WORTHY, Part 1 (20 page)

“Well, then the hard part’s over,” Rowan said, smiling as she helped me out of the dress. “Now you just relax and let me take it from here.”

Rowan got me set up in a chair while we talked about putting together the rest of my look.

“You have great hair,” she said, letting my curls loose from their rubber band. “I mean, rock star hair, honey. People come to me all the time wanting this kind of hair, and you’ve already got it. This hair is amazing because we can do whatever we want with it. You want to let it hang loose? Perfect. You want an up-do? Can do. What kind of mood are you in?”

The dress was so elegant—I didn’t want to hide a single detail.

“Maybe something up,” I suggested. “Nothing too fancy, though. I don’t want to outshine the dress.”

“Honey, believe me,” Rowan said. “You are going to be the full package. Something graceful and swept back, then. Coming right up.”

As Rowan worked product through my hair, one of her assistants fitted me with some gold strappy sandals that would work perfectly with my dress. When he departed, another assistant took his place, soaking my feet in a tub of warm water. It felt divine. Still another assistant took my hand and lathered it up with lotion before trimming the cuticles. Forget the spa. I could really get used to being pampered in the comfort of my own home like this.

I actually laughed imagining Rowan and her team coming out to the cottage to pamper me like this, as if I had anywhere as fancy as a Wharton family dinner to go to out in the woods.

“What’s funny, honey?” Rowan asked, peering at my reflection with her hands buried in my hair.

“Not a thing,” I said, smiling at her. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

“You deserve it,” Rowan said, giving my hair an affectionate ruffle. “I’ve heard that you’re something of a heroine.”

“Oh, really?” I asked, curious.

“Yes, indeed,” Rowan said. I was getting buffed and polished in so many places that I didn’t know what to focus on. I just let her voice wash over me. “The gossip is that you saved Jonathan Wharton’s life.”

“The gossip?” I asked, my eyes popping open. “Who’s gossiping?”

“For a big city, Chicago often has a small town feel,” Rowan said. “I’m a stylist. You wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff I hear—and see—sometimes. Anyways, there aren’t any real details about it—the Wharton family PR is seeing to that—but they’re saying that Jonathan Wharton wasn’t on a sabbatical or whatever they’re trying to call it. They’re saying that he was dreadfully injured, saved by a goddess, and returned to the Windy City a changed man.”

“That’s some pretty extreme gossip,” I said as mildly as I could, letting my eyes shut again so I wouldn’t give anything away. I remembered what Collier had said about the reputation of the company. They wouldn’t want the idea of having damaged goods as their CEO. Of course, I didn’t think that Jonathan was damaged goods. I fell in love with the man he was today, not the man he used to be.

“So you wouldn’t happen to know where he was for nearly half a year, would you?” Rowan probed.

I was loving all of this attention Rowan and her staff were giving me, but I knew I had to tread lightly here. It would bring me nothing but trouble if I talked about Jonathan’s secrets—and his inability to access his memories before the accident in the woods—to a veritable stranger.

“The person who would know best would be Jonathan,” I said serenely, happy to have my eyes closed. “You wouldn’t be doing his hair and makeup later, would you?”

Rowan laughed, clearly delighted. “I would jump at the chance,” she said, “if only Wharton men wore makeup.”

Sensing that I wasn’t going to give up anything, Rowan continued chatting about other clients she serviced. I only half listened, relaxing as an assistant massaged my feet before buffing them with a file.

I didn’t realize how late it was getting until Lucy interrupted my reverie, asking if I wanted a snack between now and dinner.

“What time is it?” I asked, admiring the way that my nails sparkled gold. They’d match my dress perfectly.

“About 5:30.”

My stomach curdled. “Are we going to be done in time?”

“Absolutely,” Rowan assured me. “Why don’t you eat a little something to calm your nerves?”

“Would either of you judge me if I had a little white wine instead?” I asked timidly. Food right now would sour in my belly, but a little liquid courage never hurt anyone.

