An Officer And A Millionaire

Decorations were already starting to go up, from banners to colorful ribbons draped along the edges of the ceiling to the linen-draped tables staggered around the room. Tomorrow, there would be multicolored balloons and fresh flowers from the Cabot gardens decorating the tables. The caterers would be in place in the kitchen, and the musicians would be tuning up in the far corner.

Everything was perfect.

So why did Margie feel like crying?

Could it be because of the gaping hole in her chest, where her heart used to be?

Three days since Hunter had made his half-assed proposal and she’d confessed to being in love. Three long days and even longer nights. Right after their little chat, she’d moved her things to a guest room because, frankly, Margie was beyond caring what the household staff thought of the marriage that would soon be ending.

And better she start getting used to sleeping alone than torturing herself by snuggling up beside Hunter every night. But God, she missed him. Missed his touch, his kiss, the way he turned to her in his sleep and wrapped his strong arms around her. How was she supposed to live the rest of her life without him?

Oh, she never should have started this in the first place. If she hadn’t agreed to Simon’s plan a year ago, she wouldn’t be in this fix. By tomorrow night, she’d be leaving. She still didn’t know where she’d go. It didn’t matter to her, either. Because wherever she ended up, she’d be alone. Again. With no one to love.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she whispered to the empty room.

“Well,” a voice said from directly behind her, “you could stop being a damn fool.”

“Simon!” Margie whirled around, embarrassed to be caught not only talking to herself but also throwing quite the self-pity party. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“Not surprising. You’ve been walking through the house like a ghost these last few days.”

What could she say to that? He was absolutely right.

Simon’s gaze was kind, but determined. Strange, she’d never noticed just how much he and his grandson had in common.

“Stay, Margie. Stop this foolishness and stay.”

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head as she looked into Simon’s eyes. “I can’t stay knowing he doesn’t love me.”

“Who says he doesn’t?”

Margie laughed ruefully. “He does.”

Simon frowned and brushed that information aside. “He wouldn’t be the first man who needed a woman to tell him what he was feeling.”

“If only it were that easy.”

He shook his head, sending his wispy white hair flying. “You’re every bit as stubborn as he is.”

“I have to be,” she told him. “I can’t settle for half a life.” Then she gave him a hug. As his arms came around her, she whispered, “I’m really going to miss you.”

He patted her back and offered, “I’ll beat him up for you if you want.”

Margie smiled through her tears. “Thanks, Simon.”

As she pulled away, he said, “Still doesn’t seem like much of a birthday present for me. You leaving, I mean.”

“I wish I could stay. I really do.” She let her gaze slide around the room and out to the hall, as if looking all over the mansion she’d come to think of as home. It would be so hard to leave this place. But what choice did she have?

She couldn’t stay, loving Hunter and knowing he didn’t feel the same. That would be like a slow death. No. Better to go. To move on. Find a new place and try to forget what she’d had so briefly, here.

“It’s a shame you don’t love him enough to fight for him,” Simon mused.

Surprised, Margie only said, “I do love him enough. But Simon, you can’t fight a battle you can’t win.”

“Ah,” he said solemnly, “sometimes those are the only battles worth fighting.”

An hour later, there was a knock at the door, and when Margie opened it, a tall, elegantly dressed, absolutely breathtaking woman swept inside.

“Isn’t this lovely.” The blonde’s cool blue eyes swept the interior of the mansion as if she were taking an inventory. Then she glanced at Margie, giving her a quick, dismissive glance as if finding her less than interesting.

Margie’s spine stiffened a little in response. For the moment, this was her house and this blonde was the intruder, gorgeous though she might be.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes.” The blonde looked down from her towering height and gave a smile that barely creased her lean cheeks. “You can tell Hunter that Gretchen is here to see him.”

“Gretchen?” Margie could have sworn she felt a cold, hard piece of ice settle in the pit of her stomach. This was Hunter’s ex-girlfriend? Oh dear God. No wonder his friend Hula had called her a goddess and had been so surprised to find out that Margie was Hunter’s wife. In comparison with this-okay, goddess really was the only appropriately descriptive word-Margie felt like Cinderella. Before the big night with her fairy godmother.

“Yes. Is Hunter here?” The blonde walked farther down the hall, peeked into the living room, then turned back. “I was going to call him, but then I thought what fun it would be to surprise him.”

“You have,” Hunter said from the staircase.

Margie looked over her shoulder at him and tried to read his expression. His features were tight, his eyes shuttered and his jawline grim. Well, at least he didn’t look delighted to see the fabulous Gretchen.

“Hunter, honey!” The tall blond actually squealed as she raced to his side on incredibly long legs.

Margie stood open-mouthed and watched as Gretchen flung herself at Hunter’s chest. He caught her automatically, and for one brief moment the two of them were locked together. Margie’s stomach lurched again. This was the kind of woman Hunter belonged with, she told herself. No wonder he wasn’t interested in a ten-pound-overweight, curly-haired redhead with freckles in all the wrong places.

Hunter’s gaze locked with hers over Gretchen’s shoulder, and he looked frustrated. He tried to mouth something at her, but then the blonde pulled back, looked up at him and said, “I came to tell you I’ve decided I will marry you, after all!”

Margie’s jaw dropped and her eyes narrowed as the rest of her world dissolved out from under her.

“Damn it.” Hunter saw the look in Margie’s eyes as he pried Gretchen’s long fingers off his shoulders and set her onto her feet. His ex was babbling, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he was focused on the short redhead glaring at him. There was fury and pain mingling in Margie’s green eyes, and Hunter wished Gretchen to the other side of the planet.

“Margie, I can explain,” he said, and did some mental sprints trying to figure out just what he could say. And in the next instant, he reminded himself that she hadn’t listened to him for the last few days, so why would she start now?

“Oh, there’s nothing to explain, Hunter,” she said from her position by the front door. “Really. Everything’s very clear.”

“Hunter, who is this person?” Gretchen’s voice had a spike in it as if she were less than amused.

“Don’t you worry about me,” Margie told her with a way-too-sweet smile. “I’m just his wife.”

“His wife?” she cried, with a gaping look at Margie. “Seriously?”

Hunter almost clapped one hand over Gretchen’s mouth, but it wouldn’t have helped anyway. Instead, he glared at her. “How the hell did you find me?”

“Well, you told me the name of your little town. Wasn’t hard to find the only Cabots here.”

“Right.” So this was his own damn fault. He looked past the blonde. “Margie-”

“Hunter,” Margie said as the toe of her tennis shoe tapped noisily against the floor, “don’t you want to invite your fiancee in for a drink?”

“No,” he shouted and tried to get past Gretchen, but the blonde latched onto his upper arm with strong fingers and deadly nails. “And she’s not my fiancee.”

“Yes, I am,” Gretchen argued. “That’s what I came here to tell you. And then I find you’re already married.”

“I never asked you to marry me,” Hunter countered with a triumphant look at Margie.