The Other Marlowe Girl (Marlowe Girls) (12 page)

So now I stood in the ticket line of American Airlines with my duffel bag and one suitcase, dreading this. I was excited to dance again, but Enrique was right. I was not the kind of girl to survive without hot water. Then there was the matter of Enrique. I knew I’d come home to find him engaged to some doctor or lawyer. He deserved someone better than me, and I wanted him to have it. But I wanted him more. Tiffany and I had just started talking again. I was leaving and wouldn’t be here when her baby was born. It was a lot to take in. So when I heard that sweet familiar voice that put goose bumps on my arm from somewhere behind me say, “If you get on that plane, you’ll break my heart,” I thought I was delusional. His words got harsher, and I knew I wasn’t imagining him. “
Chica, 
don’t walk away from me.”
 

Enrique was standing outside the yellow rope for the ticket line. He was beside me now. “Is this ballet something you really want to do?”

“I’ll miss my plane.”

“That’s the point. Is this something you really want to do, or are you doing this because you don’t know what else to do?”

“Why?”

“Because if you really want this, I’ll telecommute from Moscow for the next year. It will change my job some, but I can do it. One perk of your name being on the building. But if you’re doing this because you don’t know what else to do, I need a dance teacher.”

It took me a second to take in everything he’d said. “Why are you learning to dance?”

“
I’m 
not learning to dance. I bought a dance studio and I don’t dance.”
 

“Why?”

“To make a girl miss her plane.”

“God, you cannot just buy a dance studio to keep me here. What if I go to Russia anyhow? What are you going to do with it?”

“Your sister says I can sell it for an investment property.” 

If Tiffany said it, it was probably true. But I needed to do something on my own. “Enrique, I don’t want to work for you. Or Tiffany. Or Luke. I need to be a grown up.”

“I’m not proposing you work for me. I think that would be dysfunctional. Your name is on the lease.”

“How did you do that?”

He shrugged. “I paid for it. You don’t owe anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. Your sister forged your signature.”

“Tiffany broke the law?”

“She thought you should stay.” 

“Buying me a job is not cool.”

“I want you to teach enough dance classes to make the lease. I paid it out of a savings account, and I’ll use the lease payment to pay the savings account back. If you do it for two years, I’ll take my name off the lease. If you keep classes, but don’t profit the first two years I’ll give you another three. I don’t really think you can walk away from this. Professional ballets tend to retire dancers at a fairly young age and you’re pushing 30. So you see, I’m your best option.”

I laughed at the way he put that. “I’m barely pushing twenty-five. I’m waiting on you to say something else, and if you say it, I won’t get on the plane.”

“Kammy Marlowe, in case the blatant bribery wasn’t enough, I am madly in love with you. In fact, I have no intention of letting you get on that plane. If I have to kidnap you, your sister will post my bail.”

I dropped my bags as I threw my arms around him and crushed my lips to his. After a couple minutes, the high school kid behind me in line said, “The line is moving. Get a room!” I pulled away from Enrique, laughing. He reached over the rope taking both bags, and I slid under it to the other side.

“
Chica, 
I need one thing,” Enrique said in the car as we drove to my sister’s.
 

“What?”

“You’ve got to make things right with your sister, so Luke will quit talking trash. I don’t want to have to kick my brother’s ass, and at this rate I may.”

“Tiffany is still mad at me?”

“I don’t know.”

Once we got to Tiffany’s, I ran inside calling her name. I wanted to tell her about the dance studio, although she already knew since she’d forged my name.

“I’m up here,” she called. Hand in hand, Enrique and I climbed the stairs. The door to Tiffany’s room was open and she stood inside making the bed. I started in, then hesitated at the doorstep. “Is Luke going to freak out if I come in your room?”

She laughed. “He’ll be fine.” 

Enrique moved his hand from my hand to my waist and locked his arms around me as we walked through her door. 

