The One-Week Wife

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“I’m absolutely wonderful.” Delia patted her dyed platinum pageboy, which was always perfectly coiffed.

Why was it people seemed to love platinum-blond so much? Didn’t they realize the dyed version looked completely fake? Felicity looked in the mirror at her own natural platinum hair color with satisfaction.

“And what about you, dear? I know you must be run ragged these days, what with the Townsend wedding and the Newhouse wedding and the Dearborn-Kelly cancellation, not to mention all that committee work.”

This last was said disparagingly, because Delia was not a part of any of the charities or club committees that the Debs were involved in. Felicity nastily wondered if that was because she knew the other women would not let her run roughshod over them as she was wont to do.

“I’m managing just fine,” Felicity said. Her tone didn’t invite further comment. Taking lip gloss out of her handbag, she applied a fresh coat.

Delia, however, was too obtuse to take the hint. “I’m just shocked that your supposed friend Emma would do that to you.”

Felicity frowned. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” She closed the tube of lip gloss and dropped it back into her handbag.

“Oh, come on, Felicity. Why, she just canceled her wedding out of the blue, now, didn’t she? That tells me she doesn’t care who she hurts. Frankly, I think it’s horrible that she would let you lose money like that. But that’s typical of your friends, isn’t it? They’re all independently wealthy, so they can’t understand what it’s like for someone like you.”

“Delia, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felicity snapped, suddenly not caring if she antagonized this stupid woman or not. “Emma would never purposely hurt anyone, least of all me. Breaking her engagement to Reed Kelly had nothing to do with me, and even if it had, I would not have wanted her to marry him if she didn’t love him. And as far as my friends being independently wealthy, Lily’s had nothing given to her. She’s worked hard all her life. And Abby’s an executive—she works like a dog. In fact, they all work. Emma has an art gallery and Vanessa…” Her voice trailed off. Why was she even talking to this despicable woman? “Never mind. I’m wasting my breath talking to you.”

And with that, Felicity spun on her heel and walked out. She told herself to calm down, but she was still gritting her teeth and muttering under her breath when she got back to the table.

“What’s wrong?” asked Emma.

Felicity rolled her eyes. “Delia Forrester. Need I say more?”

Everyone immediately groaned and agreed.

“You know,” Abby said, “I sure would like to know what that woman did before she married Frank. My mother tried to find out, but as far as I know, she wasn’t successful.”

“Oh, I know what she did,” Felicity said.

“You do?” This came from Lily.

“Yes.” Felicity grinned. “She stirred her cauldron and concocted her brews.”

For a moment there was silence. Then Vanessa snorted, and they all burst out laughing.

“Oh, you’re bad,” Emma said, but she was laughing, too.

“Well, she is a witch,” Felicity pointed out.

“More like a bitch,” Vanessa corrected.

“That, too,” Felicity said.

The conversation stopped as their waiter approached with their food, and after that, the subject of Delia was dropped. For the next hour they talked about the blackmail letters that Lily’s husband and Garrett’s sister Caroline had received. Abby was convinced that the extortion attempts and the theft of her mother’s journals were connected, and Felicity couldn’t help thinking she was right, even though that might mean Abby’s other theory—that her mother had been murdered—might also be right. Felicity shivered at the thought. Murder seemed so horrible, but Bunny had certainly inspired animosity among those people whose lives and secrets she’d written about.

When they’d exhausted that topic, the conversation turned to Vanessa’s ongoing battle with her deceased husband’s family over his will.

Emma, much more openly kindhearted than Felicity would ever be, reached over and clasped Vanessa’s hand. “I’m sorry you’re having to go through this, Van.”

At times like this, Felicity couldn’t help remembering how Sam’s family—whom she had adored—had turned against her after the divorce. She, too, reached for Vanessa’s hand. “Just remember. This will pass.”

Her reward was a smile. “Thanks,” Vanessa said softly. “To all of you.” Raising her water glass, she said, “Here’s to friendship.”

After they toasted one another, the talk finally veered to lighter subjects, and before Felicity knew it, it was time to go.

Emma walked out with Felicity, and as they stood in the parking lot, she asked, “Is everything all right? You left the table so abruptly before.” Her eyes were troubled. “Are you angry with me for some reason?”

“Why would you say that?” Felicity wished she could confide in Emma, but how could she? “Of course I’m not angry with you.”

“I know you’ve always liked Reed. You probably think I treated him badly.”

Felicity sighed. “Emma, you did the right thing. Actually, I admire you for having the guts to tell him the truth.” She smiled. “I’m glad for you and Garrett.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No,” Felicity said softly. “I’m not just saying that.”

Emma sighed in relief. “I’m so glad. I—I would’ve hated if this had impacted our friendship.” She hesitated, then added, “Your friendship is very important to me—you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Because I feel the same way.”

Smiling at one another, they hugged, then said goodbye, promising to talk soon.

Driving home, Felicity vowed that in the future she would not do anything that would cause her to keep secrets from Emma again. Her friendship with Emma was too important to jeopardize, and even though Emma had broken up with Reed, she might still feel a sense of betrayal if Felicity were to start seeing him. She might even think Felicity had just been waiting for an opportunity to pounce. I can’t have that happen. I can’t gamble with my friendship with Emma.

So even though she felt regret, Felicity knew she had to put Reed Kelly out of her mind once and for all.

“Hey, Reed! Wait up.”

Reed, who had been about to walk into the Eastwick hardware store, turned to see his lawyer and old friend, Jack Cartwright, approaching. “Hey, Jack. How’re you doing?”

Jack grinned. “Great. How about you?”

“Great.”

“No, I mean, how’re you doing, really?”

Dammit. There was that look of pity Reed had come to despise. “Hell, Jack,” he said irritably. “I’m fine. I wish everyone would quit asking.”

Because Jack really was a good friend, he didn’t take offense at Reed’s testy answer. Instead, he reached over and grasped Reed’s arm, saying, “Sorry, man. I just…you know.”

Reed sighed. “Yeah, I know.” Determined to change the subject, he added, “How’s Lily? Isn’t she about due?”

Jack’s expression softened. “She’s got a couple of months yet.”

Reed couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. Not only was Jack married to a beautiful woman he was crazy about, she was carrying his child.

They talked a while longer, then Jack said he had a three-o’clock appointment and had better hurry if he was going to make it. They promised to get together soon, and Reed went inside the store. He found the things he needed, then walked to the front of the store to pay for them. Mae Burrows, the wife of the owner, was working the counter. She rang up his purchases, told him what he owed, then said, “Reed, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about you and Emma Dearborn splitting up.”

Trying to keep his voice from showing his frustration, he said, “Thanks, Mae, but it was for the best.”

“Well, that may be,” she said, “but it still must hurt.”

“Oh, no worse than having my nails pulled out one by one.” At her expression, he chuckled. “Only kidding, Mae.” Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. “Seriously, I appreciate your concern, but our breakup really is best for both of us.” Taking his package, he waved goodbye and walked out before she could say anything else.

But her remarks, combined with Jack’s sympathetic comments, only reinforced the idea that had been brewing now for more than twenty-four hours.

“People in this town need something new to talk about,” he muttered. “And I know just what that something is.”

So instead of heading straight back to the farm, he walked down the block to Georgia Lang’s travel agency. He was in luck. Georgia was in, and she didn’t have a customer. Peering at him over the glasses perched on her nose, she said with a slight frown, “Hello, Reed.”