Chapter 8 Allie
Allie
“Would you please stop fidgeting?” Mom has the nerve to ask that while she’s touching her perfectly smooth hair for the hundredth time since we left the ranch. She’s already told me ten times how our entire future rides on impressing my fiancé’s father.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter and check my dress as we walk into the restaurant.
I laughed when I first saw it—just like my ring, it was bought without my say.
I only got to see it when it was time for the fitting.
It’s white. I wanted to ask her if she could be more obvious but didn’t.
I’m over arguing with her. The satin only covers one shoulder, is fitted around the bodice, then flares a little into a skirt to my feet.
It would look better as a reception dress after the ceremony, but no one asked me.
At least it has pockets. A girl can never go wrong in a dress with pockets.
There’s no denying that it goes well with my hair and eyes.
I keep my red waves swept over my bare shoulder to pop against the white.
But I still feel like the prize heifer being led to the auction block as we step into the busy country club dining room.
Mom’s whole demeanor changes as she spots our party across the room.
She stands straighter and lifts her chin, holding it high to project the image of a strong, independent woman.
While she is strong, it couldn’t be any further from the truth.
“There they are,” she mutters through her teeth as she waves. “Make sure Mr. Lowry knows he didn’t make a mistake.”
Of course, I’ll be on my best behavior. Wouldn’t want anyone to regret spending so much money to fucking buy me.
I force myself to smile as we approach the table. It’s hard when everyone’s eyes burn into me as we pass. They don’t even try to hide their interest. They are so loud, I hear them murmuring over the soft music.
I should have known our presence would spark the gossipmongers.
Porters might not be Bishops, but we aren’t exactly strangers around here.
Although we’re usually not dressed like we’re attending a beauty pageant.
Would they balk if I started blowing them kisses?
The punishment might be worth watching my mother have a meltdown. Maybe.
“You must be Allie.” A very tall, loud man pops up from his chair and goes in to hug me. I try not to stiffen. This has to be Joseph Lowry. “You’re certainly as beautiful as your momma said.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I simply smile.
He’s dressed in cowboy boots paired with an expensive-looking suit.
As soon as his arms wrap around me, the aroma of cigars and whiskey assaults me, and I bite back a cough.
The entire interaction happens so fast that I don’t even get the chance to hug him back.
At least he doesn’t try to grope my ass as he pulls away.
The other man at the table stands as well. He’s a younger version of his dad—the same sandy-blond hair, though Jackson wears his slightly longer than his dad’s crew cut. They have the same light brown eyes flecked with gold, the same tall build, and the same chiseled features.
Their striking difference is that Mr. Joseph Lowry is warm and almost joyous, while Jackson, his son, is cooler and quieter. It’s hard to get a read on him.
Extending his hand, he gives me a quick handshake and a toothy grin. “Nice to meet you.” Is it? It sure as hell doesn’t seem that way.
“Yes, you too,” I murmur, then take my seat, smoothing my dress underneath me.
“So tell me, Miss Allie.” Mr. Lowry flops down in his chair.
He looks like he’s manspreading under the table. And I hate how he acts like he owns the place, and to hell with anyone sitting on either side—which means Mom, of course, who discreetly scoots her chair a little closer to mine.
I barely remember Mr. Lowry addressing me until he continues once we’re all settled. “What kind of gal are you?”
Gal? Jesus Christ, he’s really playing it up.
“What you see is what you get,” I reply with a tiny shrug. “I’m just... me.”
“Always so modest,” Mom gushes. “Really, I couldn’t have asked for more from a daughter.
Never in any trouble, trustworthy, honest. Between us,” she adds with a chuckle while patting my shoulder, “I’m glad she isn’t going all the way back to Seattle.
I want to have every second I can get with her before she gets married and has her own children. ”
I might have agreed to go through with this farce of a marriage, at least until I can find a way out of it, but I didn’t say anything about children. That’s not fucking happening.
A server comes to take our orders, then disappears like she was never even here.
Fuck, I need a beer.
By the time our food arrives, a persistent ache at the base of my skull has just gotten worse as my future father-in-law runs his mouth about cattle, land, and conservation.
Jackson, on the other hand, my future husband, has barely said two words.