Tiffany looked at Enrique and smiled. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Thank you for breaking the law for me. I never saw you as a rebel,” I said.

“Luke would make sure I didn’t get convicted.” 
 

“Tiffany, I’m really sorry about everything that happened with Emmett.”

She dropped the mattress she’d been tucking a sheet around. “You mean the affair and then marrying him?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Was this your idea or someone else’s?” Her eyes flicked to Enrique.

I sighed. “I’m really sorry. I have been for a long time. I was sorry when it happened, but I married him because at twenty-one, I thought I loved him. I never apologized because I didn’t know how to bring it up. Recently, I had some encouragement though.”

She picked up the mattress again and set back to work. “It’s okay. I was ready to break up with that loser anyhow. What was I going to do with a skate boarder? It was more the betrayal than anything. All I ever wanted was an apology. I don’t care about Emmett. Luke’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Am I?” Luke asked, walking into the room. “And what are you doing lifting a mattress?”

She giggled. “Yes, you are. And you do not get to be overprotective this time around.” He walked over to the bed and lifted the mattress for her.

“Luke, I’m sorry I never paid you back for the hotel room in Cancun. I think I can start working on that in about six months. It’ll take me that long to build my dance classes,” I said.
 

“Don’t worry about it. Consider it an early wedding present.”

“Damnit Luke!” Enrique said.

“Wedding present?”

Tiffany giggled again. 

“I didn’t mention it at the airport, because I didn’t want you to freak out and get on the plane. I told you 
I 
wasn’t learning to dance, but I’m expecting to have a wedding in the next year and I’ll need to be able to dance with my bride, so I’m expecting a lot of one on one time.” He sighed. “I planned to take you to the ballet tonight, but since Luke let the cat out of the bag…” He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and flipped it open to display a huge solitaire with smaller diamonds on either side and rose gold accents at each end. “And it’s not CZ either.”
 

I laughed. “Did you steal it from a drug dealer?”

“No, but after buying the dance studio I thought about it.”

“I think you should get down on one knee. In fact, ask me at the ballet. Some things need to be done right.”

“Only if I get one on one time first.”

“Deal.”

Luke and Tiffany laughed at us.

“Before you go, I owe you an apology, too,” Luke said.

“For what?”

“You didn’t take the petty cash. When you quit, I assumed you did it, so I never checked the security tape. The security guard did and pointed it out to me because of who it was.”

“Who was it?” Enrique asked.

“A certain frat boy home on a fake break.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he…” Luke held his gaze and understanding flashed across Enrique’s face. “He needs money for something he can’t ask us about.”

Luke nodded.

“I’ll be going to all the Longhorn games this semester. Big brother, you owe me.” Enrique said.

“Gracías,” Luke said. 
 

Enrique took my hand and pushed me toward the door. “But first—dance lessons.”

“Keep it to dance lessons because babies cost a fortune,” Luke said.

Twelve hours later, I went to 
The Nutcracker
 in a limo, wearing an engagement ring. 
 

Acknowledgements

A lot of people go into making a book. The first person I need to thank is my critique partner Shelley Sly. If you haven’t read 
The Fate of a Marlowe Girl, 
I was under the impression it sucked until Shelley pushed me to query and the book had interest. She was also my first reader of this book. She read a really rough version that I really shouldn’t have asked anyone to read. But I lack confidence and Shelley’s supportive comments always give me that. But the book would not be as good without her critical comments as well. Special thanks to my editor and friend 
Kelly Hashway
 for working so quickly, and 
Eden Crane
 for the beautiful cover work, because while it may be what’s on the inside that counts, it’s unfortunately the outside that gets the inside noticed. I’m certain you wouldn’t have read this far without that beautiful image. Also, my new friend 
Lizzy Ford
 is always willing to give advice and told me where to find the cover art.
 

