“Sorry to disappoint, Mom, but I won’t be calling Lyle Barrington anytime soon. And I definitely won’t be asking for anyone’s blessing.”
“Fine,” she quips. “If you insist on keeping this marriage strictly legal, we can do that, although I have no idea why you won’t at least try to embrace the traditions of matrimony. Rosalind is a lovely girl. And very compliant.”
“This isn’t about me not wanting to keep up appearances, agreeable as Rosalind may be. I simply can’t do it.”
“Why on earth not?”
Loren nudges my side, and I shoot her a glance. Her eyes are big blue globes, waiting for me to say the words,I’m marrying someone else.
That’s the plan we agreed to before I placed the call. I swallow hard, look away.
“I can’t marry Rosalind because I’m in love with someone else.”
Loren sucks in a breath.
Crap.
That wasn’t what we’d practiced.
“I must admit, I’m surprised.” My mother’s statement drips out slowly, and the way Loren’s gone into freeze mode suggests she’s equally stunned.
So I turn to her and mouthsorry, hitching my shoulders like I’m just putting on a show for my mom, not stating my true feelings.
“More to the point, I’m marrying somebody who isn’t Rosalind,” I add quickly. “The trust says I have to be married to maintain control, but the identity of my wife wasn’t stated in the fine print.”
My mother is quiet before responding. When she does, her words are frosty. “You are correct.”
“Wonderful,” I say. “Because I’ve found another woman. A different wife.”
Not a lie.
“I see.”
The ensuing silence lasts so long, I start to wonder if my mom hung up. “In that case, when can I meet the lucky bride?” she asks, coolly. “Your birthday is right around the corner. We don’t have much time to plan.”
Double crap.
Loren nudges me.What’s happening?she mouths.
I just nod. Give her a thumbs-up.
“You won’t be able to meet her before the wedding, Mom,” I say, loudly, tacking on a wince. “We’re too excited to wait. So we’ll be doing this soon.Very soon.”
Loren’s eyes widen.
“I can book the jet for later today,” my mother says.
“No, don’t,” I bark. “It’s just that … my future bride is a shy little thing. She’s really nervous about meeting you. I think we’d better wait until it’s official.”
Or never.
Loren swats my shoulder, and I can’t blame her. She’s definitely not shy. Or easily scared off. But the last thing we need is Margaret Adams showing up while we’re trying to pull off this wedding.
“I promise we’ll send lots of pictures and video,” I say.
“Don’t promise her that,” Loren hisses.
“Excuse me?” My mother clears her throat. “Is your shy little fiancée with you now? May I speak with her?”