“That a girl,” Rowan said, beaming, as Lucy left to phone it in. “Now, let’s just finish up this makeup. I noticed you already have some foundation and concealer on.”

“Yes,” I said, drawing the word out, trying to put off the inevitable question. Rowan was a stylist. She hunted for gossip. I was sure she was dying to know just under what circumstances my face had been irreversibly altered.

“Well, I’m going to let you in on my little secret,” Rowan said, brandishing something that looked like a svelte, futuristic gun. “Michelle, meet the airbrush. Airbrush, meet Michelle. You two are going to be fast friends.”

Before I could ask a single question, Rowan blasted me with it, making me squeeze my eyes shut. It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable, just different. When I opened my eyes, I looked transformed.

“Wow,” I said, eyeing the scar. “Wow.”

“Wow,” Lucy said, handing me the white wine.

“Wow, indeed,” Rowan said, beaming. “The airbrush is so pleased to make your acquaintance, honey.”

The scar was still there—just like it always would be—but the airbrush made the makeup lay down smoothly across it. It did wonders for my level of confidence. I was certain now that my scar wasn’t going to be the first thing that the Whartons would see.

I took a couple of quick sips of the wine before Rowan finished off my makeup. There were no cat eyes, thank God, and the shimmery gold powder and bronzer she used really did make me look like a golden goddess. Maybe that was what she’d been after all along—making me look like the heroine she was so sure I was. I didn’t feel heroic. As I’d explained to Jonathan and the Whartons, I’d simply done what needed to be done.

“Keep those eyes closed,” she said. “We’ll do a big reveal once we have you in your shoes and dress.”

I took one last drink of my wine, the alcohol warming my insides and making me feel a bit more confident, then closed my eyes obediently. The wine—and having my eyes closed—made it so much easier to bear people manhandling my body, even if they tried to be gentle. I was more than capable of dressing myself, of putting my own shoes on, but I could tell this was important for Rowan.

“Open your eyes,” she whispered in my ear, and I did.

The person who stood in front of me in the full-length mirror couldn’t be Michelle. She just couldn’t be me. My curls were swept away from my face, though a few loose ones tumbled artfully out of the chignon that Rowan had created. My makeup was just perfect, but the dress was the true gem. It hung on me perfectly, as if it had been made especially for my body.

“Is it safe to come in?”

Jonathan opened the door to his room cautiously, looking hot and classically handsome in his tailored tuxedo. When he looked at me, though, his mouth dropped open.

“How was work?” I asked stupidly, not knowing what else to say as he drank in my appearance through wide eyes.

“Worth it,” he said, approaching me slowly. “Worth every ridiculous second to see you look so stunning.”

Rowan swooned dramatically, giggling like a little girl at the handiwork she had wrought. But when Jonathan came even closer, reaching out to me, she swooped in and swatted his hand.

“Careful, now,” she said. “Let no man tear asunder what Rowan has put together. She looks lovely, doesn’t she?”

“There aren’t words to describe how gorgeous you are,” Jonathan said, making me blush heavily.

“Thank you,” I told Rowan as her assistants packed everything up. “Thank you so much.”

“You go get ’em, girl,” she said, winking cheekily at me before taking her leave. Finally, Jonathan and I were alone.

“I’m thinking that we should just skip this dinner,” he said, unable to take his eyes off of me.

“You better not, mister,” I teased. “I’ll call Rowan back in here and tell her you’re spoiling everything.”

“I just want you to myself,” he purred. “Is that a crime?”

“You can’t skip a dinner in your honor,” I said. “Besides, I spent the better part of today getting ready. I don’t want all this to go to waste, you know.”

“You mean you’re actually looking forward to the dinner?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“I didn’t say that,” I laughed, finishing my wine.

Jonathan groaned in envy. “I need a drink, too,” he said. “Where can I get one of those?”

“You can’t be as nervous as I am,” I said, shaking my head at him before straightening his bowtie a little. “You look very suave, Mr. Wharton.”

“I don’t hold a candle to you,” he said, appraising me. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“Your dress is beautiful, but I can’t wait to get you out of it later tonight.”

