Another Woman's Man (23 page)

X
avier sat in the leather seat of the Lincoln Town Car and glared out the tinted window. The driver had pulled away from the graveyard more than twenty minutes ago, but Xavier barely noticed. His thoughts were too heavy. He was still mourning the loss of his mentor, and now he had Dawn's standoffishness to contend with.

Not being able to leave the funeral with her but instead having to watch her walk away was one of the hardest things he had ever done. She should be crying on
his
shoulder, but instead she rushed toward her sisters and acted as if she couldn't get away from him fast enough.

He wished he could make her understand why he was bothering with this pretense that he and Constance were still together, but truth be told, he wasn't totally convinced why he was doing it either. He thought he was doing it out of respect for Herb. He had not wanted to humiliate the Allen family or tarnish Herb's legacy by bringing drama to the funeral. He and Constance would simply pretend to be a couple for a few more days. No big deal,
right?
But he had highly underestimated how much that move would hurt Dawn. Though she claimed it didn't matter to her, he could tell differently.

Damn it, what have I done?
he thought tiredly while running his hand over his face.

“Thank God that's over,” Raquel muttered, breaking the silence that had permeated the car ride.

She and Constance were also being driven back to Windhill Downs in the Town Car.

Raquel took off her fur-lined hat, set it on her lap, and began to finger-comb her auburn hair back into place. “The sermon went a bit long, but all in all, I thought it went well.”

Constance sniffed quietly beside Xavier and raised a tissue to her eyes. “Daddy would have liked it. He always liked Reverend Wilson's sermons.”

“Yes, it went well overall,” Raquel said again distractedly like she hadn't heard Constance. She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Well, it would have been perfect if Dawn could have spared us a bit of scandal today, but I should have known she would come to the funeral.”

Constance nodded in agreement. “It was a little embarrassing.”

“More than a little, darling! More than a little!”

Xavier, who had been trying to ignore their conversation up until this point, suddenly turned from the window. “What was embarrassing about it?” He frowned. “Why shouldn't Dawn have come?”

“Because she's already accomplished what she came here for,” Raquel said bitterly, glaring at the younger man. “There was no need for her to rub it in, walking around gloating the way she did.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, feeling the first surge of anger. “She wasn't gloating! She was there crying just like everyone else.”

Raquel snorted with contempt. “Please, Xavier, don't be so naïve. I saw past her façade! While she was pretending to cry over my husband, she was probably secretly laughing about the millions she's going to inherit thanks to the manipulations that she did behind the scenes, talking poor Herb into adding her to his will. But I've got a rude awakening for her,” Raquel said in a low, menacing voice as she pointed her finger at Xavier. “I'm not just going to . . . to
roll over
and let her take my husband's money! She's in for a fight!”

Herbert had mentioned to Xavier that he was exploring the possibility of changing his will so that some of his money and estate would go to Dawn. Because Xavier was his future son-in-law at the time, he had recused himself from involvement with the will in order to avoid accusations of manipulation like the ones Raquel was throwing around now. He'd never found out if Herb had actually gone through with modifying the will. Judging from Raquel's fiery tirade, it looked like Herb had.

“I mean, we don't even know for sure if she
is
his daughter, with the reputation her mother has! That woman will sleep with any man who she thinks has money,” Raquel sniffed. She twisted her red lips in disgust. “She's no better than a prostitute!”

“So what are you suggesting . . . that Dawn should have to take a DNA test?” Xavier asked.

“That . . . and I think her background as a money hunter should be presented in court. If that doesn't work, maybe we can even leak it to the newspapers if this new will goes forward.”

He gazed at Raquel in disbelief. “You would actually do that? You would humiliate her like this?”

Raquel raised her nose into the air. Her green eyes narrowed. “If it means protecting my husband's legacy, Xavier, yes, I will do what needs to be done.”

The sedan suddenly lurched to a stop. A few seconds later the driver opened the door. Raquel scooted across the leather seat and stepped out of the car first, looking every bit as cold and imperial as an old English queen who was about to send someone to the stockade. Constance immediately followed her mother.

Xavier stayed slumped in his seat, now shell-shocked by what he had just heard. Raquel was going to war over the will and would drag Dawn's and Dawn's mother's names through the mud to win the battle.

