Secondhand Bride (The Almost Wives Club Book 2) Read online

  He nodded.

  Her forehead creased in puzzlement. “What are you doing here? Ted’s not here anymore.”

  “I know. I’m staying in the pool house for a while.”

  “You’re staying here?” There was a big uplift on the last word, as though she was more than surprised. Maybe as horrified to find him here as he was horrified to find her here.

  “Yeah. You okay with that?” Might as well find out now if there was going to be an issue before he typed ‘Act One, Scene One, Fade In.’

  She tossed her head and a spray of water scattered. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she responded, all tough girl and I-eat-boys-like-you-for-breakfast.

  “No reason.”

  “Okay.” There was a tiny pause. He had no idea how to fill it. Finally, she said, “You mind if I swim in your pool? I come out here most mornings.”

  “No. Of course not. And it’s not my pool, it’s your Uncle’s. He said I could stay here for a couple of weeks. I’ll be working.” Which he hoped she took as a hint not to be dropping by for coffee.

  “Good luck,” she said as though she couldn’t care less. And then, with a wave and a splash, she was powering through the pool in the opposite direction.

  He stared after her. How had he never considered the possibility that Ashley Carnarvon would still be living with her mother at her uncle’s place? He knew his math was right when he calculated her age at twenty-five. Ten years since he’d been a twenty-year-old college senior, full of himself, and she’d been the teenage girl who worshipped him. Did she really still live here? With luck she only dropped by to use the pool.

  With luck. And luck sure hadn’t been his close companion lately. Who could he ask to find out if Ashley had ever shown suicidal tendencies?

  He could still hear her rhythmic splashing as he strode up the path to the entrance of the pool house and walked inside. It wasn’t large, but it had everything he needed. Namely, a power source, Internet connection, a rudimentary kitchen and a full sized bathroom. There was a king sized bed in a separate room. Big windows overlooked the pool, and the bar was bigger than the kitchen.

  He set up his computer on the kitchen/dining table, a bamboo and glass affair that seemed to be all the rage in beach-house décor. He poured himself a mug of fresh coffee and settled into the oversized bamboo armchair that made him feel as though he were at a resort in the Bahamas.

  He powered up his computer and opened a new file:

  Act One, Scene One.Fade In.

  The main view from the pool house was, naturally, the pool. There were louvers above the big picture window that he’d left open, as he found them. They let in fresh air. They also let in the sounds of a swimmer.

  Fade In.

  Sounds of a gun fight.

  How could he think about a gunfight on dark, gritty streets when the sounds of a California girl swimming laps in a pool were drowning out his concentration?

  He contemplated shutting the louvers but that would mean he had to stand in front of the window and she’d probably hear or see what he was doing. He didn’t want Ashley Carnarvon thinking she had any affect on him whatsoever. He’d get used to the distraction. It was a pool house. People were going to be swimming. He grabbed the leather journal where he kept notes and reminded himself to invest in some earphones. He never worked to music like some writers did, but he’d get the kind that doubled as earplugs. He made a note of that, then went back to his laptop.

  Fade in.

  Sounds of a gunfight.

  Wide shot of a warehouse. Interior shot. Meat packing plant.

  Seriously? Meat packing plant? Where had he studied film? The college of cliché?

  He deleted the phrase.

  The sounds of splashing slowed to a few drips. He glanced up without intending to, to see Ashley haul herself out of the pool in one graceful motion that highlighted strong, lean arms, a muscular torso, and a backside that made his mouth go dry. She got to her feet and grabbed a big, blue beach towel. He could see the water running down her body. A gorgeous body. Athletic and toned. Nothing waiflike about her. Her ample breasts were showcased by the green bikini. A belly ring sparkled.

  She was a solid woman, with hips and thighs and curves where curves should be. As he stared like a fool in a peep show, her gaze rose and before he could thrust his attention back down to his computer screen, she was staring into his eyes. He saw challenge, and an attitude that said louder than words, ‘what do you think you’re looking at?’ If she were a kid she’d taunt, “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.” But they weren’t kids. And he was pretty sure he had snapped a mental picture that would last much longer than he wanted it to.