His vow made me flush, and I knew it wasn’t just the heat of the wine I’d just gulped. I pressed my legs together, completely turned on by the man standing in front of me. It was a sweet realization that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.

“Are you ready for this?” Jonathan asked, offering his arm. “It’s nearly seven.”

“As ready as I can be,” I said, smiling up at him. With Jonathan by my side, I could face whatever needed to be faced.

Even his family.

My bravado and surety faded as we took the elevator down to the first floor, Jonathan not trusting me to teeter down the stairs on my gorgeous heels. I remembered that Amelia and Jane had spent the whole day at the spa. Would their pampering outshine mine?

Even as the thought crossed my mind, I tried to dismiss it. It was toxic and wouldn’t do me any good. I just needed to be there for Jonathan no matter what.

We were the first in the dining room besides the staff bustling around. Lucy caught my eye and gave me a discreet thumbs up, and I smiled at her.

“Something to drink, sir?” Winston asked, materializing from wherever he stayed when he wasn’t waiting hand and foot on us. I could smell deliriously delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen and looked forward to the sumptuous meal that awaited us. Poor Jane. If she refused to eat in order to fit in her dress, she probably wouldn’t be able to partake in hardly any of the courses to come.

“Does white wine sound good to you?” Jonathan asked me. “Or what about champagne?”

“Mm, champagne might be better,” I said. “This is a celebration in your honor, after all.”

“Right away,” Winston said, ducking his head politely before walking off.

I itched to help as other staff members set out china and cutlery and crystal, but I knew any assistance offered would be refused. Frowning, I counted the place settings.

“How many people are attending?” I asked. “I thought it was just going to be your immediate family.”

“How many settings are there?” Jonathan asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Seven,” I said.

“Well, I think Violet is coming,” he said, frowning. “And maybe Jane has a date.”

“Oh,” I said. I hadn’t known about Violet coming, and took the proffered glass of champagne from Winston with a lot more relief than I’d intended.

“It’ll be fine,” Jonathan said, and I realized that I wasn’t doing a very good poker face.

“I’m not worried,” I said, smiling as brightly as I could for him while taking a sip of champagne. It tasted marvelous, crisp and comforting.

“Well, if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it. Jonathan Wharton. Long time, no see.”

We both turned toward the entrance to see a dapper young man swaggering through. He had sandy hair on the verge of being strawberry blond, and somehow made his very nice tuxedo look a little on the rakish side. It was something about the way he held himself.

“You’re going to have to help me out,” Jonathan said. “I think I’ve seen you in photos, but I’m not sure who you are. I’ve had a little lapse in memory since we’ve seen last each other.”

“So it’s true,” the man said, raising his eyebrows. “I’m Brock Davidson. We’re best friends. Well, we used to be best friends.”

“Did we have a falling out?” Jonathan asked, frowning.

“No, no,” Brock said, laughing. “There’s just this tiny thing of you not remembering me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said helplessly. “I don’t really remember anyone. Hope you don’t take it personally.”

Brock’s eyes fell on me. “Not at all,” he said. “And certainly not with this gorgeous creature on your arm. You must be Michelle, right?”

My face warmed as I realized that my reputation preceded me. What was the story Brock had heard? Was I the heroic goddess, or the bird in Jonathan’s love nest?

“That’s right,” I said, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Brock.”

Jonathan opened his mouth to say something, but a cacophony of chatter interrupted him. We all turned back toward the door just in time to watch Amelia, Jane, and Violet make their grand entrance.

Amelia was the only one out of the three dressed tastefully in a navy dress suit that fell just below the knee. Jane and Violet had shrugged off their wraps and stood in sparkling cocktail dresses. Jane’s was gray and gorgeous, fitting her so tightly that the tops of her breasts burst from the bodice, but Violet’s was acid green, hitting her well above mid thigh. She was all legs. Lucy had warned me about being underdressed for a Wharton dinner. I was beginning to suspect that I was overdressed—if the dress code called for maximum exposure.

