Married by Mistake. Abby Gaines

with the idea, she supposed now, of turning Joe on.

      She rejected a strappy top in favor of a white, sleeveless T-shirt, which she teamed with a denim skirt. She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. No way could Adam think she’d dressed to turn him on.

      He was standing at the dining table when she got downstairs. Someone must have brought his luggage during the night. He wore jeans and a black polo shirt, open at the neck. Casey’s gaze was drawn to his bare forearms, tanned and strong, as he lifted the covers off several dishes on a room-service trolley. He pulled a chair out for her, and Casey wiped her palms against the sturdy fabric of her skirt as she sat down.

      “I ordered breakfast,” he said. “It’s not safe to go down to the restaurant. The manager tells me a couple of journalists checked into the hotel.”

      Casey helped herself to fruit and yogurt, shaking her head at Adam’s offer of a hot meal. He piled his own plate with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, raised his glass of orange juice to her in salute, and started on his breakfast.

      Casey took a sip of her own juice as she glanced at the newspaper that lay folded by her plate—and promptly choked.

      “Oh, no.” After all those photos she and Adam had posed for at the press conference, they’d published one taken in the TV studio, obviously at the moment Joe had jilted her. Her face, panic in her eyes, mouth open, gaped back at her from the front page beneath the headline Carmichael Rescues Jilted Bride. She grabbed a napkin, wiped away the rivulet of juice she could feel on her chin, without taking her eyes off the newspaper.

      “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Adam was presumably referring to the article and not to her photo, because that couldn’t be any worse. “They speculate that Channel Eight cooked up this scheme to boost the ratings of Kiss the Bride. They tried to get a comment out of your fiancé, but he wasn’t talking.”

      Casey unfolded the paper, then clamped a hand to her forehead at the sight of her father, peering around the front door of the house. “They spoke to my dad.”

      “That’s not so good,” Adam admitted. “They also talked to my stepmother. Seems she told them we’ve been secretly engaged for months.”

      “Why would she say that?”

      Adam shrugged. “My guess is she didn’t want to be caught not knowing about something as important as my wedding.” Casey gathered from the careful neutrality of his expression that he didn’t much like his stepmother. “Still, she’s probably helped confuse the press, which can’t hurt.”

      “Any word from the lawyer?” Casey asked.

      “I’ve had a few calls.” He gestured to the cell phone on the table between them. “But not from Sam.”

      His phone trilled again.

      “Hello, Eloise,” he said with resigned patience. “Did you like the show?”

      Who was Eloise? His stepmother? His girlfriend?

      Whoever she was, Adam was obviously enjoying her reaction to their wedding. Not his girlfriend, then. He grinned and held the phone away from his ear—Casey heard a spate of words pouring out. “Sorry, Eloise, I have another call coming through. I’ll get back to you.”

      That set the pattern for the next few minutes, with Adam receiving one call after another, mostly, she gathered, from family, all anxious to know how his marriage might affect their interests. His reticence must have infuriated them.

      Bored with waiting, Casey turned on her own cell phone. Almost immediately, it beeped with a text message from the answering service to say she had twenty-one new messages.

      She dialed the service and scrolled through the worried communications from her father (five messages), her sister (six) and her brother (one). There was also one from Brodie-Ann, and several from people who were concerned her wedding might make Casey unavailable to help them. People like the church choir director (did the wedding mean she wouldn’t be singing her solo this Sunday?) and the head of the Parkvale Children’s Trust (Casey was still okay to bake two cakes and a batch of cookies for next week’s open day, wasn’t she?).

      No and no. She couldn’t help smiling. She’d figured getting married would give her the perfect out, but not like this. Still, she wouldn’t call anyone back just yet. Not until she and Adam had talked. His phone rang again, and she sighed. Whenever that might be. She realized she hadn’t touched her food yet, and took a mouthful of yogurt-smothered melon.

      Then her own phone rang, chirping “You Are My Sunshine.” By the time she’d convinced the Parkvale librarian she wasn’t available to fill in during children’s story hour that afternoon, Adam was off the phone and regarding her quizzically.

      “Did your phone just play ‘You Are My Sunshine’?” he asked.

      “Uh-huh. It’s a personalized ring tone. It’s affirming.”

      He laughed, until the dignified raising of her eyebrows told him she was serious.

      “Affirmations are good for your self-esteem,” she told him. “Every time my phone tells me I’m its sunshine, it makes me feel good.” Though at this precise moment it didn’t seem to be working. Still, she gave Adam a sunny smile as she popped another piece of melon into her mouth.

      “You really believe that?”

      She nodded. “You have to find an affirmation that works for you, of course. ‘You Are My Sunshine’ gives me confidence.” Casey thought about that furrow that had made a permanent home in Adam’s brow. “Whereas you might want to look in your mirror each morning and tell yourself you won’t get stressed today.”

      He frowned, and the furrow deepened. “I hope you didn’t pay good money to learn that psychobabble.”

      “That comes direct from my community college lecturer,” she protested.

      “I’ll bet he didn’t tell you to get affirmation from your cell phone.”

      “No, she didn’t. I’m extrapolating.”

      Adam tackled his bacon and eggs, which must surely be cold after all those phone calls, with renewed energy. “So why are you studying psychology? To overcome childhood trauma?”

      “I’m not in therapy,” she said with exaggerated patience. “I study psychology because it helps with characterization in my writing.” Her phone warbled again and she looked at the display. “It’s my dad.”

      Her father took a moment to remind her he loved her, then launched into a monologue about how much her family needed her and how she’d better sort out this confusion and get back home as soon as possible. He ended with a plaintive query: “How am I supposed to get to physical therapy on Tuesday?”

      Call a cab. Don’t you think I have more on my mind right now? But she’d taught her father she would always be there when he needed her, so how could she blame him? She was saved from answering by a beep on the line.

      “Just a moment, Dad, I have another call.” She switched to the other line.

      Her sister. Casey straightened in her seat. “Yes, Karen, I did just get married. No, I’m not crazy—” she hoped that wasn’t a lie “—and no, I’m not coming back to Parkvale.” She hoped that wasn’t a lie, either. “I’d like you and Dad to— Hello?”

      When she got back to the other line, her father wasn’t there.

      “Bad connection,” she explained to Adam. She put her phone on the gilded, glass-topped table between them and looked hard at her plate so he wouldn’t see the hurt she knew must show in her face. “Now that we’re both free—”

      “Free being a relative term,” he interrupted. “We’re still married.”

      “—let’s have that chat you mentioned.” Her phone rang again, but after a glance at the display she ignored it.