Great-Aunt Sophia's Lessons for Bombshells (37 page)

“They don’t know?”

Sophia patted her hand. “They’ll figure it out eventually. I don’t want you to worry about that, though. I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Grace said, her heart feeling as if metal bands were squeezing it tight.

“Tomorrow evening is the gala.”

“We have to cancel it.”

Sophia shook her head. “No. After all my hard work? I want you to take over my role. I want you to hostess the party.”

“Me?”

“Who better?” Sophia said with a faint smile. “Darlene knows all the details. She’ll fill you in. You’ll wear my green dress, of course.”

“It’ll never fit.”

Sophia ignored her. “There’s a tableau vivant you’ll be in, and you’ll be led out onto the dance floor in an opening dance. And of course you’ll need to welcome everyone. You can do that, can’t you?”

Dread grew in Grace as each duty was spelled out, and she imagined herself trying to step into Sophia’s shoes—literally—as the grand dame of the fête. “Maybe one of the other women who organized the gala would be better—”

“You, Grace.” Sophia squeezed her hand. “I have taught you all I know. Consider this your final exam.”

Grace bit her lip, uncertainty washing over her.

“For me, Grace. Do it for me. It may be the last thing I ever ask of you.”

Grace sucked in a breath as tears stung her eyes. “Of course. Don’t worry, I’ll make you proud.”

Sophia smiled and closed her eyes. “Thank you.” She was silent for a few minutes, and Grace started to wonder if she’d fallen asleep. Then her eyes opened a slit and she spoke again. “You can send Ernesto back in. And then tell Declan I’d like to talk to him.”

“Okay.” Grace moved to leave, then looked back at Sophia with a half smile. “Ernesto is devoted to you, isn’t he?”

“Stubborn old fool.”

“Stubborn for loving you?”

Sophia’s eyes opened fully. “Stubborn for never marrying me. He thinks I have too much money to ever respect him as a husband. He insists on being my lover, but nothing more.” Sophia laughed hoarsely. “Don’t look so shocked, darling. One’s love life doesn’t stop at eighty.”

Grace blinked, and went to fetch Ernesto, who was waiting just outside the door.

He read the surprise on Grace’s face, and his eyes crinkled with amusement. “She doesn’t really want me to marry her,” he said softly. “My power comes from being unattainable, and that excites her. We are both happier this way.”

Grace nodded dumbly and watched him slip back into the room. She’d known there was affection and flirting between them, but never suspected how deep their emotions ran. She’d thought Sophia alone, but right under Grace’s nose she had a lover devoted to her, who valued their bond above a chance at millions.

Still stunned and amazed, she wandered back to the waiting area, only coming back to herself at the sound of Declan’s voice.

“You goddamned greedy prick!” he cried.

Grace came around the corner just in time to see Declan’s fist connect with Andrew’s nose. Andrew yelped and stumbled, and fell on his butt. Blood flowed from his nose, his hands going up to staunch it.

“Declan!” Grace screeched. “What the hell are you doing?”
She rushed forward and dropped down beside Andrew, who was feeling the bridge of his nose, testing it for breaks. “What the hell?” Grace demanded, glaring up at Declan.

Declan’s face was red with anger, his breath heaving, his fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t answer. Alyson and Darlene hadn’t returned from their coffee quest, so there was no one to explain what had happened.

“She wants to see you,” Grace told Declan harshly. “Go. Get out of here.”

Declan and Andrew locked glares.

“Sophia’s waiting,” Grace said.

Declan’s hot stare went from Andrew to her, and then he tore himself away.

When he’d gone, Grace started to help Andrew up. “What happened?”

Andrew shook his head. “He’s a menace. I mentioned you, and he went ballistic.”

“What did you say?” Grace asked, intensely curious.

He shook his head, feeling his nose. “I should press charges.”

Grace gripped his arm. “With Sophia in this condition? It would distress her. Don’t.”