  ***

  Ashley took her time sauntering back to the cottage she shared with her mom, on the outside acting as though she hadn’t a care in the world, but inside she burned with humiliation. Maybe a decade had passed but she hadn’t forgotten the way she’d followed Ben around the summer he’d come to stay. She’d been crazy, out of her mind crazy about the guy. At twenty, he had seemed wildly sophisticated, and she could still remember how he’d looked bare-chested, laughing as he and Ted headed out surfing. He hadn’t kicked her to the curb when she’d been so obviously smitten with him. He’d been nice to her in an I-feel-sorry-for-the-lovesick-loser way that was somehow worse than if he’d been cruel. At least then she’d have recovered from her crush a lot faster.

  Well, she was grown up now and, luckily, engaged to be married, so he could take his pervy gaze and shove it. It had been nice, though. There’d been that one moment when she caught his gaze on her, and even through the plate glass window she’d known he was seeing her as a woman. Finally. He was still hot. No, hotter now he was all grown up. But she was getting married soon and that hot Hollywood screenwriter could write her out of his script.

  Chapter Four

  BEING THE POOR RELATION SUCKED, Ashley Carnarvon thought as she was pinned and tucked into her new hand-me-down wedding dress. On the plus side, the fancy gown had cost many thousands of dollars and was a designer one-off. On the minus side, it looked like crap on her.

  “And to think, it’s never even been worn,” her mother gushed, grateful as always for the handouts of her illustrious relatives.

  “Not sure that’s a big bonus in a wedding dress,” she said. Who could forget the drama and intrigue when the Most-Perfect-Bride-Ever had scampered off right before she got married in this very dress? Ashley chuckled at the memory. The normally placid Carnarvon family had been more fun than a reality show for a while.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually getting married,” her mother continued, pretending she hadn’t heard the snarky comment. Ashley and her mom used creative deafness a lot to keep their relationship smooth. Her mother had a kind of wistful look in her eyes. She’d never had a wedding; the prince who was Ashley’s father hadn’t waited around long enough.

  “Neither can I.” She felt a little fluttery looking at herself in the triple mirror, but that could have been lack of oxygen. She must be at least a dress size larger than Kate.

  She saw herself reflected in the dress and felt as though she were finally finding direction in her life. She’d marry Eric, finish her degree, get some kind of job, maybe have kids.

  It was surprisingly fun being engaged. People said nice things and asked her where she was registered, which meant gifts. She’d never even had a home of her own and now she and Eric were choosing everything from cutlery to china to linens. She’d talked about going away to college, but it was so expensive and her mom didn’t have the money. She didn’t feel like taking on a lot of debt, so she stayed at home and went to local college and worked part time.

  It was going okay, but the idea of having a husband and a home with new things in it was kind of intoxicating.

  At that moment Evangeline breezed into the fitting room of her Rodeo Drive salon. Even though Ashley had seen her in countless magazine ads and on TV, Evangeline was still breathtaking up cl
ose, as though she’d rushed off a photo shoot to check on the gown.

  She swept forward. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a second bride in one of my gowns,” she said in her clipped British accent, not sounding very pleased with the idea.

  She scanned Ashley from her deep blue eyes until it was all she could do not to squirm.

  “My inspiration was a lily,” she said sadly.

  All of them gazed again at her reflection. She did not resemble a lily. Her breasts were too large, her hips too round. This lily was bursting out of its vase.

  “Nothing to be done,” she said finally, turning to Melody. “Luckily, we’ve got Darling Delores to take the photos. That woman can make an elephant look slim. Really. It’s a miracle.”

  An elephant?

  “We’re really happy you could get her for the wedding,” Melody said. Then, like the loyal mother she was, she said, “And I think Ash looks beautiful in the dress.”

