Good Luck (26 page)

I was about to ask if his parents knew about his coaching but then remembered that I wasn’t supposed to know either.

“You never told me how you ended up in Florida,” I said instead.

“Old story. I came down here for spring break, got really drunk one night, and woke up on the beach. No clothes, no wallet, no friends. I couldn’t even remember the name of our hotel. I didn’t have any money to get home, so I just got a job and ended up staying,” Mal said, his voice deadly serious.

My mouth had dropped open as he talked, and when he finished, it was a long moment before I could speak, and even then it came out as a sputter.

“Are you…oh, my
God
…are you
serious
?” I yelped.

“Nope,” Mal said, and he snickered. I whacked him on the arm. Hard.

“Ow!”

I took another swipe at him, but this time he sidestepped me.

“See that? I’m like a cat. Nimble even in the dark,” Mal bragged.

“Lucky for you I’ve never been particularly athletic,” I said.

“I guess so.”

“Are you going to tell me the truth?”

“It’s not a great story. Not as good as waking up on the beach naked and hungover.”

“Try me.”

“I made a go at playing pro,” Mal said.

“Tennis?”

“Duh.”

I rolled my eyes, although it was too dark for Mal to get the full effect of this. “You have such a way with words.”

“Yes, tennis. I dropped out of school my sophomore year at the University of Georgia—I was on the tennis team there—and came down here to train at a tennis academy in Fort Lauderdale. The guy who runs it—Mick Beaufort—has helped launch a few of the top guys. He thought I had what it takes to go pro,” Mal said. His voice was neutral, and when I glanced up at him, I could just see through the dim light that he was staring straight ahead.

“And?”

“And I screwed up.”

“How so?” Then, worrying that I was prying, I quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. If it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, right. Like you’d let it go,” Mal said, although the smile was back in his voice. “The crowd that hung around the tennis academy had a work-hard, play-hard mind-set. And I took that a little too far. I partied a lot, ended up missing a few too many practices, and got myself kicked out of the academy.”

“Oh, no,” I said. Which seemed a completely inadequate response, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“I wasn’t just being an asshole,” Mal said quickly. “I mean, I was, considering I pissed away the opportunity of a lifetime. But I was pretty messed up at the time. It’s why I left school when I did.”

“Let me guess—there was a girl involved somewhere,” I said, raising my voice to be heard over the wind, which was starting to gust up over the water.

“I thought we’d already talked about your unfortunate habit of calling women girls,” Mal said in a mock severe tone.

“I forgot I was taking a walk with a militant feminist.”

“See that you don’t make that mistake again.”

“So was I right? Was it a girl?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Old story. Boy meets girl—”

“Now you’re doing it too.”

“Are you going to let me tell the story of my broken heart and subsequent lost dreams, or are you going to continue to tease me?” Mal asked.

“Sorry,” I said. “Carry on.”

“Where was I? Oh, right. Boy meets girl, they fall in love, talk about getting married. Then boy finds out that girl is messed up,” Mal said.

“How so?”

“Honestly, I have no idea how much of what she told me was true. She told me that her last boyfriend had been abusive—”

“That’s terrible!”

“I’m not sure if it was physical, or emotional, or both, or neither. Whenever I pressed her for more details, she’d shut down and refuse to tell me. And then she started to get seriously loopy.”

“Loopy how?”

“Like stripping off her clothes and running naked out of her dorm. Or thinking that her sociology professor was out to get her—and I don’t just mean giving her a bad grade but that he wanted to kill her.”

“Did he?” I asked, horrified.

“No. It turned out she suffered from paranoid schizophrenia. It wasn’t diagnosed until she was nearly twenty. Then she dropped out of school. Her parents took her home and basically told me not to contact her again,” Mal said.

“But
why
?”

“I don’t think they were bad people. Just very protective of their daughter. They lived in a small town, where her dad was a really big deal, and I think they wanted to keep her as sheltered as possible from local gossip. In my less magnanimous moments, I think maybe they wanted to keep her cloistered so that she wouldn’t embarrass them,” Mal said.

