An Unlikely Alliance (10 page)

Royce motioned for Evelyn to stand back as
he opened the door to their bedroom and peered down the hall. His
mother had left the entire house to them for their wedding night,
which he was more than pleased about.

And then he saw someone hurry down the
hall.

"Halt!" he cried, then realized that people
didn't really say that anymore. Must be the excitement of being
with Evelyn. Alone. At last. It was drawing him towards
madness.

The person in question turned around and
glared.

"Mr. De Jarlias?"

"Daddy?" Evelyn peered around the corner of
the door.

"Stuart," a hushed whisper was heard at the
end of the hall and than a giggle "Stuart, hurry up. We don't want
to get caught."

Royce cleared his throat and glared at Mr.
De Jarlias as his mother appeared through the adjoining
hallway.

"Just what are your intentions with my
mother, Mr. De Jarlias?" Royce's voice held a hint of humor.

Evelyn's father had the good sense to blush
as he looked at Royce's mother then back at his accuser. "About
that."

"You really were courting one another,
weren't you?" Evelyn's eyes widened in shock as her father looked
to the floor.

"Guess we have a lot to discuss later," he
said, finally meeting Royce's amused gaze.

Royce pulled Evelyn into a tight hug. "Well,
at least you're keeping it all in the family."

"Royce McArthur!" His mother's voice could
have shattered mirrors, it was so loud.

He lifted his eyebrow sending her a silent
message of "Calling the kettle black, aren't we?"

"We were just packing up something before
going to…" his mother looked to Evelyn's father for help. He
shrugged and let out a hearty laugh before walking over to where
she stood. "I asked your mother to stay at the De Jarlias house
while you two honeymooned."

"Chaperoned?" Royce asked.

His mother opened her mouth to say
something. Mr. De Jarlias answered before she had the chance.
"Naturally."

"Good," Royce said.

"Fine," Mr. De Jarlias barked back.

An awkward silence ensued as all guilty
parties looked around. Then everyone began talking at once.

"—Must be off, early day tomorrow."

"—Let me just grab my suitcase then."

"—It is, after all, our wedding night."

And then finally, a resounding, "Good
night."

As Royce shook his head and ushered Evelyn
back inside the room, he heard both parents mumbling something
about being chaperoned as they bounded down the stairs.

"So, I guess you want to gloat now?" Evelyn
said as she sat on the bed.

"Gloat?"

"Yes. After all, you were the suspicious
one. Remember, it started our entire whirlwind romance."

Royce grinned wolfishly at his wife. "And
it's for that reason alone that I don't chase after our parents and
give them a good talking to."

Evelyn lifted an eyebrow and brought her
delicate finger to the top of her neck, drawing his eyes to the
swell of her breasts. "Would you rather stay here and have an
adventure?"

"Yes," he croaked.

"Good, because I've been waiting for some
time alone with you."

"Uh
‐
huh." Her hands went to his chest
as she rained kisses across his jaw.

"And you promised it would be worth my
while…"

"I did." His body was pulsating with
heat.

"So…" She backed away from him and
immediately dropped the silk negligee from her shoulders, revealing
creamy smooth skin.

To this day Royce still couldn't recall what
in the blazes she had been talking about. But he didn't care. He
was in love. And his wife was perfect.

About the Author

Rachel loves to read almost as much as she
loves to write. She resides in the Pacific Northwest with her
husband and her dog Sir Winston Churchill. Although she loves to
write contemporary romance, her heart will always be with
historical and regency romances. Glittering balls and dangerous
rakes hold her captivated like chocolate and Starbucks. You can
follow Rachel's adventures on her blog, Twitter, or Facebook.

Also by Rachel Van Dyken

Prologue

Oh no. This is not
happening,
not
happening
!

I wipe my hands over my pleated skirt, a
nervous habit. Sweaty hands aren't attractive, or so Brad Macintosh
said when he held them during couple's skate my seventh grade
year.

It's my first choir solo ever. Why couldn't
it be our fall concert instead of our Spring Spectacular? I feel
ridiculous standing in front of the entire school with my mouth
gaping open trying to find a middle C. Not to mention the fact that
my mother, who is standing up in the front of the audience waving
with video camera in hand, forced me to wear a pleated skirt. Thus
the outfit is now screaming "uncool" on my lanky body.

Never am I this mean. But when I get
nervous, I tend to snap at people. All week I've been at odds with
my mom for taking pictures of me. She was literally documenting
every day of my life up until the big solo or as she puts it, "my
discovery!" Leave it to my mom to turn a junior high solo into the
performance of a lifetime, which will not only get her daughter
discovered, but will make her a best selling artist all before her
eighteenth birthday. Somehow I don't think MTV is going to be
knocking on our door anytime soon for the professional footage my
mom shot in order to do a "diary" on my life before I was
famous.

Nervous and sweating, I begin my solo,
praying I remember the words. When I finish, I felt like I'd run
the fifty-yard dash the way my heart is hammering, but then I
realize everyone is clapping. They're all clapping for me. I did
well!

In fact, people are beginning to stand up
and clap. I actually feel famous, like I'm a pop star giving my
first concert and people love me. THEY LOVE ME!

I bow and do a little curtsy just so they
know I'm still humble then wave like Miss America all the way back
to my seat with the rest of the choir. Blushing, I try to avoid eye
contact with the rest of the choir as they whisper, "good job". I
look humble, but I'm actually soaring because of how proud I am. I
actually did it! Now if only my mom would turn off that dang camera
and sit down. My dad gives me a thumbs up, and oh yes, my mom is
wiping a stray tear from her eye. Looking at them you'd assume I've
never done anything exciting in my entire life.