  “Well, obviously. But not, I think you’ll agree, like a lily.” The designer picked up Ashley’s hair and held it over her head. “When you go to the salon, tell Guillaume that I want the hair piled on the head. Up, up, up. Tell him he may need to add a hairpiece. We want the illusion of height.” She pulled Ashley’s hair straight up and stared critically at her reflection. “Yes. Good.”

  After a few brusque instructions to the two seamstresses working on the gown, Evangeline turned and swept back out again.

  “God,” she said to her mother, “What a terrifying woman. I’m not wearing a hair piece.”

  A quiver went through one of the seamstresses busy marking the places where the seams would be let out. It could have been laughter or terror, no way to tell.

  “Shhh,” her mom said, glancing back. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “I’m going out later. And luckily there will be alcohol.”

  Her mom grinned at her. “Wish I was going drinking. Grace and the wedding planner are coming to the house and, with Millicent’s help, we’ll figure out where to put the tents and the gazebo for the wedding.”

  “Do you need me?”

  “Do you want to be involved?”

  “No… I’m doing other important wedding stuff. First, meeting with the bridesmaids.”

  “Getting them drunk before you tell them about their duties? Or after?”

  She made a seesaw gesture with her hand. “We’ll see how it goes.”

  Sienna and Whitney were her two best friends and they’d always said they’d stand up at each other’s weddings. None of them would have guessed she’d be the first to marry. She arranged to meet them at Wainright’s, one of their favorite hangouts downtown. The beer was cheap, the décor was funky and the crowd was young.

  She got there first and secured a table. Sienna showed up a few minutes later. Her hair was wet, and things trailed out of her backpack where she hadn’t stuffed everything in properly. “Sorry, am I late?”

  “Not very.”

  “Drinks are on me tonight,” Sienna said, motioning to the waitress. Whitney joined them at that moment. “Champagne,” she announced. “We’re celebrating. I can’t believe you’re getting married.”

  “I know.”

  When the champagne was poured, Sienna said, “To Ashley for getting married and to Whitney and me for being awesome bridesmaids.”

  “To us,” Ashley said and then sipped her drink.

  Whitney leaned forward. “So, let’s see the ring.”

  She showed them and they dutifully admired the solitaire.

  The three of them settled in and took a few minutes to catch up, though they all posted to social media enough that there wasn’t much they didn’t already know about each other.

  Whitney was an articling student who also taught yoga and lived with Bradley, the neediest male Ashley had ever met who was weaned.

  Sienna was interning at a music magazine and spent most of her time at parties, which she claimed was an important part of her business. She called it networking. Ashley called it drinking on the company’s dime. Not that she was complaining. Sienna had invited her along to a few of the events and they’d been a blast.

  “I am so glad to have some time with you two. I feel like my life has been taken over by other people organizing this wedding,” Ashley said.

  “I know. And we’re totally here to help.” Whitney looked as though she’d have blown the evening off if she could have. She probably had briefs to prepare from the down dog position while cradling Bradley and telling him everything was going to be fine. Bradley was a struggling musician, or at least he called himself that, though the most struggling he seemed to do was getting out of bed in the morning.

  “You’re my best friends, so I can tell you anything, right?” she said, leaning in.

  “I knew it!” Whitney cried to Sienna. “Didn’t I say?”

  She leaned forward and dragged Ashley’s beer to the center of the table. “And you shouldn’t be drinking in your condition. Don’t you ever read those signs posted in public bathrooms?”

  “I am not pregnant!” she yelled.

  A guy was walking buy holding a beer mug in each hand. “Do you want to be?” he asked, looking ready to volunteer for the job.

  “No!”

  “Kay. If you change your mind, I’ll be over there.”

  Seriously flustered, she dragged her drink back and took a hit.

  “What is it you want to talk about?” Sienna asked, as though Ashley being pregnant had never crossed her mind.

  “Making sure you save the date and figuring out when we can look at bridesmaid dresses.”

