Nothing But Trouble (16 page)

Suddenly Mrs. Prince stood. “John, Brandon, why don’t you run along and get your tennis game over with? Laura and I will take a tour.”

Brandon discarded his iced tea, then leaned back. “You going to be okay?”

Laura wanted to scream no. Instead, she nodded silently, al the while trying to decide how she was going to get revenge against him for even putting her in this situation.

“This’l take less than an hour. We only play best of three, and I always win in two.”

Laura stood on less than steady legs. Brandon and his dad strolled to the door together, slapping each other on the back. At the door his father turned and smiled at her. “You’re a delight, Laura. I’m so glad Brandon brought you.”

Brandon turned too, and the smile he gave her would have melted her at any other time. “Isn’t she?” He turned to his mother. “Be good to her, Mom. Remember I’m trying to talk her into being the mother of my children.”

“THIS IS OUR bal room,” Mrs. Prince said.

Laura looked around at the vast open space with glass walls that looked out onto a garden that God would have had to work at. “Yeah? What kind of bal ? Basebal ? Footbal ?”

At Mrs. Prince’s pinched expression, Laura figured she didn’t get the joke. Laura didn’t bother to explain. She could have gone to a fancy finishing school, and Mrs. Prince wouldn’t like her. Not a big deal. The feeling was definitely mutual.

The woman led her out of that room and across the hal to another. “The formal dining room.”

“You could feed a battalion in here,” Laura observed, staring at a table that could easily seat fifty.

“Yes, well , we hold our larger dinner parties in here.”

“So,” Laura said, some devilish streak taking over, “is that where you keep the silver?” She waved at a huge cherry hutch.

Mrs. Prince frowned.

“I’m teasing!” Laura said. Real y, the woman didn’t have a humorous bone in her body.

“Please, this way,” Mrs. Prince said.

Laura rol ed her eyes and fol owed. The woman took her down the hal past the winding staircase, passing several doors she didn’t think Mrs. Prince had shown her yet, but she couldn’t be sure.

They entered a room noticeably smaller than any of the others, which meant only about twice the size of Laura’s entire apartment. It was decorated much more femininely than the rest, in pretty peach and blue. There was a glass desk smack in the center that held a computer, an antique-looking phone and a date book. There were several bookcases and a small bar. The large window at the far end of the room looked out onto the tennis courts, and Laura watched for a moment while Brandon and his father played. Both men displayed athletic grace and talent, but it was obvious Brandon was the superior player.

“Have a seat, Ms. Tanner.” 

Laura sat.

“Can I get you some mineral water or anything?”

“No, thanks.”

Mrs. Prince moved to the other side of the desk and sat in a blue leather chair.

They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable moments before Mrs. Prince cleared her throat. “May I ask what your intentions are?”

The million-dollar question. “What do you mean?”

“Do you and my son have—plans for the future?”

“No.”

“Hm. Yet he said that—”

“Look, Mrs. Prince, let’s be straight here, all right?”

“By all means.”

“I have absolutely no doubt that Brandon and I have no future. After al , we really have nothing in common. Including al this.” “I’m glad you see that.”

That rankled, even if it was the truth. “Well, it’s not that I think Brandon’s too good for me. We just come from two different worlds, is all.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Prince said, with absolutely no sincerity whatsoever. “But I believe we have an even bigger problem.”

“Which is?”

“Getting Brandon to understand all that.”

“Pardon?”

“I know my son, Ms. Tanner. He would never have bothered to bring you here if he wasn’t serious. And he certainly wouldn’t have left you alone with me. He fancies himself in love with you.”

Laura kept her expression stoic. “I think you’re wrong about that.”

“Oh, I don’t believe I am at all. I think he’s enjoying being with someone so . . . unsuited to him. He’s always been something of a rebel.”

Laura knew al about rebel ion. And knew the eventual heartache it could cause. Stil , she didn’t like the idea that she was merely Brandon’s way of defying his folks. “You may find this hard to believe, Mrs. Prince, but the only reason I agreed to come here with him was to show him that we’re unsuited for each other. I have no more desire to be here than you do to have me here.”

