Rupert St. Cyr, Edward’s cousin, had a lavish mansion, complete with an indoor pool, a five-thousand-bottle wine cellar, a huge gilded ballroom with enormous crystal chandeliers hanging from a forty-foot ceiling and very glamorous, wealthy people dancing to a jazz quartet.
“Congratulations!”
“You old devil, I don’t know how you did it. Well done.”
Edward smiled and nodded distantly as people came up to congratulate him on the business deal. I clutched his arm as we walked toward the coat room.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry I ever tried to help you,” he said under his breath.
“I shouldn’t have lied to you.” I bit my lip. “But something happened at the audition today, something that you should...”
“Spare me the excuses,” he bit out. He narrowed his eyes. “This is exactly why I usually end love affairs after a few weeks. Before all the lies can start!”
I stopped, feeling sick and dizzy. “You’re threatening to break up with me? Just because I didn’t go to auditions?”
“Because you lied to my face about it,” he said in a low voice, his eyes shooting sparks of blue fire. “I don’t give a damn what you do. If you don’t want to act, be a ditchdigger, child minder, work in a shop. Stay at home and do nothing for all I care. Just be honest about it.”
“Auditioning is so hard,” I choked out. I knew I wasn’t doing myself any favors trying to explain but I couldn’t help it. “Facing brutal rejection, day after day. I have no friends here. No connections.”
His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “You wish you were back in L.A. Is that what you’re saying?”
His expression looked so strange, I hardly knew what to say. “Yes. I mean, no....”
Beneath the gilded chandeliers of the ballroom, Edward’s expression hardened. So did his voice. “If you want to go, then go.”
I shriveled up inside.
Turning, he left the coat room, leaving me to trail behind him.
“Edward!” I heard a throaty coo, and looking up, I saw Victoria St. Cyr coming toward us. “And Diana. What a pleasant surprise.” Insultingly, she looked me up and down, and my cheeks went hot. My cocktail dress that had seemed so daring and sexy suddenly felt like layers of tacky trash bags twisted tightly around my zaftig body, especially compared to the elegantly draped gray dress over her severely thin frame. She bared her teeth into a smile. “How very...charming that you’re still with us. And surprising.”
Things only went downhill from there.
I did not fit into Edward’s world. I felt insecure and out of place. Clutching his arm, I clung to him pathetically as he walked through the party. Even as he drank short glasses of port with the other men, and traded verbal barbs with his cousin, I tried to be part of the conversation, to act as if I belonged. To act as if my heart weren’t breaking.
And Edward acted as if I weren’t there, holding his arm tightly. Finally, my pride couldn’t take it.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, forcing my hands off his arm. “I need a drink.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Edward said politely, as if I were a stranger, some old lady on the subway.
“No.” I held up my hand. “I, um, see someone I need to talk to. Excuse me.”
Was that relief I saw in his eyes as I walked away?
Awkwardly, I glanced toward Victoria St. Cyr and her friends standing by the dance floor. Turning the other way, I headed toward the buffet table. At least here I knew what to do. Grabbing a plate, I helped myself to crackers, bread, cheese—anything that promised to settle this sick feeling in my belly.
Was there any point in telling Edward I was pregnant, when it was clear he was already thinking up excuses to end our relationship?