Deep Waters

eye level with five-foot-ten Meredith, who was also wearing heels.
    Statuesque and crowned with a glorious mane of strawberry-blond hair, Meredith was always a stunning sight. Never more so, however, than when she was dressed to the teeth, as she was this evening. No one, Charity thought wistfully, could wear clothes the way her stepsister did.
    With her strong, classical features and subtle air of sophistication, Meredith could have made her living as a professional model. She had actually done some in-store fashion work for the Truitt chain during her college days, but her savvy talent and her love of the family business had propelled her straight into management.
    "Are you all right?" Meredith's light, jade green eyes narrowed in concern.
    "I'm fine." Charity glanced around quickly. "Is Davis here?"
    "He's at the bar, talking to Brett."
    Unable to see over the heads of the people who stood between her and the club bar, Charity peered through cracks in the crowd. She managed to catch a glimpse of her stepbrother.
    Davis was a year and a half older and three inches taller than Meredith. A deeply ingrained flare for re tailing and boundless enthusiasm for the Truitt chain had defined his career path, also. Charity had recognized his abilities from the start. Six months ago she had decided to ignore whining accusations of nepotism and promote him to a vice presidency in the company. It was a family business, after all. And she, herself, had become president at an extraordinarily early age.
    Davis's hair was the same arresting shade as his sister's, and his eyes were a similar pale green. The colors and the height had come from Fletcher Truitt, Charity's stepfather.
    Charity had received her own dark auburn hair and hazel eyes from her mother. She had few memories of her biological father. A professional photographer, Samson Lapford had abandoned his family when Charity was three years old to travel the world shooting pictures of volcanoes and rain forests. He had been killed in a fall while trying to get a close-up of a rare fern that only grew on the sides of certain South American mountains.
    Fletcher Truitt was the only father Charity had ever known, and he had been a good one. For his sake and the sake of her mother, she had done her best to fill his shoes since their deaths five years before and hold the family inheritance together for her step-siblings.
    The crowd shifted slightly, allowing another view of the bar. Charity saw Brett Loftus, sun-bright hair gleaming in the subdued light, broad shoulders looking even more massive than usual in a tux. A good-natured Norse god of a man, he lounged with negligent ease next to Davis.
    Charity shuddered. Once again all the oxygen in the room seemed to disappear. Her palms were so damp she dared not dry them on the expensive fabric of her gown.
    Davis was big, but Brett was huge. Charity told her self that there were any number of women in the room who would have traded their Truitt credit cards for a chance to be swept off their feet by Brett Loftus. Sadly, she was not one of them.
    The reality of what was happening sent a shock wave through her. With searing certainty she suddenly knew that she could not go through with the engagement, not even for the sake of her step-siblings' inheritance, the altar on which she had sacrificed the past five years of her life.
    "Maybe you need a glass of champagne, Charity." Meredith took her arm. "Come on, let's go join Brett and Davis. You know, you've been acting a little strange lately. I think you've been working too hard. Maybe trying to combine the merger with your engagement plans was a bit too much. Now there's the wedding to schedule and a honeymoon."
    "Too much." The panic was almost intolerable. She would go crazy if she didn't get out of here. She had to escape. "Yes. Too much. I have to leave, Meredith."
    "What?" Meredith started to turn, an expression of astonishment on her face.
    "Right now."
    "Calm down, Charity. What are you saying? You can't just run off. What would Brett think? Not to mention all these people we've invited."
    Guilt and the old steely sense of duty swamped Charity. For a few seconds, the combination did battle with the anxiety and managed to gain control.
    "You're right," Charity gasped. "I can't run away yet. I have to explain to Brett."
    Meredith looked genuinely alarmed now. "Explain what to Brett?"
    "That I can't do this. I tried. God knows, I tried. I told myself that it was the right thing to