****

Our choir director grabs the microphone and
clears his throat. The entire audience falls silent like he's the
president of the United States about to make his State of the Union
address.

Our town is small. Just because our choir
director used to be a somewhat famous Christian artist doesn't mean
he should be elected mayor or given the key to the town; however,
few agree with my practical assessment. After all, he did give me
my starring solo, so I should probably act a little more thankful.
So I, like everyone else, put the stars in my eyes and listen
intently for what he is about to say.

"Now, I know we normally end after the
starring solo." He turns and winks at me while I feel my face turn
hot as people start chanting my name. "But," he says, holding up
his hand, "we have a little treat for all of you today. Preston,
why don't you come down here?"

Preston? Weird, I didn't know he was in
choir. Poor boy. He'd be more attractive if he traded in the Star
Wars t-shirts for some button-ups. He's the only member of the
local Star Wars fan club; he refuses to acknowledge that George
Lucas did, in fact, make more films. He says it's blasphemy to even
speak of it, thus why he's the only member of the club.

Rather than his usual uniform sporting R2D2
or Luke Skywalker, he's wearing an over large sweater vest and
pants way too short for his height. As I'm assessing his wardrobe,
my eyes land on Austin Macintosh, a pretty boy.

Good looks and talent on the basketball
court don't hurt his popularity with the ladies either. Hopefully,
he'll ask me to prom. I mean, it's only natural for the starting
point guard to ask out the soloist of the year, right? Deciding to
be bold, I wink at him and notice a faint blush stain his cheeks
and his eyes shift downward in nervousness. When he looks up he
lifts his hand in a friendly wave and winks. Yes!

"Amanda Lewis!"

I hear my name. Why do I hear my name?
Turning, I see Preston staring at me, and the entire audience seems
to be waiting in suspense.

"What?" I ask in hushed tones.

The girl next to me tells me Preston had
asked me to approach the front. Strange, but maybe I won an award?
Without further hesitation, I walk up and smile brightly as people
clap. The temptation to wave again is overwhelming, and I succumb,
beaming as I receive another round of applause. Wow, I could get
use to this kind of attention. Finally I reach Preston, but there's
no trophy. Bummer.

He grabs for my hand, and before I can pull
it away, it's already stuck in his grasp. He's rubbing my thumb.
This is awkward. "Will you go to prom with me?"

He's kidding. I'm getting pranked. This
can't be real. Is this Candid Camera? Looking around, I notice that
everyone in the audience is dead silent. Even my friends in the
choir are sitting there with their mouths gaping open. This is
social suicide.

As I take the microphone out of his hands, I
feel the collective hush of people holding their breath. Somehow I
manage to press on as gracefully as possible. "Wow, that's so sweet
to offer," I say cheerfully. I see my mom has turned the video
camera back on. We'll have words later.

"But," I say unsure, "I already promised I'd
go with my cousin. Maybe if you had asked sooner…" This is my peace
offering, a pathetic one.

"Prom's in two months," Preston replies,
defeated.

"I know," I say quickly. "But I wanted to
get an early start. So sorry, Preston."

He grabs the microphone and tries to smile.
"It's okay. You're right. I should have asked sooner. Hey, let's
give another round of applause to the soloist of the night!" He
backs up and claps for me, but I can see tears in his eyes.
Humiliation, and it's all my fault.

All I want right now is for the floor to
swallow me alive. That isn't an option, however, so I wave with
little enthusiasm and find my seat.

A girl next to me nudges my
knee. "That was close, huh?" Her eyes are laughing, like she's
making a joke, but I just want to cry. How cruel can a person be?
People around me are muttering words like,
ouch,
harsh
,
bummer
,
and I fight the tears threatening to stream down my face. My throat
constricts with a sudden onslaught of emotion as I watch Preston
slowly move back to his seat and hang his head in his hands. I
silently pray for him to lift his head and look in my direction.
Instead all I see a single tear slide down his cheek then nausea
overwhelms me. I just shot Bambi, and the worst part is, I can't
seem to find the strength to get up, walk over to his seat, and
apologize.

Chapter One

Nine Years Later…

How I ended up here, I have no idea. Well
actually, I take that back. I do. The whole thing started when my
boyfriend of two weeks asked me to be his date to his best friend's
wedding. Being the naïve idiot that I am, I said, "Well, of
course," because naturally I'm in love with him after fourteen days
and will do anything he asks (cue large sigh here).

So, you can imagine my surprise at the
predicament I'm in – not that I shouldn't have seen it coming. A
girl should have a sixth sense about some situations. He never let
me see his place, nor did he take me out in public, nor did I ever
actually meet any of his friends. It was a series of coffee dates
and quick yet passionate kisses on the cheek, which led me to this
church on this particular day. Desperate? No, I'm not, but perhaps
I'm a little too hopeful.

Dear friends, who also happen to be happily
married, are always reminding me I'm young enough to be
independent, free, and I should enjoy this time in my life. Please.
I'd roll my eyes and say choice words to them, if they could take
their eyes off each other long enough to notice. Which brings me to
why I'm too hopeful. I want what they have. However, that is no
excuse for the sorry situation I find myself in today.

Oh, to leave this place! But I can't. My
only ride is with my stupid (you guessed it) ex-boyfriend who is
still in the corner sobbing his eyes out. And you may ask, "Amanda,
that's odd. Why is your now ex-boyfriend sobbing his eyes out?" To
which I will answer, "Because he's lost his mind." Literally tossed
every brain cell in his possession into a trash can and set it on
fire, no joke. Looking at him just makes me all the more sick to my
stomach. As I said before, I should have known. Used, like some
worthless replacement for what he really wanted all along, that's
what I feel right now, and it's the simple truth.