Marriage by Mistake

idiocy at which he'd stop.
    He'd become a damned fool.
    Dean took another swallow of brandy and narrowed his eyes at the reflection of his bedroom in the window glass, the somber wainscoting and dimmed lights. He didn't want to be a fool. So it had been smart to resist her. Oh, yes, he'd steered clear of the exact situation he'd been trying to avoid since Kelly had first burst into his downtown office. The situation where he handed her all the power.
    The only part of her scheme he didn't get was this bit about 'releasing' him. What did that mean?
    Dean swished the liquid in his glass. She spoke as if the man Dean had been while acting under hypnotic suggestion not only existed, but awaited liberation. As if Dean were keeping him under lock and key.
    Dean stilled his glass. Even if a part of him was under lock and key—which it wasn't—what difference could that possibly make to her? Why should she care if Dean were 'free' or not? In fact, wouldn't it be more to her advantage if he were utterly caged?
    A strange sensation shimmered through Dean. He frowned past the bedroom's reflection and into the darkness outside. For a moment he almost imagined— But, no. That kiss had been no more than what he knew it to be. Bait. He knew her type. Even if he couldn't plumb her every motivation, he understood the basics. She was out for herself, and herself alone. Whatever her ploy, he wasn't falling for it.
    There would be no more kissing.
    She would discover he was not as far gone as she had thought.
    With a firm nod, Dean set his brandy on the windowsill. Then he went to take a cold shower.
    ~~~
    All Felicia wanted was to be alone that Saturday night. But after her Aunt Hilda and her Uncle Garrett had brought her home from the opera, she had to sit in the living room with them and her mother, drinking coffee and discussing the production they'd just seen. The conversation had been an endurance test, since this particular performance of La Bohème was one Felicia would have liked to blot from her mind.
    "Do you have a headache, Felicia?" Her mother, fully dressed and perfectly coiffed, though she'd merely been at home watching TV, regarded her daughter through narrowed eyes.
    Belatedly, Felicia realized she was rubbing her forehead. She lowered her hand immediately. "Maybe I do have a headache." The excuse would certainly earn her an interrogation regarding her health the next day, but at least it would get her out of the room.
    "Oh, don't let us keep you up if you're not feeling well," Uncle Garrett boomed. If Felicia had actually had a headache, his voice would not have helped.
    "Thank you, Uncle Garrett." Felicia rose from the Italian sofa.
    "Take some chamomile tea with honey," Aunt Hilda suggested.
    "Think a couple Tylenol would be more effective," Uncle Garrett muttered under his breath, then smiled innocently at Aunt Hilda.
    Felicia thanked her aunt and uncle for their escort to the theater—the theater she wished to God she hadn't attended—bade her mother goodnight and, finally, was able to go up the main stairs of the family mansion to her bedroom.
    She closed the white paneled door of her room after herself and then turned to lean against it with a deep, quivery sigh. The royal blue and pearl cream furnishings of her bedroom swam before her eyes.
    Troy had been telling the truth. Imagine that. Troy, that smug-smiling, smarm-dripping slug had been telling the honest-to-goodness truth.
    Dean was married.
    Felicia drew in and then released another quivery breath. Yes, Dean was married, and to whom? To a woman who looked like every man's sexual and emotional fantasy rolled into one. A real knockout; vibrant, warm, and inviting.
    Everything Felicia was not.
    With a sound that was part laugh and part groan, Felicia pushed away from the closed bedroom door. She hugged her arms as she paced the length of her bedroom, the thick carpet soft under her feet, the lacy curtains of her bed a subtle mockery.
    Little girl. You're just a little girl.
    Not a woman .
    Felicia ground her teeth and went on pacing. Tears stood stupidly in her eyes. Dean had been her last, her only, chance. For years she'd thought of Dean as her way out. She could be married, own all the privileges and status of that condition—without having to deal with any of the disadvantages.
    The primary disadvantage she'd wanted to avoid was a husband who cheated. Dean wouldn't have been one of those. He was completely honorable, completely unlike Felicia's