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Lance and the woman I assumed was his wife eagerly took the invitation and slid into the pew in front of us. Before Lance could say anything, his much younger wife, with hair of gold and teeth as bright as the sun, reached for Sheridan. “Please tell me you will be throwing a reception for these two.” She nodded toward us.
I held my breath, silently begging Sheridan to say no. The story we had told everyone, including the press, when Brock and I got married was that we had done it so quickly and privately because we had realized life was too short and we didn’t want to spend another minute apart. How I wished it were true. However, with Brock recovering, and under the circumstances, we’d been thwarting any attempts by the well-meaning Sheridan to throw a celebration. Besides, we didn’t want to overshadow the other train wreck that was Brant and Jill’s engagement. Unfortunately, in a couple of weeks, we would be flying back east to attend a huge soiree in their honor being thrown by Jill’s family. Our attendance was nonnegotiable. I couldn’t imagine anything more uncomfortable than being at the engagement party for my child’s father while married to his brother. It’s not like Brant and I loved each other. At least not in the way our behavior indicated on that fateful night. I shuddered thinking about it. Our emotions had gotten the better of us. Neither of us were proud of it. But we had just lost the man we loved the most. The man who hated us both now.
Sheridan’s pretty eyes lit up. “Believe me, I’m working on it.”
Internally I groaned, while Brock hung his head.
Sheridan swatted him. “Now don’t act like that. Everyone wants to celebrate your joyous union.”
“Love,” John interjected. “Let’s discuss parties later. Lance is interested in learning more about the work Dani does with Children to Love. Perhaps even donating.”
I had to refrain from throwing John a scathing glance. Nothing was sacred to him. Not even the foster children and young adults who had aged out of foster care that my foundation helped. John held it over my head like an anvil, waiting to crush me as soon as I slipped up. To him, though, my nonprofit work was what made me a suitable wife for his son.
“I told him,” John continued, “he couldn’t find a worthier cause. That our Dani is a beacon of light in the valley.” John’s shrewd eyes reminded me I better give an Academy Award–winning response.
I discreetly rested my hand on my midsection and reminded myself what was at stake before smiling. “Thank you for that ringing endorsement, but I’m not the heroine; it’s the children and our many volunteers and donors who deserve all the credit.”
“Don’t be so modest, honey.” Sheridan reached over and tapped my nose. “This girl works tirelessly. Even going as far as making sure every foster child in the three counties has gifts to wake up to on Christmas morning. She hand delivers most of them too.”
I tucked some hair behind my ear. “It’s the least I can do.”
Lance nodded. “Sounds like we should get together and discuss how my company can be an ally.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my no-frills business card and handed it to him. The one that still had my maiden name on it—Dani Kramer. John wanted me to order new ones with the name he had forced on me, but I’d resisted, citing that I hated wasting anything. I took any bit of defiance I could. Even something as small as the business card. And though I hated playing into John’s wicked game, I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Every donation counted.
Lance took my card. “You’re a lucky man, Brock.”
Brock cleared his throat. “Yes, I am.” Did anyone else hear how strangled that sounded? Or was I the only one who choked on his words?
Thankfully, Brant and Jill entered the fray and everyone’s attention shifted toward the new senatorial candidate and his bride-to-be.
Brock wanted even less to do with Brant than he did with me, so he grabbed my hand, making sure our fingers didn’t intertwine as he led us away from the crowd. Once we were outside in the mid-September sun, he breathed a sigh of relief and dropped my hand like a ton of bricks.
Brock’s touch left me feeling cold and empty. I closed my eyes, seeking warmth from the light instead.
“Let’s go home,” Brock growled.
I opened my eyes and met his troubled ones. “I have no home.”Chapter TwoBrock knocked on my bathroom door—the guest bath. “We’re going to be late.”
My head was resting on the toilet seat after having lost the few bites of toast I’d gotten down for lunch after church. “I don’t know if I can make it,” I moaned.