“That’s awful,” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest as I tried to remember what it was like to be twenty, in love, and separated from that person. I couldn’t. The truth was, I hadn’t really been in love at that age. Infatuation, yes, but not love.

“Tell me about it.” Mal paused. “You know, I’ve never told anyone about Jessica before. I guess I always thought talking about her problems would violate her privacy.” He took a deep breath.

“Anyway, I dropped out too and took off for Florida, where I was going to become a world-renowned tennis star.” Mal snorted a completely humorless laugh. “And instead, I was depressed and freaked out about what had happened to Jessica, and I dealt with it by getting drunk or stoned or both every night. Eventually I was kicked out of the academy, and it took me another five years to get my shit together.”

“What did you do?”

“I bartended. And a few times, when the Season was over and the jobs dried up, I had to accept financial help from my parents just to pay the rent, which absolutely killed me. I swore I wouldn’t be one of those jackasses who has to constantly call home to Daddy for help.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?” I asked gently.

“No. I don’t think I’m being hard enough. I’m not exactly proud of that phase of my life. But eventually I got a job as the assistant tennis pro for a tourist hotel in Fort Lauderdale. I was thankful enough for the break that I worked my ass off, and I traded up a few times to better and better resorts. Eventually I landed the gig at the Rushes Country Club,” Mal said. “Which brings us up to the present.” Apparently Mal had reached his limit on self-reflection, for he abruptly changed the subject. “So. What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Are they happy about how your life has turned out?”

“Sure,” I said. But then I stopped to think about this question. Were they proud of me? I knew they had been when I was teaching. But I was also pretty sure that they wouldn’t be thrilled with my new Palm Beach life of leisure. “I think they’d be happier if I was using my lottery money to do some-thing meaningful. My dad especially seems worried that the money will have a corrupting influence on me.”

“Are you corruptible?”

I was about to say,
No, of course not.
But then I thought about the past six weeks. The money I was spending, the late nights I was keeping, the fact that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d picked up a book. I didn’t know if that counted as corruption necessarily, but the money had certainly changed how I was living my life.

So instead I said, “Isn’t everyone?”

Mal shrugged. “I suppose, in a really broad never-say-never sort of a way. But I believe in self-determination and taking responsibility for your actions.”

“How exactly does that fit into your whole Peter Pan, beer-swilling, hookup-artist lifestyle?” I teased.

Mal feigned mock outrage. “Peter Pan? Hookup artist?”

“What would you call it?”

“My romantic nature, maybe? My poet’s soul?”

I snorted. Mal laughed too, and then he did something startling—he took my hand in his and swung our arms lightly between us. Instantly, I tensed. It was one thing for two friends to opt to take a walk over sitting in a crowded, smoky bar; it was an entirely different situation when that walk involved holding hands on a moonlit beach.

Unfortunately, at that moment it felt like all my blood had suddenly rushed to my head, leaving me slightly dizzy. And rather than having a clear, precise idea of what to do, my thoughts were so jumbled, I couldn’t grab on to any of them. Fuzzy notions that this was wrong, that there was Drew to consider, that even if Mal wasn’t a gigolo, he was something of a player and quite definitely out of my league. But then there was the not-so-insignificant problem that I was attracted to Mal. And I very badly wanted to see where this moonlit walk was headed.

This is a bad idea,
the logical, rational side of my brain cautioned.

Go for it,
the emotional, irrational side countered.

Mal seemed to sense my growing agitation. He stopped suddenly and pulled my arm so that I was facing him. He was standing very, very close, his handsome face unreadable in the darkness.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m cold,” I lied.

Mal’s hands were suddenly on my hips, pulling me toward him. Before my mind could wrap itself around this startling development, Mal bent forward and kissed me. Any resistance I might have offered up instantly evaporated. Instead, my arms lifted, encircled his neck, and I kissed him back.