“Well, look at these lovely ladies,” Brock drawled, stepping forward to give them all kisses. “Are we the lucky ones or what, buddy? I don’t think I’ve ever been in the same room as so many beautiful women.”

“Oh, stop it, Brock,” Amelia said, but I could tell she was pleased by the praise. “These two girls and I have had the most wonderful day at the spa, haven’t we?”

“It was so nice of you to invite me,” Violet said. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had a massage.”

“Nonsense,” Amelia said, smiling at Violet before directing a cool gaze at me. “You’re practically family.”

My smile froze on my face at Amelia’s chilliness. She’d invited Violet to the spa and left me to my own devices. If that wasn’t a slap in the face, I didn’t know what was.

“Why didn’t you invite Michelle?” Jonathan asked. “I’m sure she would have enjoyed herself too.” He was smiling, but a line of irritation bisected his forehead.

I hurried to head off any response Amelia could make, not wanting the issue to escalate.

“I would’ve had to refuse the invitation,” I said, careful to keep my voice bright and empty. “I’ve been holed up here all day with a stylist. It is so nice to be pampered inside the comforts of your own home.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at me while Jane and Violet gaped, but Brock saved them the indignity of having to counter with a loud guffaw.

“Score one for Miss Michelle,” he said. “You go, girl.”

“I wasn’t aware we were at one of your vulgar boxing matches, Brock,” Amelia said haughtily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go see to the chefs.”

“She means she has to go micromanage the chefs,” Brock said in a stage whisper, wiggling his eyebrows. I tried not to smile but failed miserably, forced to take another sip of champagne to hide my mirth. Had I really gotten the better of Amelia Wharton in that exchange? I was sure there would be many more for me to try my hand at.

“How are you feeling, Jonathan?” Violet asked anxiously, taking his arm and leaning into him. “I hear you’ve been having trouble at work.”

Trouble at work? That was news to me. Jonathan smiled and stepped back, his message gentle but clear.

“It’s just challenging getting back into the swing of things,” he said. “That’s all.”

He put his arm around me, and I was so happy I could’ve sung. Bring it on, Wharton family dinner. So far, I’d put Amelia in her place, Jonathan had reminded Violet of hers, and the champagne was making me feel invincible. Of course, the evening had started out with the ultimate snub: Amelia clearly picking Violet over me for “family time.” We hadn’t even had the first course and I was already playing an intense game of chess here.

“I brought over some boxes of photos and things, like we talked about,” Violet persisted, touching Jonathan’s shoulder again. Why couldn’t she take a hint? Jonathan had his arm around me, not her.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, maneuvering away from her so that he could retrieve his glass of champagne from a side table. “I’ll go through them and get them returned to you as soon as possible.”

“There could be some things in them you’d like to keep,” she pressed on, oblivious to Jonathan’s attempts to get away from her. “You can have them for as long as you want. Forever, even.”

Brock seemed to take pity on poor Violet.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, taking her on his arm. “I’m going to get us some drinks while you tell me all about that massage. Spare no gory detail. I want to hear all about how that naughty masseuse had his hands on you. Where’d he touch you?”

“It was a girl masseuse,” Violet said, letting herself be led away.

“Oh, do tell,” Brock said, his grin a poor disguise for a leer. I couldn’t figure him out. Was he slimy, or was he genuine? Could he be a friend to both Jonathan and me?

“Jane, why didn’t you all invite Michelle to go to the spa?” Jonathan demanded, his voice low and angry as Brock and Violet moved out of earshot.

“No, it’s really fine,” I cut in.

“It’s not fine.” Jane surprised both Jonathan and me by speaking up. “I told Mom to send Lucy for Michelle this morning, but Mom refused. She said she wanted to show Violet that we still valued her. I’m sorry. I should’ve stood up to her, but you know how Mom is.”

Jonathan shrugged helplessly, and Jane looked chagrined.

