Using it, he hooked the panties on the end and maneuvered it back to the bottom of the box.

“They’re not going to bite you, but we can’t say that about Fido and FeFe,” she teased.

“Who’s biting who?” Evelyn asked, returning with three cups of coffee.

“Rico can explain the bite marks.”

“Funny, Francie, real funny,” he snorted.

“Thanks, Ev. I’ll have mine to go,” Francine said, tugging on her coat and snatching up her bag before she accepted the lukewarm, half-milk and half-coffee combo she’d come to tolerate for the kick of caffeine and energy. “If I’m not back in two hours, can you sub for me in the manager’s meeting, Rico?”

“Again? It’s only the third time this week,” he grumbled. He raised his eyebrows. “Avoiding someone tall, blond, and sexy as hell?”

Heat stung her cheeks. “Well, if you don’t want to sit across from him and drool, I can ask Evelyn to fill in.”

He held up his hands. “No, no, I’m good. I love eye candy just as much as the next woman.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Chuckling, Francie strolled through the store as she headed for the exit. She returned several employees’ cheery greetings as she went, smiling at Benny the doorman as he tipped his hat to her. With her mind still picturing the way Rico usually put his elbows on the counter and cupped his face in his hands while he gawked at Marcus and sighed, she sailed out the door and smack into the man filling her thoughts.

“Marcus,” she yelped, trying to shift the tumbling cup. Too late, coffee sprayed him and landed at her feet. “I’m so sorry.”

“Francie.” He grabbed her forearms to steady her. “Are you all right?”

Being this close to him again brought back a rush of exquisite longing. “Fine. It’s you. Your coat.”

He shrugged, glancing at the coffee stains. “No harm.”

But the damage was done. Her heart thumped in her chest.
God, he looked so good
. She met his stare and gulped hard. A flare of desire in the green depths sparked a need so deep and so wide inside her. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“How have you been?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

She dropped her gaze to those lips and remembered what they tasted like. “Do you want the truth?”

He chuckled. It came out more of a gruff than a laugh. “I can guess.”

“Mr. Marcus, Ms. Francine,” Benny called, rushing to them. “The cleaning crew are on their way.” He urged them away from the mess and offered to take their coats.

Marcus slipped his off, handing it over. “If you could just get Peg to send it to the cleaners, Benny, that would be appreciated.”

“Of course. Ms. Francine, I’ll take yours, too.”

Glancing down, she noticed the spots on hers, too, and then slid out of it. Marcus helped, reminding her how he’d undressed her before. She gasped at the feel of his hands, even through the thick fabric.

“Can’t forget either?” he whispered.

She caught his stare and nearly melted.

“It’s difficult to,” she said past the lump in her throat.

His soft ragged chuckle tickled her ear.

“Oh, wait,” she cried, and then searched in the right-hand pocket for the gold business card holder Marcus had given her. She shrugged at his intent interest, and then dropped it in her purse and out of sight.

“I’ll just get these out of your way.” Benny clutched both coats now. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“No, thank you, though,” Francie said, turning to the kind older man and smiling.

“Thanks, Benny.” Marcus nodded to him.

“Here’s the crew now. Won’t be long before they take care of this,” Benny said, rushing toward the men.

Marcus lightly grasped her elbow and steered her further away from the two men carrying buckets and mops.

He stood less than two feet away from her. His heat surrounded her. She couldn’t take this much longer. “Oh, I just remembered.” She fished in her bag and pulled out a pink and black envelope and handed it to him.

“An invitation to the mystery wedding? I received mine a few days ago when Rico and Evelyn handed them out at the manager’s meeting.”

Her cheeks warmed. She dropped her eyes to his wide chest. That wasn’t the best idea, either; she longed to reach out and caress the muscles underneath his shirt. “I know we agreed that it’s employees only, a celebration for all their hard work over the last few months and for putting up with the mystery wedding fiasco. But…” She bit her bottom lip. “I hope you don’t mind. I invited Dolly since she’s sewing the wedding dress and she’ll bring her boyfriend. And that’s an invitation for your mother and a guest. Wait, before you say no, she is a former employee and she loves weddings so much and she can see what a wonderful job you’re doing at King’s.”

His lop-sided grin caused her heart to tumble over. “She’ll love it. You’re very thoughtful. Thank you.”