Andrew gritted his teeth, but nodded. He went to a cart parked nearby and found a towel. He pressed it to his nose, then squeaked in pain. “Goddammit! Christ, he deserved to have that fake cricket planted on his land.”

Grace rocked back on her heels. “What?”

Andrew’s eyes darted to her, wary.

“The Steinbeck cricket was a plant, like Declan said all along?”

Andrew held out his hand toward her. “In a good cause. You said yourself, it was a shame to see such beautiful land fall under a developer’s bulldozer.”

“But you
lied?
To me, to Sophia, to everyone? You made up an animal that doesn’t even exist! Declan is going to court about it.”

“It’s all in a good cause. I thought you would understand that. Doesn’t the environment matter to you?”

“Not enough to lie about it. How is that honorable?”

“The end justifies the means.”

Grace shook her head, staring at Andrew in disbelief. “I didn’t think this was who you were.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “So you’re not going to forgive me one fake cricket, when I can forgive you for behaving like Declan’s whore all summer?”

Grace’s eyes went wide, and she felt her cheeks flame.
“No.”

He snorted. “Figures.”

Grace shook her head. “No to everything, Andrew. There’s no way in hell I’d marry you now.”

The color drained from his face. “Grace, wait. Let’s talk about this.”

“About what? Why would you even want to marry ‘Declan’s whore’?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He reached out toward her.

She backed away. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

Darlene and Alyson appeared, paper cups of coffee in their hands. Their conversation cut off as their surprised gazes went from Andrew’s bloody face to Grace.

“Mom, we’re going back to the house,” Grace said, taking Alyson by the arm. “C’mon.”

“What—”

“I’ll explain in the car.” If she ever could explain. Today it felt as if the world had turned upside down, and there was no end in sight to the chaos and upheaval.

Declan stomped down
the hall to Sophia’s hospital room, rage still flooding his veins. If Grace hadn’t appeared, he’d have pounded the crap out of Andrew, and he was of half a mind even now to go back and finish the job.

Goddamned fucking little nitwit prick.

After the women had left the waiting area Declan had tried not to even look at the jerk who’d proposed to Grace, but then Andrew had started flapping his lips.

“Quite a revelation about Sophia being Grace’s great-grandmother, eh?” he’d said.

Declan had grunted.

“It makes it even more likely now, doesn’t it?”

Curiosity had made Declan turn unwilling eyes on his enemy. “Makes what more likely?”

“What you’ve been counting on. You thought you could screw Grace into marrying you, and then when she inherited Sophia’s fortune in a few years you’d have it all to yourself. Looks like you miscalculated, though. Looks like Grace is going to choose substance over style, just like I knew she would. You’ll never see a dime of Sophia’s money. I win.”

“That’s why you asked Grace to marry you?” Declan said in disbelief. He’d always suspected Andrew was hoping for an inheritance from Sophia, but it still shocked him.

Andrew shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not a burden. She’s intelligent and pretty. It’s good genetic material for children. And it should be fairly entertaining making them, as long as she doesn’t gain too much baby weight between each one.” He grinned.

It was the grin that sent Declan over the edge. The smarmy little prick. He had Grace in his net, but he had no idea of the treasure he held. No damned idea.

He stopped outside Sophia’s door to get control of himself.
He was dimly aware that the rage felt better than what was waiting for him beneath it: a bottomless, black sense of loss.

He went in, and Ernesto came over to tell him in a low voice that the doctors didn’t yet know what had happened to Sophia. With a silent, sad nod Ernesto left him alone with her.

Declan approached the bed, the last of his anger draining away. The sense of loss welled up to take its place, filling his soul with a desolation like none he’d ever known.

He took Sophia’s frail hand in his own. It felt as fragile as a butterfly’s wing.

“Declan,” Sophia said, opening her eyes.

He sat, and leaned close. “I’m here.”

“Surely you don’t look so woebegone over me?”

“That shouldn’t surprise you.”