He’s just sitting there nursing a drink, staring at me like I killed his dog.
Shouldn’t I be the one looking at him that way?
Or maybe we should both be looking at our parents that way.
They’re the ones acting like this is the greatest thing that ever happened, when it’s obvious to both Jackson and me that this is nothing more than a business arrangement between them.
If they want this marriage so badly, then why don’t they get fucking married?
I stare down at the salad my mother ordered for me, because clearly I’m a child who can’t order her own food.
A small sigh of frustration leaves me. No.
Getting mad won’t change what’s done. I already got the lecture from Mom about eating like a lady tonight.
I suppose I should be grateful that she’s allowing me to eat anything at all.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard her or someone else say I should eat less and count my calories.
I don’t care what they think of my body.
I love my curves. My mouth waters when the men dig into their steaks.
I frown, my appetite suddenly evaporating. How many more meals like this one will I have to endure in the future? Forced to eat a salad. To never speak my mind.
Bored to tears, dealing with a headache, counting down the minutes until I can escape.
“Isn’t that right, son?” Mr. Lowry’s sharp tone makes me jerk my gaze to Jackson. Jackson’s golden head swings from where he was ogling a woman walking past. I bite back a groan. At least he isn’t trying to hide it.
Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Can’t he do that on his own time?
Mr. Lowry grimaces and nudges his son in the arm, noticing as well. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepen when he chuckles. “Some habits take a while to break.”
If he thinks I’m the type who will sit around and let him make a mockery out of me, he’d better think again. “I hope this isn’t a prediction of what’s to come,” I say softly while digging my nails into my palm out of sight.
My mother’s eyes widen as she freezes, her fork halfway to her lips.
“Of course not. Jackson will respect his marriage vows and be faithful.” Mr. Lowry’s smile slips away as he eyes his son. “Ain’t that right?”
Jackson doesn’t seem to give a shit about this conversation and only smiles. “Of course.”
Sure. He sold that.
“I apologize…” my mother starts, but Mr. Lowry waves her off.
“It’s no worry at all. The last thing we want is for Allie to be uncomfortable.”
If that were true, then he would call off this stupid wedding.
Jackson looks at me, then at my mother, as he stands and pushes his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”
I’m pretty sure at least three women swoon nearby. I fight against the desire to roll my eyes as I watch him weave through the tables toward the back.
Does he actually need to go, or is he escaping? Can’t blame him if he makes a run for it. I only wish I could go too.
“Why don’t we get started on the wedding details. I’ll clue Jackson in when he gets back.” Mr. Lowry says.
Mom practically bounces out of her chair in her excitement, her disappointment over my behavior a long-lost memory. Meanwhile, I wonder if anyone would notice if I slid under the table and hid.
The minutes tick by slowly, and the seat across from me stays empty.
“Allie, you must be lookin’ forward to the day. I know Jackson is,” Mr. Lowry says.
I try to keep from grimacing, pasting a placid smile on my face. “What girl wouldn’t be looking forward to her wedding day?”
There. Perfect.
Or not? Since my mother’s warning glare tells me I didn’t hit the mark.
Where the hell is he?
Mr. Lowry must be able to read my mind as tension fills the air.
He glances around like he’s looking for his son.
The lines etched over the bridge of his nose tell me he’s more pissed off than he wants us to know.
“Maybe he fell in.” He laughs, but it’s more like a grunt. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a jiff.”
“This is a very large venue,” Mom says with a gentle laugh before turning to me. “Allie, sweetheart, why don’t you fetch your fiancé? Maybe he got lost on his way back.”
Fetch him? Like a puppy off his leash. All I can do is shake my head as I grudgingly get up, leaving my napkin on my chair.
I grab my white clutch from beside my place setting and head toward the restrooms. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he have saved hiding in the bathroom until the second date?
I’m almost to the bathrooms when I pass a quiet, wood-paneled lounge off the dining room. I spot him standing by the bar.
Motherfucker. I grit my teeth against the sudden rush of anger filling me. He’s flirting with the pretty blonde from earlier, the one with the ass he couldn’t stop staring at.
“I would love to bring you out to the ranch sometime,” he tells her.
Wow. He sounds friendlier now than he ever did back at the table.