He couldn't let that happen.

Xavier suddenly leapt out of the car and ran after Constance. She was climbing the steps to the mansion's French doors, through which her mother had already disappeared.

“Constance!” he called after her as she quickly climbed the stone stairs. “Constance!”

He grabbed her shoulders and whipped her around to face him just as she reached the last step.

“Constance, you can't be OK with this shit! Don't let your mother do this!”

Constance fixed him with a steely glare and pulled out of his grasp. “Why shouldn't I? Mommy's right. We don't even know for sure if Dawn
is
Daddy's daughter. If she wants access to his millions, the conniving bitch should have to prove she's related to him.”

“Conniving bitch?”
He slowly shook his head, not understanding why these words were coming out of Constance's mouth. What garbage had her mother dumped into her head? He knew the two women didn't particularly like each other, but this seemed especially venomous.

“But she doesn't want his money! She probably doesn't even know he changed his will. She's grieving the loss of her father just like you are!”

Constance didn't look convinced.

“Please don't turn against your own sister like this, not over an inheritance. It's not worth it! And Herb wouldn't want you to treat your sister this way!”

Constance squinted. “You mean the same sister who's been sneaking around fucking my fiancé?”

Xavier's mouth clamped shut. His face drained of all color.

“You mean
that
sister?” Constance taunted. “Is that the sister I shouldn't turn against?”

He closed his eyes.
How the hell did she find out?

“Constance, I'm so . . . We didn't want—”

“Save it!” she snarled. “You must think I'm the stupidest girl in the world, Xavier! Did you honestly think I wouldn't figure out what was going on? I know what type of woman she is! You wouldn't give me all the details, so I had someone do a background check on her on my own.”

He gaped, now struck speechless as he watched his ex-fiancée morph into a woman he had never seen before.

“She's nothing more than a whore! But I never, ever thought I had to worry about her being around you.
Not
trustworthy Xavier,
not
the man who looks down on people who don't keep promises and aren't of their word—not
that
Xavier! No, he would never betray me and sneak around with a woman who claims to be my sister!”

Her words cut deep. She was calling him out for the dog that he was, and he couldn't disagree with her.

“You know, Byron was right about you all along,” she said, dropping her hand to her hip. “He knew you were a total hypocrite from the beginning! I just didn't believe him!”

“
Byron?
What does Byron have to do with this?”

Constance gave an impish smile. “You aren't the only one who has secrets, Xavier,” she whispered.

Secrets?
The truth finally dawned on him. His face went from pale to bright red.

“You've . . . you've been cheating with Byron?”

“It's not cheating!” Constance snapped. She adjusted her leather gloves. “He and I were hooking up before he even got married. I was with him
first
and he wanted to marry me, but I knew that Daddy would never go for it. He could barely tolerate Byron, but he thought the sun shined out of your ass,” she said with a contemptuous curl in her lip. “Plus, you were cute, smart, and successful. It wasn't like it was a big sacrifice to marry you. But Byron and I didn't see a reason not to continue what we were already doing
just
because we were with other people! He married Kelly. I would marry you. And we'd both continue to have our fun on the side.”

Xavier stared at his ex-fiancée in disbelief. Here he had been agonizing for months and feeling like he had committed the ultimate betrayal, while Constance had been sneaking around for
years
with one of the men he most despised—that asshole Byron Lattisaw.

No wonder she's rarely interested in sex,
Xavier thought. It was hard to fake passion with one man when you had just climbed out of the bed of another.

“So I was the pushover? I was the sucker you were going to pretend to be in love with. Meanwhile, you're running off fucking that piece of shit, Byron Lattisaw?”

“He's not a piece of shit!”

“He
is
a piece a shit! He got an accountant pregnant in our office, lied to her, and told her that he was going to marry her. Then he tried to cover it up. That selfish asshole was going to have the company foot a two-million-dollar paternity bill!”

“If she's stupid enough to believe that he would marry a woman like her, then that's her fault, isn't it?” Constance argued. “Besides, you're one to talk! If he's a piece of shit, so are you!
You
cheated on me with Dawn! You and Byron are no different!”

