Chapter 5
FIVE
Dressed to the nines in a champagne-colored sleeveless sheath, Caroline exited the town car in front of La Tempera.
Flying solo, her stomach fluttered, but she flung her hair over a shoulder and held her chin high, poised to take on the enemy.
Louisa, her sister, had bailed last minute, citing Hurst’s lingering headache from his bachelor party the night before.
The hopeless romantic was in absolute denial; the man was perpetually hungover.
Spotlit in the gallery’s front window, a thirty-six by forty-eight framed beach landscape drew in passersby.
She liked it and thought William would, too, but he was fickle lately and she was having difficulty reading his happiness level.
In fact, he insisted on coming to the reception last minute, which made her do some fancy footwork to change his mind, claiming it was abstract art and wouldn’t be worth his time.
Stating the ol’ “time is money” credo he lived by, she hit a homer by complaining that society weddings weren’t cheap.
Further explaining that she was just going to introduce herself to the owner who was leaving for Europe in the morning, then she would go clubbing with Louisa.
What were a couple of little white lies?
Entering the crowded gallery, she took in the entire scene: well-dressed, well-heeled, and even the avant-garde mingling to sunny jazz music.
Everyone looked familiar, yet she didn’t know a soul until Mr. Bernard waved to her.
She waved back and smiled, pressing through a group standing at the first painting.
“What a turnout!” she said.
“I knew it would be. Pillson is simply—just simply magnifique, a bit overpriced, but a faaabulous investment.”
“Indeed. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Bernard.”
“Likewise. I’m delighted you came.” He signaled the waiter who promptly arrived with a tray of champagne.
“Don’t mind if I do. Thanks.”
“And where is your fiancé this evening, Ms. Bingley?”
“Unfortunately, he had to prepare for an important business meeting tomorrow.” She shrugged. “So, it’s just me, but I’m—”
He cut her short when two people interrupted with effusions and handshakes, and before she could excuse herself, he had already moved on to network and promote.
She wasn’t offended and continued to walk through the gallery, stopping at paintings, and picking up pieces of conversation along the way.
The artist was extremely talented and admired, and many considered the gallery top-level.
It cut her just a little to consider how in just six short years, Darcy’s ex had made remarkable gains in the art world apart from her creative talent, which she’d never seen, but nauseatingly heard about ad infinitum from Darcy’s mother.
Of course, any knowledge about Elizabeth Bennet would remain sealed in her vault, lest she planned on nullifying the marriage pact.
On that, Darcy would have no qualms holding her feet to the fire, or better yet, flaying her skin.
The stoic man hadn’t mentioned the bitch in six years, and neither would she.
She stopped at a twelve-thousand-dollar painting titled Morning Mist over Nantucket, considering how it would look in one of the four spare bedrooms.
“It’s one of my favorites. Pillson truly transports the viewer,” a woman said.
Although she’d only met her nemesis once, she recognized her immediately, despite the stunning metamorphosis from “Lizzy.” She was right, the competition was even more attractive today than when she’d met her the first month Darcy hooked up with her.
Elizabeth’s bouncy waves fell to her shoulders and her expressive eyes shone in the ambient spotlights.
Those naturally long lashes could poke an eye out!
Even the bitch’s ruby, plump lips caused a tinge of jealousy.
Internally, she steamed thinking that mouth kissed Darcy in places she still dreamed about but had to wait only a couple of months to do again!
She couldn’t help raking her eyes down Elizabeth’s slender figure, noting the expensive outfit. In fact, she’d admired the same two-thousand-dollar metallic tuxedo dress in Bergdorf. The woman looked every man’s sexy-classy dream, right down to her to-die-for ankle-strap shoes!
Holding out her hand for a shake, the enemy exuded a radiant internal light when she spoke. “Welcome to La Tempera! I’m Elizabeth Bennet, the gallery owner.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replied, taking Elizabeth’s hand. “I’m Carrie Bingley.”
“Oh! The interior designer Guy mentioned.”
“Yes.” She searched the woman’s brown eyes, expecting to be recognized but wasn’t. Of course, “Lizzy” had met her as “Beanz” with dark hair and small boobs. Both she and “Elizabeth” looked entirely different now. “What a reception you put on, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Ms. I’m not married but thank you. While I’m proud of La Tempera, Gregory’s work is the draw. For him to choose us speaks volumes to Guy’s long-established reputation in the community.” She grinned, then tilted her head. “He mentioned you are interested in purchasing With Love.”
“With Love?”
“The floral still life at the entrance of the gallery.”
“Oh no. I was just curious. It’s stunning, but I am sure out of my budget.”
“Whew. I always hate letting people down when it comes to the painting, but I will never part with it.”
“C’mon, really? Not for any amount?” Sipping her champagne, she dissected the woman over the rim.
“Absolutely not. It’s a priceless treasure. The artist was not only my mentor, but also like a mother to me.”
“I completely understand. You must miss her terribly.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly, but she couldn’t tell if it was genuine or nervous body language signifying her desire to change the topic.
