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Keri gave Randall a pointed look and then maneuvered around him. “C’mon. Let’s do like your fiancé says and mingle.”
Isabella didn’t have it in her to protest and allowed her friend to direct her away. However, she did catch Randall’s irritation from the corner of her eyes. “Why did you do that?” she hissed at Keri.
“Why do you think?” Keri snapped back. “I can’t stand that man.”
“Keri—”
“Look, he wants you to mingle. We’re going to mingle. Ah, Senator Winfield.” Keri stopped and offered the Ken-doll look-alike a stunning smile. “So nice to see you.”
Winfield perked up and returned the favor. After he imparted his congratulations to Isabella, his attention returned to Keri, despite the narrowed gaze from his wife.
Isabella, still enjoying the slight buzz from the champagne, glanced around the crowded room. It was her party and yet she felt like the loneliest woman in the room. Everyone appeared to be having a great time. She, on the other hand, wondered how much longer before everyone would go home.
“I don’t know how she did it,” a female’s voice floated over to her. “She must be one of those closet freaks. You know how buck wild Randall is in the bedroom.”
Isabella twisted around, trying to see who was talking.
“Girl, don’t I know it,” a short brunette near the fireplace confided. “Randy was the best lover I ever had. I want to scratch his fiancée’s eyes out. I mean really—her?”
“I know,” the voice said. “But if I know our Randy, he bores easy. Soon as he gets tired of her, he’ll come running back and I’ll keep the sheets turned down.”
Isabella dropped her champagne glass, swiveled toward the two mysterious women, but ran smack into a waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. A collective gasp rose from the guests as something with teriyaki sauce ruined her aqua blue cocktail dress.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Kane,” the waiter apologized profusely.
Slowly, Isabella lowered her gaze to the horrendous mess and felt tears brim in her eyes. However, before she had a chance to open her mouth, her mother along with her team of sorority sisters rushed into action. She was directed out of the room and shuffled upstairs to her old bedroom.
“Find something quick,” Katherine commanded, throwing open the walk-in closet doors.
Problem was that Isabella hadn’t lived in her parents’ home since she graduated from high school and there wasn’t anything presentable to wear in her old closet.
Rayne and Waqueisha unzipped the back of Isabella’s dress while Katherine, Keri and Sylvia combed through a wardrobe that should’ve been donated to the Salvation Army at least a decade ago.
“What about this one?” Isabella’s mother produced an oldie but goody Easter ensemble that rendered everyone else speechless.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Katherine surmised.
“Do you have anything in your closet she can wear?” Keri asked Katherine.
It was an innocent question, but the obvious answer stared Keri in the face. Isabella wore an average size eight while her mother would challenge anyone to a duel if they suggested her size eighteen frame was any higher than a twelve.
Waqueisha balled her hands on her hips. “Well, unless we’re going to snatch the curtains down and pull a Scarlett O’Hara, we’re going have to use one of your dresses, Ms. Kane.”
A few minutes later, Isabella stepped into one of her mother’s black sequin numbers and looked as though she was eight years old and playing dress up.
It was the perfect moment to have an emotional breakdown.
Boxes of Kleenex magically appeared and everyone patted Isabella on her back and head like she was a stray puppy.
“There, there. Baby, what’s wrong?” Katherine asked.
Isabella just sobbed louder and mopped at her face. How could she tell them the horrendous things those women had said downstairs? How could she tell them that she was beginning to have second thoughts about marrying Randall while she was at her own engagement party?
“Is it the dress?” Katherine asked. “I can go search for a different one.”
Seizing on the convenient excuse, Isabella bobbed her head and then slumped with relief when her mother raced back out of the room.
“Okay. She’s gone.” Keri turned Isabella from the mirror to face her. “What’s really wrong?”
Isabella wanted to hold it in, but before she knew it the words burst from her explaining about the two women downstairs. Four angry masks covered her sorors’ faces before they all started removing their earrings.
Waqueisha pivoted on her heels. “Oh, we can handle this for you right now. Girls, let’s roll.”
“No. No.” Isabella grabbed Waqueisha by the wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go beating up Randall’s ex-girlfriends—even if we knew who they all were.”
“What the heck are they even doing here?” Rayne asked.
“We should scratch their eyes out,” Keri snapped.
“C’mon,” Sylvia laughed. “One of the hottest bachelors in town? It’s a woman’s natural instinct to come and see who’d finally roped him into marriage.”
“And then laugh when they see me,” Isabella moped, snatching a new Kleenex from the offered pink box.
“Aww, now,” the sorors chimed sympathetically.
Isabella shrugged away from them and turned to face the mirror. “Just look at me.” She was a bigger mess now that her tears had ruined her makeup. “How did I land someone like Randall?”
“It’s not the how that’s important,” Rayne said. “Only that you did.”
“But I want to look like someone that belongs on Randall Jarrett’s arm. And more importantly like someone who knows how to keep him.”
“Just like you wanted to prep for your honeymoon?” Keri asked, crossing her arms.
“Say what?” Waqueisha asked.
Keri quickly brought the other girls up to speed.
“You told her to buy some books?” Rayne and Waqueisha asked, incredulous.
“Figured she needed to start with the basics,” Keri defended.
Waqueisha rolled her eyes. “You need a new sex teacher and hot makeover. Lucky for you I’m available.”
The girls nearly choked on their laughter.
Waqueisha ignored them both. “You’re coming to Atlanta for my party, right?”
Isabella hesitated, but then decided why not and nodded.