Xavier slowly shook his head and turned around, feeling nauseous. The truth crashed around him like falling skyscrapers, like the tumbling sky. Everything between him and Constance had been a lie—one big, horrible lie. He thought he had been pretending for the past few days that they were a happy couple, when she had been pretending the same thing since the beginning of their relationship.

“Where are you going?” she yelled as he walked away from her. “God damn it, we made a deal! You said you'd pretend we're still together!”

“Until after the funeral . . . and the funeral is over.” He kept walking. “Find yourself another sucker.”

“W
ell, good of you to finally show up!” Cynthia exclaimed as her sisters Dawn and Lauren walked through the doorway of the room adjacent to their mother's spacious makeshift bridal suite at Glenn Dale mansion.

The duo was more than twenty minutes late. Their mother's wedding was slated to start in less than an hour and Cynthia had been glancing at her watch every five minutes wondering where the hell her sisters were.

“Cindy, don't start,” Lauren warned as she adjusted the front of her silk bridesmaid gown and beelined for the four bouquets of yellow roses, white calla lilies, and pink peonies. The flowers sat in a straight line on the white macramé tablecloth on an oak table facing the floor-to-ceiling windows. Lauren took one bouquet then handed another to Dawn, who was still hurriedly taking off her coat.

“Little Cris was colicky, kept me up all night, and I didn't get to sleep until around three a.m.,” Lauren explained. “I am dead on my feet. And Dawn's having a pretty rough week herself.
Remember?
”

Cynthia pursed her lips and nodded grudgingly. She had been so preoccupied with her mother, last-minute wedding details, and making sure security was prepared just in case the groom's crazy ex made an appearance that she had totally forgotten about Dawn's whole ordeal.

Dawn had attended her father's funeral last week only to receive notice in the mail a few days later from one of Raquel Allen's lawyers that the widow was challenging his will in probate court. Dawn didn't understand why that had anything to do with her until she read further that Raquel was alleging that Dawn had exerted “undue influence” on Herbert Allen before his death, taking advantage of a sick, elderly man's weakness and talking him into adding her to the will. Raquel was also challenging Herbert's paternity, insisting that Dawn prove she was his daughter.

When Dawn had told Cynthia about the letter, Cynthia had been so furious she couldn't see straight.

“Why that pinched-faced, redheaded
bitch!
Does she know who she's messing with? Obviously, she doesn't!” Cynthia had shouted as she paced back and forth in Dawn's living room. “Well, you're gonna get a lawyer too. I know a good one, Dawn, who kicks ass and takes names! There is no way she's going to push you around and—”

“I'm going to tell the lawyer that I forfeit,” Dawn had said quietly with her head bowed as she sat on her couch.

Cynthia had stopped pacing to stare at her sister. “That you forfeit? Forfeit what?”

“My inheritance. If Raquel wants to challenge it, so be it. I'm not going to fight her in court over this.”

“
What?
But you're just as much an heir as that Constance chick! You were his daughter too!”

“Cindy,” Dawn had said with a loud sigh, “I told you in the beginning that I went into this to build a relationship with my father. That's why I agreed to meet him in the first place. It wasn't to get an inheritance. I'm not going to fight over money that I don't even want.”

Cynthia had gazed at her sister as if Dawn's body had been taken over by some alien life form. She had no idea what had gotten into her. Dawn Gibbons was turning down millions of dollars—millions of dollars that were rightfully hers?

What the hell is going on here?

Cynthia had crossed her arms over her chest and cocked an eyebrow. “And you're sure this has nothing to do with your disappointment over Prince Charming? Things not working out with Xavier isn't clouding your judgment, is it?”

Dawn's sad eyes suddenly went chilly. She glared at her older sister. “This has nothing to do with him,” she had said before rising from the couch, gathering her coffee cup, and walking toward her kitchen.

“You say that but—”

“I've made my decision, Cindy,” Dawn had said, letting Cynthia know by her tone that was the end of discussion.

Now, two days later, Cynthia watched as Dawn tossed her coat onto a settee and took the bouquet Lauren handed to her. Cynthia still wondered what had gotten into her sister to make her throw away a fortune like this.

“So you're still going to give up your inheritance?” Cynthia asked.

