Chapter Twenty-Three
“I need to apologize for Mandy’s behavior,” Felicia said, two hours later when she found Charity during the luncheon service.
“There’s no need.”
Felicia pursed her lips. “I didn’t want her in the party at all, but she's my sister-in-law’s daughter from her first marriage, so I got pressured into it.”
“So she’s Jessie’s cousin?” Family. That explained a lot.
“Not by blood. Like I said, she’s my brother’s stepdaughter. Her mother bitched and moaned so much about having her in the bridal party, I took pity on my brother and had Jessie ask her. Wish I hadn’t. She’s been a pain in the ass from day one.”
Charity stifled a grin and thought it an apt description of the girl. Channeling Colleen’s best professional voice and manner, she said, “Tempers and emotions are always high on days like today. She’s probably wishing it were her own wedding day.”
“Like she’d ever snag a man who wants to stick around.” With a headshake, she took Charity’s hand and added, “I just want you to know I’m sorry she acted that way and to thank you for making everything so wonderful for Jessie and Darryl.”
“It’s truly my pleasure. Mine and Kolby’s.
Colleen texted me this morning that she wished she could be here, but with the new babies about to come and her two-year-old twins,” she shrugged, “it was just too much. I’m sure she’ll call you tomorrow to make sure everything was to yours and your daughter’s specifications. ”
“It has been, so again, thank you so much.”
After she walked back into the ballroom of the inn, Charity, a pleased smile on her face, made her way toward the kitchen to check on the cake.
It felt good to have Felicia praise the job she’d done.
This had been the very first wedding Colleen had designated all to her when Jessie and Felicia had walked into the wedding planner’s office a year ago, and she’d focused all her energy to make it perfect.
Thankfully, everything was, Mandy’s behavior aside.
Signals from her body told her she needed a bathroom break. The coffee, soda and water had all been pressing on her bladder for a while and now was the perfect time, while lunch was being served, to take a minute for herself.
With Felicia’s words still in her mind, she turned from the hallway toward the restrooms and came to a staggering stop.
What in the world?
A rapid fire of blinking to ensure she was seeing what was actually taking place right in front of the women’s bathroom and not a hallucination proved her initial surprised thought was correct.
Mandy and Kolby were engaged in a hot and heavy kiss.
So hot, one of the bridesmaid’s naked legs was lifted, the slit in the gown baring her thigh all the way to her non-existent-panty area, as it pressed, intimately, against Kolby’s hip.
His back was to the wall, his camera in one hand, the other on Mandy’s shoulder.
Even from six feet away, Charity could see the killer grip of his fingers as they pressed against the girl’s clavicle.
Mandy’s fingers clutched through Kolby’s hair, her hands cupping his head.
Both mesmerized and horrified, she couldn’t prevent the gasp from pushing up and out from the back of her throat.
Kolby moved back so quickly his head banged back against the wall. The reverberating crack made her wince.
Mandy turned to her, heavily mascaraed eyes drunk with desire and champagne as her gaze raked Charity from head to toe. The mouth that had just been plastered on Kolby’s was now bent down at the corners.
“Oh, my God,” she said, Charity noting the words slur together. “You are such a pain in the ass.”
“Charity—” Kolby pushed against the girl.
“Excuse me,” she said, the shock shuddering down her spine. “Excuse me.”
She turned, and all but flew toward the kitchen.
“Charity, what’s wrong?” Maureen asked when she burst into the room to find the innkeeper and her helpers plating the next course. “You’re as white as a ghost.”
“I’m.. I need... can I use your bathroom?”
“Sure, sweetie. You know where it is.” She thrust her chin toward the small connecting hall off the kitchen. “You okay?”
“No worries.”
Charity’s feet sprouted wings. Just as she closed the door behind her, Kolby called her name.
With her hands bracing the sink, she tried to get her emotions in check. She couldn’t face him. Wouldn’t. Equal parts of shame and anger sailed through her, competing for dominance.
She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d witnessed.
Charity was a grown woman and had seen people kiss ardently, in person and on screen.
No, this feeling was purely personal. She knew Kolby’s rep and had witnessed his behavior multiple times over the years.
It was no secret females of all ages were drawn to his good looks, laid-back attitude, and charming manner.
He made the women he photographed feel beautiful. Feel desired. Feel seen.
Just like he’d made her feel without the benefit of his camera.