The latter confirmed when Elizabeth cheerfully asked, “Guy also mentioned that you are looking for an art broker?”
“Yes. My fiancé and I are decorating a townhouse we recently closed on in Metropolitan Hill. While he’s a traditionalist, my tastes are completely opposite, but we settled somewhere in between, or should I say, I gave in to his desire. We’re looking for an original Seurat or Wyeth.”
“Excellent choices and congratulations! When’s the big day?”
“Um ... in August.” Take that! I’m now the one wearing the ginormous iceberg intended for you.
Eyeing Elizabeth’s own mega ice when she raised her champagne glass to her lips, she breathed an internal sigh of relief.
“How exciting for you! Hopefully, we can find what you’re looking for before then. Lucky for you, your preferences are right up my alley,” Elizabeth said.
Of course they are. They’re his preferences.
“Why don’t you come by the gallery on Wednesday afternoon with the application and we’ll work on a plan, discuss commission rate and contract details. In the interim, I’ll make some auction and private collector inquiries to see what’s on or coming up for sale.”
“That sounds great!”
Elizabeth held out her hand for a shake and smiled brightly. “Lovely talking with you, Carrie. If you have any questions about specific pieces, just find me or Guy. I’d love to send you off with something for your new home. I think your fiancé would approve.” She winked.
“I’m sure he would,” she said dryly, not meaning the paintings. Still, she couldn’t help noting that Elizabeth was nothing like she believed, but perhaps this was just an amiable business side, and the cruel heartbreaker lay hidden.
The crowd swept Elizabeth away, and for appearance’s sake, Carrie navigated the room, attempting to view each painting while enjoying a fresh glass of champagne. But something unexpected happened: she saw someone she knew standing in the back of the gallery, looking bored. Her breath caught.
She couldn’t help it, but a salacious memory flashed before her mind’s eye. I mean, really, who recalled a specific sex act from over six years ago with such exacting clarity? Someone who hasn’t had sex in four months, that’s who.
The lover from her past looked up at her, meeting her gaze.
She half-smiled.
He smiled back, then raised his glass to her.
Her sex twitched. George friggin’ Wickham. Her heart sped.
Drawn to his hotness, she sauntered to him, trying to act nonchalant, but damn, he looked amazing dressed in a cool sky-blue suit and brown shoes that made his feet look huge.
The tattoo imprint of his adequate equipment flashed before her eyes, and her cheeks flushed, unable to stop from mentally undressing him, even if Darcy significantly had him beat in that department.
In the back of her mind, she heard Darcy caution her away from the syphilitic parasite.
“Well, if it isn’t George Wickham,” she said followed by a twist to her lips. “After all these years ...”
“Carrie,” he said in that honeyed tone which had seduced her dozens of times. Smirking, he obviously recalled the power he once had over her—and her lady bits, which was doing some funky arousal fluttering.
“I don’t recall you being an art lover,” she said.
“You’re looking ... just as I remembered. Blonde suits you—so do your huge knockers,” he crudely responded off topic.
“Thank you.” Her tummy fluttered, knees feeling a bit shaky. “You look ... different. Very trendy.”
He laughed, taking her left fingers in his. “You finally landed a millionaire. That’s some rock you got there. When are ya getting married?”
“Billion ... aire. Soon. August.”
“Well, ain’t that a coincidence. Me, too.”
Shocked, she withdrew her hand.
“Wow. You were never one to get tied down to only one girl at a time, and here you are committing to forever. I’m shocked.”
He shrugged. “You were just talking to my girlfriend.”
“Elizabeth Bennet is your fiancée?”
“Yeah.”
That is a coincidence. If Darcy only knew!
“How’d you meet?”
“At a coffee shop.”
“Quaint. I couldn’t help but notice her own piece of ice. You must be doing well for yourself.”
“So, who’s the billionaire sugar daddy?”
“No one you know,” she lied remembering their hatred of each other.
“I know a few.”
“I’m sure you don’t know him. He never slums.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” He downed his glass of champagne. “Whatta you say we get outta here and catch up over a martini or two?”
She knew what “catch up” meant. Hell, she wasn’t married yet; she could do it!
But, but ... this was George Wickham the one man who could destroy all she waited for as outlined on page thirty-six of The Marriage Pact.
But this was also the same George Wickham, who was the second-best lover she ever had.
And, tonight, she was totally pent up—hormones raging—and in need of a hard, hot, fast fix to satisfy her craving.
If Darcy wouldn’t deliver it, George would, and no one would be the wiser.
Still, she loved Darcy. She couldn’t bring herself to screw Wickham if she were to cheat.
But how delicious a thought that Lizzy Bennet, the heartbreaker, was marrying the syphilitic serial cheater!
“C’mon, it’ll be like old times.” He smiled that charming come-hither smile she could never turn away from.
“Don’t flatter yourself, George. You’re the last man I would ever ruin my future for,” then turned on her heels for the door.