* * *
Of all of Nathan’s demands, this has been one of the hardest to take. I had balked when he brought it up, my lonely boredom not to the stifling degree that I wanted to entertain strangers.
* * *
“You’re doing it.” Three words tersely delivered over his morning eggs, his fork scraping the plate as he scooped up his final bite and stood, lifting his coffee cup for a quick sip. “The battered women’s shelter is a good cause, and one of my sister’s passions. It’ll be good for you to get involved.” His sister. It was his first mention of her, though I’ve seen her photo around the house, and Mark mentioned that she passed away a couple of years ago.
* * *
So here I am, hosting a two hour “meeting” that has skipped over a variety of topics, none of which seemed to concern battered women and most of which has centered on gossip. I pick at my plate and daydream about our Bahamas trip, now only one week away, assuming my new passport arrives in time. I’m ready for it, my excitement building with each passing day, despite my best attempts at setting low expectations.
* * *
“So, Janice.” A leggy brunette with boobs as big as my head, leans forward; and it takes a moment to realize she is talking to me.
* * *
“It’s Candace.” I correct her, and when she smiles, I can see a wedge of spinach in her teeth.
* * *
“Right.” She brushes off my name with a flick of her diamond studded hand. I run a thumb over my ring, a simple three carat princess cut diamond that—in any other scenario—I would have swooned over. But in this life, it feels like a shackle. Did hers feel the same way? How many of these women, each pampered and glistening with the sparkle of upper class wealth—how many of them hate their lives? My gaze drifts back to the woman, who has her brow raised in the expectant manner of someone who is waiting on a response.
* * *
“I’m sorry?” I start to cross my legs, then stop, pinning my knees together.
* * *
“I asked if you ever knew Cecile.” There is a gleam in her eyes, one that raises an alarm and reminds me that I am a spindly gazelle, surrounded by a pride of lions.
* * *
“Cecile?” I glance at the other women, to see if anyone else is listening to this conversation. They are. All of them, their bodies tilted forward in the subtle manner of eavesdroppers everywhere. Whoever Cecile is, I’m suddenly as interested in her as they appear to be.
* * *
“Why yes.” The brunette smiles in a smug manner that makes me vow, right then, to not tell her about the spinach, which has now shifted to a front row location that is hysterically apparent. “Nathan’s fiancée.”
* * *
My stomach flips at the title. I’ve wondered a lot of things about Nathan, including his past dating history. Was this fiancée a contract girl, like me, one that backed out of the deal? Or was she legitimate, someone he loved, and who loved him in return? I feel a stab of jealousy at the latter option, and glance down before the emotion shows in my face.
* * *
Whatever she has to say, I’m not sure I want to hear it. I reach forward, piercing a crab cake ball with a toothpick and pop it into my mouth. I chew, turning toward the curly-headed bean stalk to my right, and search for something to say.
* * *
“Hasn’t he told you what happened?” She doesn’t give up, all but waving her hands at me in an attempt to draw attention to the question.
* * *
I swallow, and try to ignore her, my hands flexing on my thighs, an exhale hissing through my lips. I try. I fail. I turn back to her, my voice as calm as I can manage it.
* * *
“What happened?”
* * *
“Well that’s just the thing.” She leans forward as if her next sentence might change my world. “No one knows. One week, they were planning their reception and sampling wedding cake. The next week, she just disappeared.”
* * *
She disappeared? I think of my past life, and the sudden exit, no explanations given, my stuff packed up by strangers. I disappeared, and yet here I am, perfectly fine, save my junk food deprivation. Maybe Cecile’s the same way. Maybe a sexy man waltzed into her life, offered her the moon, and she took it.
* * *
I discard the idea as soon as it hits. What man could compete with Nathan? Especially if this bitch had been getting Napa Valley Nathan. There is no amount of money, or sex appeal, that could compete with that Nathan.
* * *