Page 117 of Confessions

Holding his bride at arm’s length, Hayden winked at her, then, as the piano player began playing, they walked between the beribboned chairs and mingled with their guests.

“Don’t you just love a wedding?” Heather said on a sigh. Her blond hair was curled away from her face and she wore a shimmery pale blue dress that didn’t hide the fact that she was pregnant again. Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, she sighed. “It’s so romantic.”

Her husband, Turner, looked at his wife and clucked his tongue. “Women. Emotional.” He grinned irreverently and Heather rolled her eyes.

“Men. Stoic.”

“That’s me,” Turner replied, but he linked her hand with his as their son, Adam, ran toward the tiered cake and punch bowl to take stock of the refreshments.

Jackson laughed as they walked past the den. “Bring back memories?” he whispered to his wife, though Carlie overheard and understood that he was talking about this very room where Jackson and Rachelle had taken refuge, where they’d first spent the night together, where Jackson had been hiding when he’d been hauled into the sheriff’s office for questioning the next morning.

“Great memories,” Rachelle said, blushing slightly. Her hazel eyes twinkled wickedly. “I just wonder why Deputy Zalinski wasn’t invited.”

“You’re trouble, Mrs. Moore,” Jackson said as he guided her away from the crowd.

“Absolutely,” she replied while Carlie, wanting some time alone, wandered toward the stairs where Nadine and Hayden were posing for “spontaneous” snapshots. Velma clicked off a picture as Nadine’s boys, John and Bobby, rushed into the foyer.

Bobby tugged on his mother’s skirt. “Katie Osgood’s trying to sneak some of the champagne,” he said, his eyes wide.

“Is she?” Hayden said. “Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”

“That girl’s a wagonload of trouble,” Velma said, rewinding her film.

John yanked at his bow tie. “Troublemaker,” he snarled at his younger brother.

“It’s true!”

“Yeah, and it’s true that you’re a dweeb!”

“Later, boys,” Nadine said, but Hayden glanced pointedly toward the fountain and a girl of about nine or ten dashed quickly out of the room.

The older boy, John, saw Carlie for the first time. “You’re—”

“John, this is Carlie Surrett,” Nadine said. “We’re really glad you could come.”

“Thank you,” Carlie replied, then shook John’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“She’s a model,” Bobby supplied.

John’s face wrinkled and he glanced up at his mom. “Is she the one who posed for the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated?”

“Don’t I wish,” Carlie said, and John grinned.

“Forgive them,” Nadine said as her sons caught up with a group of other children about their age.

“Nothing to forgive.”

“They’re pretty impressed with your life.”

“If they only knew,” Carlie replied, thinking of the loneliness she’d felt in New York. “Believe me, it’s not as glamorous as it seems.”

Nadine and Hayden were called away and Carlie found herself alone. She wondered where Ben was, decided it didn’t matter and wandered over to the fountain for a glass of champagne. Just a little while longer, she told herself as she sipped from a fluted glass and took a seat on a window ledge near the stairs. Then the ordeal would be over.

* * *

BEN TRIED TO keep his eyes off Carlie. After all, there was no reason to torture himself. If she felt she had to make a statement and show up, who gave a rip?

His father, for one. George had declined giving his daughter away, proclaiming that one time was enough. He’d blamed every member of the Monroe family for stripping him of his life savings. Though Hayden Garreth Monroe III and Thomas Fitzpatrick were solely responsible for the scheme, George still blamed everyone associated with the rich men. Including Nadine’s new husband whom he considered “a spoiled playboy with too much money and too little sense.”