“Okay, maybe you don’t know how Mom is,” Jane said. “But I’m so sorry, Michelle. It was such a shitty thing of Mom to do, but that’s kind of who she is. You’ll get to know her, though you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

I was completely taken aback by Jane’s candor. Was she telling the truth? I could definitely see Amelia plotting to exclude me. She’d wanted me out of their lives from the get go. Was it possible that Jane could be my friend as well?

“Thank you for the thought,” I said. “But I really did have a good time with my stylist.”

“Who was it?” Jane asked. “You look amazing, by the way.”

“Rowan,” I answered. “I don’t know her last name, though.”

“Oh, Rowan is just Rowan,” Jane gushed, placing a hand over her cleavage. “And she’s great. How did you swing an appointment with her? She’s booked solid most of the time.”

“It just … happened,” I said, watching Lucy move around the dining room, putting the finishing touches on the place settings. How had Lucy gotten the stylist appointment for me? She must have some pretty awesome connections.

“Well, Rowan is a miracle worker,” Jane said, then gasped. “That’s not to say—I didn’t mean—it’s just your makeup’s so great—fuck me.”

“Best to stop while you’re ahead, Jane,” Collier rumbled, making his entrance. “You and Michelle are both visions and look very lovely.”

“Thank you,” I said, happy he’d stepped in when he did. “How was golf today?”

“A lot better than being primped and coiffed all day, I’ll tell you that much,” he laughed. “Do you know anything about the game?”

“I caddied for my father a couple of times,” I said. “Never really got into it, though. I just liked hanging out with him and being outside.”

“Well, you’re welcome at the club whenever you like,” Collier said. “I certainly won’t make you caddy for me, but the grounds are beautiful. You could drive me around in the golf cart, if you want to.”

“Sounds fun,” I said, beaming. Thank God for Jonathan’s father. He could just swoop in and make everything better.

“Everyone!” Amelia’s high voice rang out through the dining room, causing all chatter to cease. She gave Brock the evil eye as he continued laughing at something Violet had told him long after everyone else had fallen silent.

“Sorry,” he said, sniffling a little into his glass of champagne.

“I wanted to hold this dinner to celebrate my son, who was gone from us for so long,” Amelia said, looking lovingly at the man with his arm around me. Jonathan seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and squeezed me a little tighter. I didn’t mind one bit.

“I would’ve had a hundred people here tonight—that’s how joyful I am,” Amelia continued. “But we decided to have only the closest of family members and friends here today. It’s important to surround ourselves with family during such a time of upheaval.”

As she talked about family, Amelia gazed lovingly upon Violet, who smiled back. But when the word “upheaval” left her lips, Amelia leveled a stare at me. I didn’t need a translator to understand. The message had been blunt, and I had received it—Violet was Amelia’s choice for Jonathan, and I was just some usurper making everything go to hell.

“Jesus Christ,” Jane muttered. “Sorry, Michelle.” It both embarrassed and heartened me that other people were picking up on the hostile display. Maybe that would encourage some lines to be drawn and I could see just who our allies were—and our enemies.

“Something to add, Jane?” Amelia asked sweetly. I could practically taste the venom in the undercurrent of her voice.

“Just a tickle in my throat,” Jane said in the exact same tone. “Sorry for the interruption.”

“I hope we all enjoy the dinner and drinks tonight,” Amelia added. “But please don’t forget why we’re here—because my son is home safe. A toast to Jonathan.”

“To Jonathan and Michelle,” Jane added loudly as everyone else only murmured “to Jonathan.” She hoisted her glass in the air. “Because without Michelle, who knows what would’ve happened to him?”

Amelia gritted her teeth, and I could hear her grind them. “Don’t be morbid, dear,” she told Jane. “To Jonathan and Michelle.”

“Hear, hear,” Collier said, and we all drank the toast.

Was that score two for Michelle? I didn’t dare try to seek Brock out to see. Amelia appeared to seethe as she took her spot at the table beside Collier.

Thankfully, we all got caught up in the five-course dinner, swilling wine and champagne amid the different stages. It was divine and opulent, almost too rich to properly enjoy. Each course was presented as just a few bites on each plate so we could all appreciate the tastes the chefs had assembled.