Turn the page to find out more about Tiffany and Luke…

Chapter 1

I sat at the desk in my hotel room, focusing on the numbers on my screen. I'd already calculated what the balance of my client's account should have been, and that wasn’t what my spreadsheet showed. The discrepancy could have been as simple as a mathematical error. That, I could fix here and now. But it could mean that the account was really off, and to know that, I'd have to have receipts and ledgers, which I didn't.  But a mathematical error was entirely possible. The party in the living room of the suite I shared with my sister was so loud I couldn't think.

Some rap song I didn't know continued to blare in the background. “Twenty-twenty-seven plus thirteen hundred,” I mumbled, in an attempt to think over the bad music. Then someone knocked at the door. 
Whatever. 
I wasn't answering that. 

At least, not until the pounding started. The door bowled in the middle like someone pushed their weight against it from the other side. Having no desire to pay for a broken door, I gave in and opened it. Three girls stood on the other side.

The redhead said, “OMG! Let us in. You have the only working bathroom in the suite.”

Great, they broke a bathroom already.

I was about to shut the door when she placed one hand on the side of the open door and the other on the door-frame. She pushed my door open, with me standing behind it.

“Fine,” I said, “use the bathroom. Then get out of my room.”

The redhead darted into my bathroom while two other girls stood outside of it. They left my door open, and now other people came in. 

“Hey, this room is not part of the party,” I shouted. Loud conversations, jiving bodies, and drinking continued. Not one person even acted like they heard me. 

I grabbed the laptop from the desk and hugged it to me. I couldn't afford to lose any information. It was tax season. The only reason I was even here was because my little sister just had to be married in two weeks.  A decision she came to exactly two weeks ago, and as her maid of honor, it was my duty to plan her bachelorette party. Something simple back home wouldn't do. She begged me for a party in Cancun. When I told her as politely as possible I didn't really want to pay for it, and honestly didn't have the time, she told on me. The next thing I knew, my mom left a dozen voice-mails telling me this was my only little sister and since I was able to do it for her, I should. I felt horrible. I already felt obligated to make sure Kammy had a nice party, and the guilt was too much. 

But this party was out of control. It was time to find my sister and kill her. Laptop still hugged to me, I attempted to shuffle past the group that had gathered in my room. But they were laughing and drinking, and a blonde fell backwards. I jumped back quickly enough to keep from being pummeled to the floor, laptop in hand. The two girls beside her caught her before she hit the floor.

“God, would you watch it?” I snapped at her.

She turned to me and scrunched up her nose. “What are you doing with a laptop anyhow? What are you, some kinda computer nerd?”

“Well, someone has to pay for my little sister and a dozen of her friends, most of which I don't like, to go to Cancun.”

“I don't care if you like me. Loser.” She held her hand in the shape of an “L” on her forehead. 

“Right. I'm the loser.” 

I clasped the laptop to my chest with one hand and took the backpack purse from my back with the other. I dropped the computer in it, fastened it, and strapped it in front of me. I thought my laptop might be safer tucked inside something, and the room I was about to venture into was even crazier than this one. Plastic cups and beer bottles littered the coffee table and floor. The stench of alcohol and body odor polluted the air.

 There weren't supposed to be strippers, and the alcohol was supposed to be kept to a minimum, but the first stripper had shown up more than an hour ago, which is when I decided it was totally acceptable to 

work on my accounts while my sister and her friends chose to make me uncomfortable in the suite I was paying for. Since then, I'd been locked safely behind my door, and things outside had gotten worse. Much worse. Now there were more strippers than I cared to count.

“Kammy!” I called. No answer. I took two steps toward her room when a drunk girl, dancing with a stripper, smacked into me. I knew I would hit the floor, so I hugged the purse tighter to my chest.  I landed on my back being trampled on in more than one place. “Oww!” I screamed out. My hand throbbed under someone's four inch stiletto heel. The shoe moved, and I cussed under my breath for a moment like it would help the pain. I glanced at my hand to survey the damage, but a voice coming from in front of me asked, “Need help?”