“It’s flattering, but I’m too wise to believe it. It’s Grace, isn’t it?”

Declan ducked his face, and to his shock, felt tears in his eyes. One fell free, soaking into the sheet and making a small, dark spot.

“Poor Declan,” Sophia sighed. She slipped her hand free of his and touched his bent head. “I warned you that you might have to come by love the hard way, that you’d have to lose it before you could ever understand its worth.”

“I’ve made a muck of things,” he breathed through his tight chest. “I didn’t even know I was destroying my chances at something that would mean so much to me.”

Sophia chuckled. “So what are you going to do to clean up your mess?”

Declan raised his head. “It’s too late. Andrew asked her to marry him, and then she told me she didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“And what did you say to her then?”

“What could I say? I tried to be a gentleman and accept it.”

Sophia’s hand slipped from his hair down to his ear. She twisted it sharply, with surprising strength.

“Ow!”

“Idiot.”

“What would you have me do? She made it clear that she doesn’t want me.”

Sophia’s hand reached toward his ear again, and he shied away. Deprived of her target, she said, “Do you really think that a girl like Grace would spend all summer having sex with you if she didn’t care for you at least a little?”

Declan gaped at Sophia, embarrassment flushing through him. “You knew?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Did anyone not know?”

“Did she say anything to you about how she feels about me?”

“I don’t betray confidences.”

“Sophia! Please!”

“You’re a coward, Declan. It’s Grace you should be talking to, not me.”

“She already made herself clear.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“She said I wasn’t enough. She said she needed more.”

“And you said what?”

“That I understood.”

Sophia narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“God help me. Did you ever tell the girl that you love her?”

“No, of course not. I . . . I didn’t know I loved her. But she’s never hinted that the feelings might be returned.”

“Forgive me for being a senile old woman hopelessly behind the times, but are the ways of women so different now that it is now
their
job to declare their affections first?”

“You mean . . .”

“If Grace is half as smart as I give her credit for, why the hell would she make herself vulnerable by letting you see what was in her heart? What reason did you ever give her to trust you?”

“None,” he said. “Not a damn one.”

“Even Andrew had the guts to propose to her—which means you owe me a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, by the way.”

He nodded in disbelief. She was on her deathbed, collecting a debt?

“Are you going to let Andrew have her?” Sophia went on. “Are you going to let her spend her life with him? Are you going to let him take her to his bed every night, and plant his children in her belly?”

“No. No, by God, I’m not!”

“That’s my boy.” Sophia sighed, and seemed to deflate, as if she had used the last of her will and energy to get her message across. She closed her eyes, and vaguely waved him away. “I’m so very tired. Let me rest now.”

“Of course.” Worried, and flushed with guilt over taxing her strength with talk of his screwed-up love life, he squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead. “Sleep well. You’ll be home soon.”

“God willing . . . ,” she murmured, and drifted off to sleep.

Sophia heard Declan
leave, and Ernesto returned to her side. She popped open an eye to check that they were indeed alone.

“The coast is clear, my wicked dear,” Ernesto said.

“Thank God.” Sophia sat up. “Sweetheart, could you get me a washcloth? My vanity is offended by this makeup that turns me into a corpse. I’d rather not have you see me this way until I’m dead.”

“You are a bad, bad woman,
mi amor
. So many lies you have told this summer, so many schemes you have put into play. I did
not think your plan with the MG crash would work, but I was a fool to underestimate you.” Ernesto went to fetch the washcloth.

“I may be a bad woman, but I’m a brilliant actress,” she called after him. “With any luck, I can stop pretending that my hip hurts so badly, too. Those steroid injections were a high price to pay for the facade.” When Ernesto returned she patted the bed beside her and raised her brows seductively. “I did pay for the room through tomorrow, you know. Care for a bit of necrophilia before I wash off the paint?”

“
Dios mio
—a very bad woman,” Ernesto said, but the light in his eyes said anything but.

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