He’d fostered that love’em and leave’em lifestyle and had never denied he wasn’t a one woman man.
Her shame came from dropping her guard with him and hoping–wishing; praying–he’d changed. The past weeks had shown her the man under the image. The kind, caring, funny, real one.
Or the man she’d thought was real.
And that’s where the anger took over. At him, and herself for believing he could change and might even have feelings for her that went beyond simple desire and the need to scratch a sexual itch. The reality that he hadn’t changed one iota was devastating.
Why had she ever thought a man like him was anything other than what he showed to the world? Why had she thought he was so much more? Her Granny Quinlan’s voice shouted in her ear.
People show you who and what they are the first time you meet’em. Remember that, no matter how they try to trick you into believin' they’re somethin' else.
True words, Granny. True words.
“Charity?” His knock on the door startled her. “Are you okay?”
Like you really care.
“Fine. Out in a sec.” Her voice betrayed none of what was churning beneath the surface of her emotions. Her strong Southern stock, coupled with her need to always be in control, helped her keep the sadness and fury contained.
The reflection staring back at her from the small, round mirror, though, wasn’t one that reflected the person she wanted to be.
Pale cheeks, eyes glassy, mouth tight and flat.
This wasn’t the girl who could drop-kick a two-hundred-and-forty-pound linebacker to the ground with a flick of her leg.
This wasn’t the girl CarlieRae and Rory Quinlan had raised to be a fighter.
This wasn’t the girl Granny Quinlan had said of, on the day she was born, “This little one’s got a backbone made of tempered steel. You watch: she’s a warrior.”
Charity had never let her feelings about a man, especially one that was so undeserving of her, rule her thoughts, actions, and heart.
“And you’re not about to start now,” she murmured to her reflection.
After all was done, dissected, and digested, Kolby O’Brian was still just a man. And more importantly, not the man for her.
With her mouth set now in a determined line, she stood upright, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin.
Granny Quinlan’s warrior was back.
And she was taking no prisoners.
When she opened the door, Kolby shot up from his leaning stance on the wall and uncrossed his arms.
“Are you okay?” His gaze swept over her face.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Good. Her voice was cool and controlled, and she'd blanked her features.
In contrast, Kolby’s voice had a shaky twinge to it. His cheeks were pale, and he was biting on the inside of one cheek.
Nerves? Upset he got caught? Embarrassed?
She hoped all three, and it served him right if he was.
She went to pass him, but his hand reached out to stop her. Before he could touch her, she recoiled and took a step away from him. The shock on his face was profound as he pulled back his hand.
“What?” she asked, keeping her composure. “I need to get back in there,” she waved toward the ballroom, “And make sure everything is running smoothly.”
“It is,” he said, his finger nervously fiddling with the camera strap slung around his neck. “I need to talk to you. Explain about what you saw. About Mandy. She–”
Charity’s hand rose in a halt motion, palm up, fingers splayed.
“Stop. I don’t care. It isn’t important to me. You can sleep with anyone you want.”
“You don’t understan—”
She ignored him. “You’re your own man, and like you’ve always said, you’re carefree and uncommitted.
I don’t care who you take to bed. When it’s on your own time.
” She nailed him with a glare her brothers often referred to as Charity’s riled up look.
“You can sleep with anyone, do anything you want. I just ask that you keep it in your pants durin’ work hours. ”
It was as if she’d slapped him, hard, across the face. His chin shot up, his head dropped back, his eyes bugging wide, while his shoulders and spine snapped to a plank-like straight line.
She fisted her hands on her hips. “I cain’t imagine what Colleen would’a said to you if she’d a'been the one to catch you swappin’ spit with that girl.”
She heard the Mississippi creep into her raised, and still rising voice, a sure sign of how mad she truly was, and pressed her lips together while she dug for professional calm. It wouldn’t do to have another scene at the inn with him. One was more than enough for a lifetime.
“Everything okay here?” Maureen asked, peeking into the hallway.
Charity jumped, then plastered a bright smile onto her face. “Fine.” She cleared her throat and shoved down her drawl. “Fine. We’re just discussing the shots the parents of the bride want of the cake. Is it ready to go out yet?”
Maureen’s gaze bounced from her to Kolby, then back again, her left eyebrow flirting with the fringe of hair across her brow. “I was just about to take it out of the refrigerator.”