  Whitney pulled out her smartphone. “Good, I’ll schedule the wedding in now. When is it?”

  “Seven weeks from Saturday.”

  Whitney stopped and stared at her. “You’re definitely not pregnant?”

  “No! Our mothers are all excited and seem to be planning the entire thing without us.”

  “I hear that happens all the time,” Sienna said. “People always say it’s the bride’s day, but from what I hear, it’s the mother’s day.”

  Whitney nodded. “Okay, scheduled. And I found this great new bridesmaid app for listing out and planning what we’re each supposed to do.”

  “Great,” Sienna said, pulling out her own phone. “Send me the link and I’ll download it too.”

  “Dresses.” Whitney sighed. “You don’t have much time. You need to get your wedding gown first.”

  “I have my wedding dress. Evangeline designed it.”

  “Oh, I loved her in that movie,” Sienna said, “that British one. She’s gorgeous. I hear her wedding dresses are impossible to get and cost more than a facelift.”

  “All true, but I already have an Evangeline gown.”

  “Holy crap. Really? An actual, designed-by-Evangeline creation?”

  “Yes.” She drank more champagne. She and Whitney and Sienna went way back, but like most of her friends who’d grown up in their zip code, they were rich. Even though they totally got that she wasn’t, it was still hard sometimes to admit how much of her life had been handed down. “Remember when my cousin Ted was supposed to get married? And didn’t?”

  “Hells yeah,” Sienna said. “It was the big gossip at the golf club for weeks.”

  “Golf club?” Whitney asked.

  “My mom and dad are addicted.”

  “Anyway,” Ashley continued, “Evangeline designed a wedding gown for Kate Winton-Jones, the girl Ted was marrying.”

  “Didn’t she run off with a guy she picked up in a bar?” Sienna asked.

  “I heard he ran off with a hooker,” Whitney answered.

  “Anyway, the point is, that the dress ended up at Duncan and Millicent’s place. Kate didn’t want it and her mother didn’t want it, so Millicent gave it to me for my wedding.”

  “Wow, pretty nice gift.”

  “I know. I had a fitting today.” She pulled out her own smart phone. “I got my mom to take some pictures of me in it.”


  They eagerly grabbed her phone and put their heads together over it. Whitney scrolled through the four photos her mom had snapped. “What a gorgeous dress,” Sienna said at last.

  “It looks like crap on me, doesn’t it?”

  Sienna was a terrible liar. Her face kind of squished up and she didn’t look at Ashley when she said, “No, it’s weird to see you all dressed up like that is all. Not your usual style.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you got an Evangeline gown.” She glanced up. “This is really happening, isn’t it? You and Eric?”

  “Sure seems like it is.”

  Whitney pulled out a tablet computer from her big bag. “Let’s be efficient about this. I bet we can find bridesmaid dresses online and order them in our sizes. Such a better use of our time than spending a day shopping.”

  While she scrolled, Ashley said, “Can you make it to the engagement party? That’s two weeks from now.”

  Whitney’s forehead creased. “I can move some things around and at least make an appearance.”

  Sienna nodded. “I’ll be there for sure.”

  “Good.”

  Then they leaned in. “Okay,” Whitney said, “so tell us everything. Where are you going to live? Honeymoon?”

  Sienna raised her eyes from the tablet’s screen. “You didn’t even tell us what he said when he proposed. I want all the details.”

  Luckily, since her proposal story was the least romantic in history, Sienna was easy to distract. “That guy at three o’clock is totally checking you out.”

  Sienna tossed her hair then didn’t seem sure which way to look. “Really? My three o’clock or your three o’clock?”

  “Mine.”

  While Sienna pretty much searched the full clock face, Whitney, the more practical of the two, said, “Now that Ted’s not living in the pool house, can we crash there on the night of the engagement party?”

  She felt warmth crawl up the back of her neck but tried to play it cool. “No. Didn’t I tell you? A family friend is staying in the pool house for a few weeks.”