Dawn nodded as she smoothed the front of her gown. It was an identical pale yellow to Lauren's and Cynthia's bridesmaid dresses, but was a different style and cut. Dawn's dress was a slinky sheath that accented her lean, tall frame. Lauren's dress had a halter top and flared at the waist before ending at her sleek, brown calves. Cynthia's was strapless with a split that hit her almost mid-thigh, matching her sultry personality.

“I called the lawyer yesterday,” Dawn said. “He hasn't gotten back to me yet.”

Cynthia slowly shook her head. “I still think you're making a big mistake.”

“I know what you think, and frankly, I don't care,” Dawn snapped.

Lauren held up her hands. “OK . . . OK, guys. Let's not argue. Not today. We can save it until after the wedding.”

“I need a chair . . .
now!
” Stephanie yelled as she burst through the doorway. She waddled across the hardwood floors and flopped into a leather wingback chair. She plopped her feet on a footstool and let out a long, ragged breath. “God, that feels good! My back and hips are killing me!”

“Still haven't popped yet?” Dawn asked with a laugh.

“No,” Stephanie grumbled, blowing away a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “But if this little girl doesn't make an appearance by the end of the week, the doc says he's just going to induce. I don't care at this point. I'm ready for this to be over!”

Cynthia glared at Stephanie's shoes. “What the hell is that on your feet?”

“
On my feet?
You mean my Keds?” Stephanie asked, rubbing her ample belly and wiggling her canvas sneakers. “My feet are swollen. They're the only shoes that fit. I tried everything—my Louboutins, my Manolos,
and
my Jimmy Choos. I couldn't squeeze into them. What do you expect me to do?”

“You can't wear Keds to a wedding!”

“Says who?” Stephanie countered.

“Says me!” Cynthia argued.

“Cindy,” Lauren interjected, “Steph's nine-plus months pregnant. The world won't come to an end if she shows up to the wedding in Keds. I'm sure everyone will understand.”

“I don't care if they understand!” Cynthia shouted with hazel eyes blazing. She balled her fists at her sides. “Our clothes and shoes are supposed to be coordinated! I gave you guys a list of what to wear, and that list didn't include goddamn Keds! Pale yellow heels that are two inches or higher. That's what I said!”

“Calm the hell down,” Dawn muttered. “You can't possibly be this pissed about Keds. What is this
really
about?”

“I'll tell you what this is about!” Cynthia shouted, finally unable to hold in her rising frustration at all her sisters anymore. “This is about the fact that I've been busting my ass trying to make this wedding perfect for Mama, agonizing over every little detail and organizing everything even though Mama and Reggie wouldn't make one damn decision! And now this psycho stalker is trying to break them up! Now I have that to worry about too!”

Her sisters stared in amazement at her outburst.

“And none of you—not
one
of you has been of any help! You've been too busy playing house with your new baby and millionaire hubby,” Cynthia shouted, staring angrily at Lauren. “Or you're too busy being pregnant!” She turned to Stephanie. “Or falling
in love!
” she scoffed at Dawn. “Meanwhile, this whole fucking wedding has been hanging on by a thread and I'm the only one holding it together!”

“What on earth is all the shouting about?” Yolanda Gibbons asked irritably as she swung open an adjoining door. She stood in her robe and bedroom slippers with her hand on her hip. “The makeup artist and hairdresser could hear you all carrying on like when you were bickering little girls! The guests might hear you too!”

“Sorry, Mama,” they all murmured in unison.

“Now, one of you come in here and help me get into my gown. No one in here can figure out the clasps.” Yolanda fixed them with a stern gaze. “I'm already running late.”

“All right. I'll do it,” Cynthia said tiredly, walking toward the opened French door.

“No,
I'll
do it,” Lauren insisted, grabbing her sister's arm. “You stay here and take a breather,” she whispered before scurrying toward their mother.

Cynthia watched as Lauren shut the door behind her. Cynthia slowly walked to a velvet medallion couch and sat down before dropping her head into her hands.

“Cindy, I'm sorry you've been carrying the burden of this by yourself,” Dawn said softly seconds later.

“I needed you guys and you've all been MIA,” Cynthia mumbled behind her hands.

“I know. That's why I'm apologizing. We didn't mean to—”

“I hate to interrupt, but can someone give me a back rub?” Stephanie whimpered.