“Then what was that talk about you having his children?”

“That was a joke.”

Brandon’s mother shook her head. “Brandon would never joke about something that important. No, he was making a declaration of sorts.”

“Look. He and I got to talking about kids, and I told him I planned on having some someday, although I have absolutely no desire to marry again.”

“Again? You’re divorced?” the woman asked, suddenly looking like she was sucking on a lemon.

“Yep, thank the good Lord. Anyway, when he asked how I planned on managing that al by myself, I said I’d look for a donor. Then I jokingly asked him to apply for the job. It was nothing more than that.”

“He’s taking it seriously.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Prince said. “I don’t know how to put this delicately . . .” She trailed off, eyeing Laura with caution.

“Oh, by al means, don’t go getting delicate on me now. Just say what’s on your mind.”

“You wouldn’t, by chance, consider him the perfect candidate, would you? Have his children and then force him to pay through the nose for the rest of his life?”

“If I were a bigger cynic, I’d consider that suggestion downright insulting.”

“You wouldn’t be the first woman to try.”

Laura stood. She’d had enough. “You know, Mrs. Prince, I admit that Brandon’s great between the sheets, if you get my drift.”

The woman gasped.

Laura didn’t care. “But even that couldn’t make up for the rather repugnant idea of my kids having you for a grandmother.”

“But the potential money could.” With that Mrs. Prince withdrew a leather-bound checkbook. “How much?”

“Excuse me?”

“How much wil it cost me to ensure you look elsewhere for a donor?”

“Well, now, isn’t this interesting. You’re actually saying you’l pay me to stay away from Brandon forever—is that right?”

“That’s what I’m saying, yes.”

Laura glanced out the window in time to catch Brandon smash a ball into his father’s court. Something bit into her heart.

Not just the insult of this woman thinking she could be bought, but the final snuffing out of a smal flame of hope she hadn’t even realized was burning. That somehow, some way, she and Brandon would work things out.

She’d gone and done it. Fal en for a man who was al wrong for her. How stupid could she be? She should never have agreed to the cruise, and most definitely should never have agreed to come to his parents’ house.

She hardened her heart, as she’d had to do so many times in her life. She was really a pro at it at by now. “Just out of curiosity, how much is my permanent disappearance from his life worth to you?”

Oddly enough, a strange look of disappointment crossed the woman’s features. Probably because she’d been hoping she’d get off scot-free. “Ten thousand?”

“Chump change.”

“Fifty?”

“Make it an even hundred, and I’llguarantee it.”

Mrs. Prince’s eyes were hooded as she made out the check.

But when she handed it over, that haughty look had returned. “I expect this to not only pay for your disappearance, but for your silence about this little transaction.”

“I’d disappear right this moment if I didn’t respect Brandon enough not to desert him. But I promise I’ll be gone after supper.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, and one other thing, Mrs. Prince.”

“Yes?”

Laura began to tear up the check. She dropped the pieces on the woman’s immaculate desk. “Go to hel .”

* * *

SUPPER THAT NIGHT would have been funny if it weren’t for the puzzled frowns Brandon kept giving Laura every time she opened her mouth. It was kil ing her to play the uncouth idiot, but she knew that it was the route she had to take if she were going to get him to agree to take her to the airport directly after the meal.

The really weird part, though, was that Mrs. Prince was so subdued. She didn’t seem to realize she was supposed to be capitalizing on al of Laura’s gaffes, was supposed to be commenting on the too-low neckline of one of the dresses Hannah had packed. Of course, Laura had been wildly embarrassed to show up at dinner in the come-and-get-me number, so she’d immediately grabbed her cloth napkin and tucked it into the cleavage with a hearty, “Chow down!”

And six courses later she was stil at it. “You going to eat that olive?” she asked Brandon, pointing at his salad bowl with her fork.

“Uh, no.”

“Hot damn,” she said, leaning over the table and spearing it, then popping it in her mouth. “Mmm, I do love them olives.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Prince exchange a glance with Mrs. Prince, then quickly bring his wineglass to his mouth. He was probably trying to keep from laughing at her.

