Marry Me (35 page)

"Where was Chad?"

"He went to his mother's."

"He didn't take you?"

"No." She waved a hand, feigning nonchalance. "The timing was off; it wouldn't have worked for me to go along."

Amy rolled her eyes. "So Chad dumped you after what? Five months? Six months? Is that what's happening?"

"No, he hasn't
dumped
me. We're fine."

Amy glared at Pam's fingers. "I don't see an engagement ring."

"It'll come soon. He'll probably propose at Christmas, and I'll get a diamond as my gift."

"Bully for you. Are you positive that's what you want?"

"Who wouldn't want to marry a rich, handsome man like Chad?"

She didn't appear all that happy at the prospect. There had to be trouble in paradise.

"Tell me what's going on," Amy said.

"Nothing! I just missed you guys. I called a couple of times on Thanksgiving Day, but nobody was home."

This was the spot where they might have had a real conversation, where Amy might have admitted that she'd spent Thanksgiving with Dustin Merriweather. She could have explained their brief, torrid affair, how—as opposed to Chad and Pamela—he'd actually taken her to meet his family. She'd describe how he'd been trapped in her apartment during the blizzard, how Amy had fallen madly in love and was now so heartbroken that she could barely breathe.

But she wasn't about to mention Dustin to Pam. Her mother would pooh-pooh Amy's misery, and in the process, she'd crush Amy by pointing out that she couldn't have held on to a hunk like Dustin anyway.

"I wish we were closer," Pamela claimed.

"You do not."

"I do. There's so much water under the bridge between us. I don't know how to fix it."

"Why would you want to fix it? You've never been interested before."

Pam chuckled, but it was a weary, conflicted sound. "I'm worried about you and where you'll go after the sale is finalized."

"What sale? Do you mean the Merriweather property?"

"Yes. I still have the money Chad offered you. It will help you to relocate. Don't be so proud. Take the money."

"The sale isn't going forward, Pam. We don't have to leave."

"This building is the first one that will be shut down for remodeling."

"I saw Dustin Merriweather over Thanksgiving. He told me he'd changed his mind. He told me that he'd come up with another solution."

"You believed him?"

"Yes. He promised."

Pam clucked her tongue as if Amy was a fool.

"I just heard Chad talking to him on the phone," Pam said. "The sale is progressing. The lawyers are simply fussing over details."

Amy gaped at her mother. "That can't be right."

"It is. We're headed to Denver tonight to celebrate."

"To celebrate what?"

"The sale—with Dustin Merriweather. He's in Denver."

Amy felt as if Pamela had punched her. She struggled to keep her expression blank, to hide any indication of her upset.

"He lives in LA," Amy said. "Why is he in Colorado?"

"His mother is hosting a big holiday party at their old mansion."

"And she invited Chad?"

"Why wouldn't she? His family is prominent in this state, and he's about to enter into a major business deal with her son. It makes sense."

"I suppose."

"He and Merriweather are having breakfast the next morning."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Chad specifically mentioned it after their phone call. We're spending the night in Denver, then driving back to Gold Creek after he and Merriweather are finished with their meeting."

"I see."

Dustin was in Colorado? He was going forward with the sale? How could he? He'd promised he wouldn't. He'd
promised.

She was so distraught that she thought she might faint, and her anguish must have shown. Pamela was studying her with too much concern, and Amy couldn't bear the heightened scrutiny.

She got up and walked to the refrigerator. There was a bottle of wine stuck in the back, and she took it out. Her hands were trembling so badly that she was desperate for a drink—even though she wasn't a drinker.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" she asked Pamela.

"Amy," Pam scolded.

"What?"

"It's eleven o'clock. What's wrong with you? Are you all right?"

"Oh, is it that early?" she mumbled, but poured herself a glass anyway.

She gulped it down, ignoring her mother, not caring that Pam was watching.

Feeling bereft, she went over to the window seat, her thighs braced against the cushion. She gazed down at the town, wondering how many more times she'd be able to look out her window.

An eternity passed, the only sound a door slamming in an apartment down below.

She remembered the lovely, peaceful days over Thanksgiving. Dustin had often crawled onto the window seat, staying out of the way, but silently observing as she puttered around with the twins. She'd been so happy, as if Fate had shined on her for a change.

He'd lied? About everything?

"Where is that party being held?" Amy inquired, her back to her mother.

"I don't have the address—if that's what you're asking. It's at the Merriweather mansion, in the old historic district where all the mining barons built their houses. They still own it, but no one lives there. They only open it up a few times a year."

Amy nodded, but didn't reply.

"It's supposed to be quite a place"—Pamela filled the void with chatter—"and his mother is an A-list socialite. I can't wait to meet her."

"You'll probably end up as best buds."

Amy was being sarcastic, but Pamela didn't realize it. "We probably will. She invites people from LA and New York to spice up the guest list, so I'm expecting to rub elbows with some celebrities. Chantal will be there, but—"

Not able to hide her shock, Amy cut her off. "Why would Chantal be there?"

"I assume she'll be Dustin Merriweather's date."

"Really?"

"I guess they're still a couple, but when I had supper with her at the restaurant, I thought she was a royal bitch. So it wouldn't hurt my feelings if she avoided me."

Pamela laughed a breezy laugh meant to convey her intimate knowledge of such a lofty group, how comfortably she fit in with them.

