Married By Mistake

Carmichael.”
    “Selma Lowe,” the woman said. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Carmichael.”
    A barefaced lie, if ever Casey had heard one. “Please, Selma, call me Casey.”
    Going by her sucking-a-lemon lips, Selma didn’t take kindly to the suggestion.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Lowe, that will be all,” Adam said. “Don’t go upsetting her,” he warned Casey when the woman had gone. “She’s worked here for years and I don’t want to lose her. She’s the most organized woman in Memphis.”
    “I’ve never upset anyone in my life.” But it wasn’t worth arguing the merits of nice over organized, Casey decided as she followed Adam upstairs.
    He showed her to a guest bedroom with a colonial-style king-size bed covered by a hand-stitched gray-and-white quilt. The window shutters had been flung open to let in the morning sunlight. Casey longed to slip out of her shoes and curl her toes into the plush navy-blue carpet.
    “I hope you’ll be comfortable,” Adam said.
    “It’s lovely,” she assured him. “Where’s your room?”
    He pointed to a door across the landing.
    “Won’t Selma—Mrs. Lowe—think it odd we’re not sharing a room? Will she tell your stepmother?”
    “Mrs. Lowe and Eloise despise each other. And Mrs. Lowe is the soul of discretion.”
    “If only you could have married her,” Casey said brightly. More seriously, she added, “If she needs any help, or if you do, I’d be happy to—”
    “That’s exactly what I don’t need,” he said. “I don’t need anything from you at all, beyond helping convince Eloise. My home life is very well organized. I don’t want anything to change.”
    Once he was satisfied Casey knew her way around, he muttered something about going to work, and headed downstairs. Five minutes later, from her window, she saw a red Aston Martin DB9 sports car pass through the gates.
    She only knew what sort of car it was because Joe had always held it up as his dream set of wheels. Imagine conservative order-freak Adam Carmichael owning one. If that wasn’t sublimation of his teenage desire to race NASCAR, she would eat her Psychology 101 textbook.
    Back downstairs, she found a less formal living room, where the morning newspaper lay neatly folded on a side table. She picked it up.
    The headline jumped out at her: TV Couple’s Peabody Love Nest. She groaned and began to read the article, which was just as sensational as the headline. According to the reporter, “Memphis’s hottest couple, Adam and Casey Carmichael, spent the weekend closeted in their Romeo and Juliet Suite at the Peabody Hotel. They ordered in all their meals, including reputed aphrodisiacs champagne and oysters, say hotel staff, and unplugged the telephones. One employee described the Carmichaels as ‘obviously very much in love.’”
    Casey threw down the newspaper in disgust. “How much do they pay people to tell these lies?”
    “Did you say something, Mrs. Carmichael?”
    The silent approach of grim-faced Mrs. Lowe startled her, and Casey shrieked. The housekeeper bent to pick up the newspaper, and folded it back into shape with precise, sharp movements that Casey knew were designed to make her feel guilty.
    But she didn’t. In fact, she felt sorry for Mrs. Lowe. The poor woman must be worried that the new lady of the house would want to bring in her own staff. Casey wished she could tell the older woman to chill out, she’d be gone in a month. But Adam hadn’t said anything about dropping their pretense in front of the housekeeper.
    “I’m planning country fried steak with gravy for dinner, Mrs. Carmichael.”
    “Really?” Casey managed to bite back her distaste. She didn’t want to start off by disagreeing with Adam’s perfect housekeeper, but surely it would be even more offensive when she didn’t touch the fatty meal set before her tonight. “I don’t know, Selma—Mrs. Lowe. It’s such a hot day, do you think we could have something lighter? Maybe a chicken salad?”
    “As you wish, Mrs. Carmichael.” The woman glided from the room.
    Whew, culinary crisis averted.

CHAPTER SIX
    “W HERE ’ S MY COUNTRY FRIED STEAK ? T HE GRAVY ?” Adam asked as Mrs. Lowe set a plateful of leafy green stuff before him. Mrs. Lowe didn’t reply but as she left the room, her gaze flicked toward Casey. He might have guessed.
    Pretending he and Casey had a real marriage, which in the confines of their suite at the Peabody had seemed a brilliantly simple solution, now seemed