Laura really hated making a bad impression on him, though. He truly seemed like a genuinely nice man.

“Where’d y’all ever get the crazy notion to eat the salad at the end of the meal?” she asked, plopping her elbows on the table.

“From the French,” Mr. Prince said dryly.

“Oh, , that explains it.” She picked up her water goblet and sipped, then began making a ringing noise by running her finger along the moist rim. “Sounds gen-yoo-wine to me.”

When Marta came to take away the salad bowls, Laura grabbed Brandon’s and stacked it on hers, then thrust them at the poor woman. “There you go. Make it easier for you.”

When Marta departed, Laura observed, “I think y’al work that woman too hard.”

Mrs. Prince choked on her wine. Brandon frowned at Laura. Mr. Prince wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Marta soon returned with lime sorbet. “Oh, goody, ice cream,” Laura said. “Now which of these five spoons do y’all use for this one?”

“The one with the longest stem,” Mrs. Prince said. Almost kindly.

Laura dug right in. While she was wolfing down the sorbet and trying not to wince at the frozen headache that was forming, Marta returned and set fingerbowls at each of their places. Once Laura finished she turned the crystal dessert dish upside-down with a bang, praising the gods it didn’t shatter. “Beat ya!”

Brandon winced. Mrs. Prince coughed. Mr. Prince ducked his head under the table.

For real snobs, these people were a little too polite. Laura tried one last desperate ploy. “What’s this for?” she asked, waving at the fingerbowl.

“It’s warm water to wash your hands with,” Brandon said.

“Well, don’t that beat all?” Laura exclaimed. “Marta thinks of everything. You really should give that woman a raise.”

She wiggled her fingers in the water. “Hey, Mr. P. What do you want to bet I can put out this candle just flicking the rinse water from here onto the flame?”

“I’m absolutely positive you can do it.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“How about we make it fun?” Mr. Prince said, dipping his own long fingers into his bowl. “Let’s see who can do it first.”

Okay, now Mrs. Prince couldn’t help but be outraged at that. Yet she didn’t say a peep, and Laura decided that polite society kept their mouths shut until they could discuss their outrage in private.

“Winner gets a fiver,” she said.

“You’re on.”

And while she and Brandon’s father sprayed the entire table with droplets of water, probably ruining the damask tablecloth, Laura stole a peek at Brandon, who was staring at both her and his father like they were stark raving mad.

Laura won, so she stood and held her arms up in victory.

“Yes!” she cried. “Time to pay up, mister.”

“Laura . . .” Brandon said, a warning tone to his voice.

“A bet’s a bet,” she protested.

“So it is,” said Mr. Prince, pulling a wallet from his breast jacket pocket. He had to dig through to find a five, probably bypassing about fifty one-hundred dollar bills.

The hardest thing Laura had ever done was to accept that money. But she did it, tucking it between her breasts. Then she said, “Wel , that was great. Thanks. I think I’llgo change back into something comfortable now.”

Leaving them all gaping at her, she strolled to the door to the kitchen and peeked in. “Great grub, Marta. Ask for that raise.

I greased the way for you.”

Then she waggled her fingers at all of them as she made her way out of the informal dining room. “Catch y’al later.”

* * *

“WHAT THE HELL was that al about?” Brandon asked, storming into Laura’s guest room without bothering to knock.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he found her standing in a magenta teddy that left only a couple of wonderful things to the imagination. And his kicked in big-time.

She ignored his outburst and pulled a pair of jeans from her suitcase. He watched in disappointment as she dragged them on over those luscious bare legs.

“Laura?”

“What?” she said, bel igerence coating the word.

“What’s the matter? What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is I need a ride to the airport.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, facing him for the first time. “I’m out of here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really owe you an explanation, now do I?” She donned a pale blue cotton T-shirt. “I don’t belong here, and I want to go home.”

He grabbed her shoulders and squeezed. “What happened?

Why are you doing this?”

“Nothing happened. But you were at dinner right along with me. I don’t fit in. This is not my idea of paradise.”

“Then we’l go to my apartment.”

She blinked rapidly, and Brandon was scared to death she was going to cry. “No. I just want to catch the first flight home.”