Page 48 of Bargaining

Elain’s smile was wistful. “Penelope.”

“Who?”

A shadow crossed Elain’s face, and she moved to the door. “It’s not really my place to say. Maybe you could ask him.”

“He doesn’t talk about himself much.”

“You’re about to be his wife. You should ask him. He should trust you more than anyone.”

Fake wife.Although, he did seem to trust me. He’d told me as much. Lifting my train off the ground, I followed Elain to the door. A worn spiral-bound pad on the bookcase caught my eye. It looked out of place among the neat rows of vintage leather-bound books.

I plucked out the pad and flipped through the pages. Pencil sketches and glued-in postcodes of exotic locations filled the pages. There were pages and pages of hands. I’d been obsessed back then with trying to recreate the hand shapes in Michelangelo’sThe Creation of Adam.The entire Sistine Chapel was a work of genius, but the central part of it had always thrilled me. There was so much drama and tension in those almost touching fingertips.

My heart skipped a beat. The book hurtled me back to Ecclesdale and the days I’d spent in the woods sketching and painting. God. I’d been a pretentious kid. I’d really fancied myself an artist. It hadn’t taken me long to realize I wasn’t good enough. Art school had knocked the wind out of my sails.

“These are my drawings,” I said, clutching the book to my chest.

Elain raised an eyebrow. “They are?”

“It’s one of my scrapbooks. I had dozens. I used to take one everywhere with me. Why would Cole have this?”

She shrugged. “You were friends, weren’t you? Maybe he picked it up sometime by accident?”

It was a possibility. Cole had spent so much of his time in Dad’s study, and he was always borrowing books. It would have been easy to pick it up by accident.

She eyed me with a wistful expression and held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s get you out of that dress before it gets creased.”

I returned the book to the shelf, even though it was mine. Elain might have found him laid-back, but I didn’t like to think how he’d react to the idea of us snooping around in his study.

She beamed at me. “You’re going to knock him out when he sees you in this. I can’t wait to see his face.”

Maybe, but more likely he would be indifferent. It seemed Elain and I had spent time with entirely different men.

Chapter 22

Charlotte

The solemn notes of the organ drifted out of the church, and I braced myself to walk up the stone steps alone. Tiff helped me with my makeup this morning. She’d offered to walk me down the aisle, but I’d said no. We’d both know that it should have been Dad. It would have been too much unspoken. Better to do it alone so I’d have some chance of holding myself together.

I took a breath, but before I could open the door, Cole emerged from the church. A smart tuxedo jacket wrapped around his broad shoulders. A small spray of lilacs poked from his buttonhole. I’d never seen a man more handsome in my life. A rush of nerves gripped me. What was he doing out here? He didn’t want to go through with it anymore?

“What are you doing?”

He stared at me as though lost in thought. “You look ...” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “You like the dress?”

“I like it. You did well.” I toed his shiny brogue with my ivory satin slipper. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

It was the understatement of the century. He looked like he’d stepped off the cover ofGQ.

“Thanks.” His face remained impassive as he offered his arm. “Shall we?”

My puzzlement must have shown on my face because he spoke in a low, soothing voice. “I saw Tiffany sitting in there. I didn’t want you to have to walk in on your own.”

Really? That was more thoughtful than I would have expected from him. Dad should be doing it.Tears pressed at my eyes.Oh God. Think of the mascara.

“You’re supposed to meet me at the altar. This has to be bad luck.”

Cole raised a sarcastic eyebrow and whispered low. “I’d hate to start off our fake marriage with bad luck.” He motioned with his arm. “Come on, Miss Ackroyd. Let’s make an honest woman out of you.”