Dawn sighed. “Scoot forward,” she ordered Stephanie before sitting on the wingback chair's armrest. Stephanie obeyed her command and Dawn began to massage her sister's lower back. She turned back toward Cynthia. “Look, I know it's been trying, but don't let it overwhelm you. What wedding doesn't come with its share of drama? What else in our lives doesn't?”

“I just can't take any more of this,” Cynthia muttered. “This is
too much
drama! I mean, why can't it just be a simple wedding? Who the hell has to get a security team for their nuptials to make sure no one walks in with a butcher knife to take out the bride?”

“So I guess this stalker thing has gotten out of hand, then,” Dawn said.

“Way out of hand! It's gotten so crazy that even I couldn't hide it from Mama anymore.”

“Really? But Mama doesn't seem upset by it,” Dawn said. “She's acting as if everything is fine.”

“Of course she is! She's this close to her jackpot! She isn't going to let this Beatrice chick intimidate her. And you know me. I don't intimidate easily either. But I swear to you, this woman is crazy, with a capital ‘C!' She made a
death threat!
”

“A death threat?” Dawn murmured.

“Yeah, I know! And Mama won't even report it to the police!”

“Well, we'll
all
keep an eye out for crazy today,” Dawn said. “Hopefully, after the wedding, Mama can get a restraining order. Until then, we'll just have to stay on our toes.”

Cynthia sighed again.

An hour later and
eighteen minutes
behind schedule, the Gibbons girls lined up near the doors to one of Glenn Dale's sitting rooms where the ceremony was about to take place. At the sound of violins playing the first notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D major, Lauren stepped through the doorway, smiling. Stephanie waddled in after her, followed by Dawn. Cynthia brought up the rear, being the eldest sister and the maid of honor.

As she walked inside, she surveyed the room. The flowers were as she ordered after haranguing the florist for several days to make sure the proper freesias were brought in from Ecuador. The decorator had kept the decorations minimalist and tasteful. The reverend and Reginald stood on the raised stage that she had brought in especially for the wedding.

About sixty or so people sat in the gilded Chiavari chairs on each side of the red-carpeted aisle. Cynthia spotted several familiar faces in the crowd. Most were friends of her mothers and a few were business associates of Reginald.

A minute later, the music the string duo was playing changed and her mother stood in the doorway, looking splendid in her off-white empire-waist gown, sparkling lace bolero jacket, and hat-style short tulle veil. Her bouquet was a more luxurious version of her daughters' bouquets. Everyone rose to their feet.

Yolanda slowly walked up the aisle alone, smiling at Reginald. He gazed proudly at his bride. His rotund chest puffed out another inch.

When Yolanda reached the front, she took Reginald's hand. The music ceased and the room fell silent.

“You may all take your seats,” the reverend rumbled.

Cynthia breathed a sigh of relief, happy that everything seemed to be going so smoothly.

“Dearly beloved,” the reverend began, “we are gathered here today, in the sight of God and this company, to witness and celebrate one of life's greatest blessings. We are here to recognize and bless the union of”—he stared down at the sheet of paper hidden inside his Bible—“. . . of Yolanda Gibbons Hirschfield Banks Esposito Thomas Parsons.” He looked up in awe after saying all her last names. “And, uh, Reginald Whitfield III.”

The tenseness in Cynthia's muscles finally began to ease and she settled into the ceremony.

“Reggie!” a voice boomed from the entryway minutes later.

A hush fell over the room. Even the reverend—who had been droning on during introductions about the sacredness of marriage and a wife's sanctified duty to obey her husband, drawing droll eye rolls from many of the women in attendance—suddenly fell silent.

Cynthia went stark still when she heard the shout, knowing instantly who had caused the disturbance.

Oh, God,
Cynthia thought with desperation.
How the hell did she get in here?

Cynthia had at least three guards posted at the door who had cost Reginald a pretty penny. She had ordered them to do a full surveillance of the room and the first floor. How had this nutcase managed to make it through the front door, let alone to the ceremony?

Reginald better ask for his goddamn money back,
Cynthia thought indignantly.

“Reggie, you know you hear me!” Beatrice shouted, stomping up the center aisle with arms swinging, sounding like a rhino making its way to a watering hole.