Everything around us receded—the sandy beach, the rhythmic roar of the ocean, the distant sounds of a house party at one of the mansions that lined the beach—until there was just Mal and me, touching each other. His lips were softly urgent as they pressed against mine, and I responded in kind, leaning up into him, wanting nothing more than to have this moment last into infinity. I still felt light-headed, but every last nerve in my body was tingling and on high alert.

But then Mal stepped back, breaking away. His hands slid from my hips to my arms and then to my hands, lacing my fingers with his.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Mal said. He dropped my left hand and turned, pulling me gently.

“Where are we going?” I asked. My voice was hoarse, and I cleared my throat.

“My place, your place, anywhere but here. I know the beach looks deserted, but people are constantly coming out here,” Mal said.

“Okay,” I said. He was walking quickly, so even though we were still holding hands, I was a step or two behind him. “Wait a second.”

What I meant was,
Wait for me
. But Mal apparently thought I was rethinking the situation, for he stopped in his tracks and dropped my hand.

“You don’t want to do this?” he asked, turning to face me. I wished the light was stronger, wished I could see his expression. As it was, his face was shadowed. All I could make out was the white of his skin, the pale glint of his hair.

“I just…” I began, but then I stopped. Because now that he was no longer touching me, the warm fizzy sensation that had temporarily taken over my body was receding. Even worse, my thoughts began to clear. “Maybe…maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Mal said evenly. “If you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that,” I said quickly. Because I did want to. There was no point lying about it. “But there are reasons why we shouldn’t. Drew, for one.”

Drew and I hadn’t exactly talked about whether or not our relationship was monogamous, mostly because up until now the conversation had seemed unnecessary. Drew and I saw each other almost every day. It would be an impressive feat if he was somehow able to fit another woman in between me and the long hours he worked. But while there hadn’t been a formal commitment, there hadn’t been a release of one either. And Drew and I had spent enough time together, and enough nights together, that if one of us was going to see other people, we ought to have that conversation first. I owed it to him and I owed it to myself. I wasn’t the sort of woman who dated one man and then, behind his back, slept with another. A lot of things in my life—a lot of things about me—may have changed since the day I won the lottery, but this wasn’t going to be one of them.

“Right. There’s Drew.”

I’d never heard Mal say Drew’s name before, but I could tell from his flat tone that he didn’t like Drew any more than Drew liked him. I wondered if it was just that they saw each other as rivals for the same woman—which, I had to admit, would be insanely flattering—or if they were just too dissimilar to get along. Drew was the buttoned-up country-club type, while Mal was the nonconformist who rarely shaved. They were both kind men, but still, very different.

“Yes, there’s Drew,” I said firmly. “He’s a good guy, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to have me sneaking around with other guys behind his back.”

“Okay.”

“I should at least talk to him first,” I said.

Mal laughed. “Do you want to borrow my cell phone?” he asked, sounding almost normal, his tone losing the sharp edges.

“No,” I said. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I swallowed hard, opened my eyes, and with as steady a voice as I could manage, I said, “I meant…this is probably a bad idea. I should go before this—well, I think I should just go home.” I crossed my arms and began walking back down the beach, in the direction of the lighted parking lot, where my car was. I glanced back and realized Mal hadn’t moved. “Come on, I’ll drop you back off at the bar.”

“That’s okay,” Mal said. “I’m going to walk on the beach for a while. Clear my head.”

I hesitated. “How will you get home?”

“This is a small island, Lucy. I think I’ll manage.”

And then Mal turned and walked away from me. I watched him disappear into the darkness, and then, finally, I turned away too.

Nineteen

         
AS DREW STEERED UP THE DRIVEWAY BEHIND A LINE
of Rolls-Royces and Bentleys, Mar-a-Lago loomed into view, looking like a tropical castle with its red-tiled Mediterranean roof and surrounded by palm trees.

“Your parents are having their party here?” I asked.

“It’s not a private party. It’s a fund-raiser,” Drew said.

“Even so,” I said faintly. Meeting your new boyfriend’s parents was always potentially disastrous. Would you like them, or, more important, would they like you? This first meeting with the Brookses was made even more unnerving than most considering my assumed identity and accompanying cover story. What had I been thinking agreeing to do this at a black-tie event?