“Great. While you’re there I’m going to teach you how to rock Randall’s world and give you a top of the line makeover.” She took Isabella by the shoulder and turned her back toward the mirror. “Mark my words. When you return to Washington, you’re going to be a brand-new woman.”
Chapter 7 (#ulink_523ba08a-e2a9-5715-b007-68b581e382bc)
“Absolutely not,” Randall shouted, appalled. “I forbid you to go gallivanting around Atlanta with those loose Delta Phi Theta sisters of yours. Need I remind you that we’re supposed to be planning a wedding?”
Isabella stopped listening after the word “forbid.” In the seconds that followed her back stiffened and her face grew hot. Before she knew it, she was up on her feet and stalking toward her fiancé with her hands on her hips. When Randall turned from his office desk to wag a finger, he jumped back, surprised to see her so close and doubly surprised to see the anger glaring up at him.
“What do you mean you forbid me to go?” she said in a near growl. “You don’t own me.”
Randall blinked.
Isabella drew a deep breath and took a step back. She didn’t know whether it was the excessive amount of alcohol she had—three drinks—or residual anger from Randall’s ex-girlfriends showing up at her party. All she knew was that she was tired of being pushed around. “You know what?” she said, wiggling her engagement ring off her finger. “I think I made a mistake.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Randall tossed up his hands, refusing to take the ring back from her. “Let’s slow down. I thought we were just having a discussion?”
“No. You were ordering me around like you thought this damn ring meant I was bought and paid for,” she hissed and then threw the diamond at him. Never in her life had she stood up to anyone like this. She found the experience exhilarating. Pivoting on her heels, she marched toward the door of Randall’s private study, but Randall made it there first and blocked her exit.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s calm down,” he said with clear panic written all over his face. “Obviously, I didn’t handle this well. I’m sorry.”
More like he was thinking about what a broken engagement would look like in the papers. “Move out of my way,” Isabella said calmly.
“You’re mad.”
“No shit.”
He jerked, stunned by the uncharacteristic language. “Fine. Fine. Go to Atlanta, if it means so much to you.” He acquiesced as if she held a gun to his head.
She stared at him, enjoying the feel of her newfound power. “Why did you invite your ex-girlfriends to the party?”
“What?”
Surely, he wasn’t going to play stupid. “They were all over the place, buzzing around hinting about...” She drew another breath; her courage waned at the thought of discussing his sex life.
“Hinting about what?”
“You know.” She straightened her shoulder. “How good you are—you know—in bed.”
He stared for a long moment and then finally burst out laughing. “Is that what all this is about? You’re jealous?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“C’mon, Isabella. I know you’ve never...but you can’t be that naïve. I’m thirty-two. Of course I’ve...dated around.”
“You mean slept around.”
He cocked his head at her; a bemused grin still on his face. “It’s all in the past.” He stepped forward and settled his hands on her shoulders. “I’m marrying you. Those women are only jealous and are trying to drive a wedge between us.”
“But why were they here at our engagement party?”
“C’mon. This is Washington. You know you don’t burn bridges in this town. Some of the women I’ve dated are some powerful women in their own right. What would it look like if I didn’t invite them?”
He smiled, but he looked like a cheap car salesman when he did it.
“Tell you what,” he said, dropping one arm and sliding the other across her to cradle her in a hug. “Go to Atlanta. Consider it a mini-vacation. If being with your friends is going to cheer you up then I’m all for it. But when you get back, I expect us to knuckle down on planning this wedding. I was thinking something like April 8th. What do you think?”
She didn’t say anything. She wanted him to release her.
“Good. Good,” Randall said, taking her silence as a yes. “Now why don’t you go home and get you some rest, uhm?” He looked down at her; his cheap car salesman’s smile still in place. Again, he took her silence as an agreement and he leaned down and planted a kiss in the center of her forehead.
When his arm finally fell from her shoulder, she headed toward the door.
“Wait. Wait.” Randall glanced around the floor and then rushed over to the other side of the room and retrieved her ring. “Don’t forget this.” He held up the diamond.
Isabella stared at it and then at Randall. “You keep it.” She opened the door and strolled out.
* * *
Whatever freedom Isabella felt was short lived. By morning, she woke with cotton mouth, a migraine and a massive hangover. After she managed to crawl out of bed and shuffle toward her morning shower, she wondered how long it would be before her father would send her mother over to fix her broken engagement. An hour or two at most.
While she stood motionless beneath the steaming hot water, she replayed the events of last night and smiled at the image of her throwing her diamond ring at Randall. The man truly looked as though he was about to have a heart attack.
She snickered and then wished that she would be able to conjure one tenth of last night’s courage when her mother came calling. Looking for her when her cab dropped her off, she had the foresight to take the phone off the hook. If she hadn’t, she would have been besieged by phone calls.
Finally clean and somewhat alert, Isabella shut off the shower, dried off and slipped into her favorite robe and made her way to the kitchen.
Only someone was already waiting for her.
“You look well rested.”
“Daddy.”
“Coffee?” he asked, holding up her favorite mug.
“Sure,” she said. This was really serious if her father came to handle her himself. “Black. No sugar.”
“I remember.” He poured two cups. “I heard you and Randall had quite a fight last night.”
There wasn’t going to be any beating around the bush.
“Those things are normal,” her father said. “The stress of planning a wedding can do those things.”
“I don’t...” C’mon. You can do this. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”
“Of course there is,” her father countered without missing a beat. “You just have wedding jitters.”
Isabella stared up at her father, swallowed whatever retort she had since his tone made it clear that this wasn’t up for discussion.
The senator walked out of the kitchen to hand her coffee. “It’s hot.”
