The Sometime Bride

in, thinking quickly. He gave her his best smile but found it impossible to tell whether she was charmed by it or not.
    “Very funny.”
    He guessed not. “Seriously, I—”
    “Name’s Carrie, if you must know. Carrie St. John, and you can rest assured, uh…”
    “Mike,” he filled in with a grin.
    “Mike,” she said, clearing her throat and averting her eyes from his naked upper torso, which he’d noticed her perusing just the same. “You can rest assured I won’t be calling the police on you anytime soon.”
    “Ah, so you do admit the ring was yours, after all.”
    Her eyes flashed as she turned and headed through the door.
    Conniving male! They were all the same, every last one of them. And what, pray tell, did this dripping hunk of flesh plan to do with that information? Blackmail her? As if the entire world wouldn’t find out soon enough. With Carrie’s luck, it would make the morning edition.

    Carrie let herself into her room and fell in a heap of emotion onto the bed. Her life couldn’t possibly get any worse! First, Wilson brought her all the way here, to this gorgeous historic home—to tell her he’s fallen in love with another woman. Then he left her, more like deserted her, in this love nest built for two, and had the gall to tell her to enjoy the rest of the weekend. His treat.
    Carrie pressed her palms to her forehead to ward off her ensuing headache. But knew that it would come regardless. This was stress with a capital “S”! She’d been such a fool, had already invited six women to be her bridesmaids! And now she’d have to call each one and confess her misfortune.
    And what was worse, what would truly be the worst part of all would be in facing her matchmaking grandmother. The grandmother Carrie had finally managed to convince she’d found a dashing bachelor to make “an honest woman” of her.
    Carrie rolled over on the bed and clutched her pillow to her streaming cheeks. One time. Okay. But this was the second disaster she’d endured at the near-altar. What was it about her, Carrie wondered, that made men want to cut and run? Or worse still, rush straight into another woman’s arms? Carrie had actually seen Teresa, knew exactly who the woman was. And though as a fellow stockbroker of Wilson’s she certainly shared Wilson’s business savvy, Carrie truthfully didn’t find Teresa that much to look at.
    And that made matters all the worse, Carrie admitted to herself, as her throat swelled tight and tears blazed trails down her cheeks. She couldn’t blame Wilson’s leaving her on something as base as hormones, or his sheer physical attraction to another woman. No, what had caused Wilson to leave ran deeper than that. When he’d looked beneath the surface of his relationship with both Teresa and Carrie, Teresa had won hands down.

    Mike took another dive below the surface and cursed himself once again for his inability to find Alexia’s ring. If she wasn’t going to use it, she could have at least had the good grace to return it, not toss it in the pool.
    What was it with all the women in this place? Had they made a silent pact to simultaneously ditch their men in this affronting fashion? Maybe that was what this vacation locale was all about. Some sort of fantasy dumping ground for all disenchanted females. Bring your man to the Sawyers House and be rid of him for good! Elegant starlight pool, suitable for ring-tossing!
    Mike was just about to call it a night when he saw something shimmer at the far corner of the pool bottom. Aha! It was his ring all right. One perfect solitaire that obviously hadn’t been enough to do the job. “Marry you?” Alexia had scoffed. “You can’t be serious?” Only as serious as a heart attack, a heart attack Mike had sorely wished he’d had rather than face the blistering look in Alexia’s cool blue eyes. “But, sweetheart,” she’d told him, “everything’s been so good so far. Why would you want to go and ruin it now?”
    Gee, call him a fool, but somehow Mike hadn’t seen wanting to spend the rest of his life with someone as “ruining” things. What an idiot he’d been, believing that someone like Alexia could possibly care. Even in refusing his ring, she’d been the quintessential ice woman. Couldn’t she even have pretended to have been impressed by the half-carat diamond?
    Instead, when their server had arrived with dessert, she’d pushed the small velvet box aside and urged Mike to be “mature” about things.