A protracted silence ensued, and Amy felt as if she might crumple to the floor and weep for a week.

"Would you go, Pam?" Amy murmured.

"Well…if you insist."

"I don't know why you're here, but I can't help you today."

"I wanted to see you, Amy. That's all. I wanted to see the twins." There was an awkward pause, then she admitted, "I've been thinking I should behave a little better toward the three of you."

"Aren't you special?" Amy responded with no enthusiasm.

"What's wrong? I can tell that you're upset."

"I'm not upset."

"Did you have a thing for Dustin Merriweather? I remember how you acted when you were with him, and I tried to warn you that he—"

"Pam! Please! I can't bear this right now."

She could hear Pamela sigh, then push back her chair. She stood and put on her coat.

"I'm leaving this money," she said. "It's a thousand dollars, Amy. You'll need it."

"Yes, I'm sure I will."

Pamela dawdled, seeming conflicted and concerned. If they'd had any sort of normal relationship, they could have discussed Amy's distress, but they'd never learned to communicate.

Eventually, Pamela went to the door.

"Call me," she said, "if you'd like to talk or…whatever."

"Thanks."

Pam left, and Amy never turned around.

* * *

"It's a terrific house."

"Yes, it is."

Chantal snuggled herself to Dustin and slipped a proprietary arm into his.

She'd finally managed to get inside the illustrious Merriweather historical residence, but it had taken an invitation from his mother to bring about the visit.

When she'd flown to Colorado for the party, she'd assumed she'd be staying on site—with Dustin. So it had come as a huge and disappointing surprise to discover that he'd booked her into a hotel. She'd had to arrive at the fete in a limousine like everybody else, had had to ogle and coo over the fantastic décor with the other guests, as if she was no one special, at all.

She was extremely aggravated, but struggling not to show it. She glanced around, studying the carvings on the high ceiling. The place was an architectural treasure. The hardwood floors had been shipped from Vermont, the marble in the fireplaces from Italy, the crystal chandeliers from Paris. No expense had been spared, no detail left to chance.

With the Christmas decorations on full display, it was like a fairyland. They must have had servants working a whole month just to wrap the grand staircase in holly.

"I can't believe your brother is selling it," she said.

"It sits empty decade after decade. It's best to get rid of it."

"Still, I can't imagine you letting it go. Have you ever spoken to him about it? If he's so intent on parting with it, I think
you
should buy it from him."

"Me? What would I do with it?"

"It could be your base whenever you're in Colorado."

"I don't want a base in Colorado."

"Why not?"

"I hate it here. I won't ever come back if I don't have to. Lucas has the right idea. It should be a museum. It should be in the hands of people who will cherish it."

She forced a smile and nodded in agreement.

She still had designs on the house
and
on Dustin. As far as she was concerned, marriage was on the table. So was their convincing Lucas Merriweather to give them the house as a wedding gift.

Chantal was incredibly patient, and she knew how to maneuver a man into bestowing what she was determined to have. She'd figure out how to maneuver Dustin, too. She simply needed a bit of time to adjust the angles.

He'd ruined her Thanksgiving and hadn't taken her to Mexico as he'd promised. He'd devised various lame pretexts as to why he couldn't, and she'd begun to question her motives with regard to him. When he could be so maddeningly disinterested, why fight to keep him? Los Angeles was teeming with wealthy men. Why not move on to someone else?

She'd almost given up on him, but then, he'd insisted she accompany him to his mother's party. That had to mean something, didn't it?

They were a couple, an
item
. His mother had invited her to be his date, and they were the most riveting pair in attendance. No one could compare with them in stature or comportment. Heads turned whenever they strolled by.

He peered across the room to where his mother was gesturing at him. "Would you excuse me? It looks as if Jacquelyn needs me."

"Of course."

He walked away, leaving her alone in the large crowd, which irked her tremendously. There had to be several hundred guests crammed into the ostentatious space, and she didn't know any of them except Chad Paltrow and Pamela Dane, whom she'd diligently avoided.

Chad she wouldn't mind talking to. He was attractive and successful, so she was happy to converse with him, particularly when she had so many relevant tidbits to share. But Pamela was a boring, conceited witch. In their one prior meeting, at the restaurant in Gold Creek, Pamela had acted as if she and Chantal were equals, as if she was somebody merely because she'd glommed on to Chad.

Well, before the night was through, Chantal would set them both straight. It was the least she could do for Chad, and Chantal would receive the added bonus of getting even with Amy Dane. Chantal was still furious over how the petite, galling woman had wrecked Chantal's trip with Dustin.

He'd never fully shed the effects of his encounters with Dane, and Chantal had lost ground with him that she couldn't seem to recover. It was all Amy Dane's fault, and payback would be so gratifying.

She noticed Chad approaching. She tipped her champagne glass in his direction. He grinned and meandered over, thankfully having abandoned Pamela somewhere.

"Great to see you again," he said as he neared.

"Great to see you, too."

"Isn't this a great party?"

"Yes, great," she concurred.

Great, great, great.
Everything was just great. She was already wishing she hadn't summoned him. Because of his money, she'd assumed he was a tad more sophisticated, but he was gawking like a neophyte, as if he'd never viewed extravagance before.

"Where is Pamela?" she asked, pretending to care.

"She bumped into someone she used to know in Vegas. They're chatting."

"So you escaped."