“Relax. You’ll be fine. In fact, you’ll probably be bored. This party is going to be full of stiffs in tuxes talking business,” Drew said. He grinned at me and winked. Drew was wearing black tie, but he definitely didn’t look like a stiff in it. To the contrary, the beautiful tailoring highlighted his wide shoulders and long legs.

“And your family,” I pointed out.

“Just let whatever they say roll off you. Imagine you’re coated in Teflon.”

“You see, you say things like that and it makes me even more nervous. You make it sound like they’re lying in wait for me!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah, well. That’s because they probably are,” Drew said. “Kidding! I’m kidding.”

“Ha-ha,” I said.

“Besides, you look fabulous,” Drew said, casting me an appreciative glance. “I almost feel moved to break out in a chorus of ‘Lady in Red.’”

“Please don’t,” I begged, although I was secretly pleased by the compliment.

My red silk Carolina Herrera gown was strapless, with a shirred bodice and a sweetheart neckline, and fell in an elegant column that just barely swept the floor. Best of all, there was a sexy slit up the front, exposing a sheer black underskirt. On my feet were a truly stunning pair of Christian Lacroix black satin strappy pumps encrusted with rhinestones. I’d worried that they were a bit over the top, but Hayden had insisted that if ever there was a time and place for rhinestones, this was it.

Frankie came by in the afternoon to touch up my highlights and blow out my cropped blond hair so that it was smoothed back from my face. Hayden had appointed herself my makeup artist. She’d done something with gray sparkly eye shadow and black mascara that made my eyes look darkly luminous.

And as Drew drove up the pebbled drive under the arching portico, where a troop of valets were waiting to take control of his car, I had my first look at what the other women were wearing. I was relieved to see that I had chosen my dress wisely. All of the women were dressed in floor-length gowns, and diamonds twinkled from necks, wrists, ears, and—in the case of one woman who clearly had a princess fantasy going on—a tiara. The vaults had been opened and the big jewels brought out for the occasion.

One of the valets stepped forward and opened the car doors. I waited as Drew stepped around and handed me out. As I stood, I heard a woman in head-to-toe plaid taffeta gasp and say, “What a fabulous red dress! Doesn’t she look stunning!”

Stunning,
I thought, feeling a bit dazed as Drew led me by the hand through the arched doorway. Had she really been talking about me? No one had ever called me stunning before. I again had the odd, detached feeling that I was no longer myself.

The fund-raiser was being held in the Gold & White Ballroom: aptly named, as the room was white with elaborate gold plasterwork covering the walls and ceilings. The windows were high and arched, with gold sconces featuring naked cherubs gleaming between them. Overhead, there wasn’t just one large chandelier but rows and rows of them, filling the ballroom with a soft, glowing light.

There was already a large crowd gathered—the ladies in ball gowns, their husbands or escorts in black tuxedos. Chatter rose up, and perfectly whitened teeth flashed in social smiles, cheeks were put forth to receive kisses, and glasses of bubbling champagne were raised to glossy red lips. The room smelled strongly and pleasantly of mingled perfumes and colognes. There was a still-empty dance floor in the center of the room, where a jazz quartet was playing, and around the perimeter, round tables dressed in gold and white linens were set with bone china and crystal stemmed glasses. In the center of each table sat a gilded birdcage filled with twinkle lights and bunches of white peonies, tulips, and orchids.

“Drew!” The ringing voice was so imperious, I had to force myself not to cringe.

“Brace yourself,” Drew muttered to me. Then he turned, smiled, and said, “Hello, Mother.”

He called his mom
Mother
? That wasn’t a good sign, I decided. It spoke of a stilted, formal relationship. The only time I’d ever called my mom
Mother
was when I was thirteen and in a particularly snotty mood.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet Lucy Landon,” Drew said, placing one hand on my back. I think it was meant to be reassuring, but it might also have been to prevent me from fleeing.

Drew’s mother was a formidable-looking woman. She was tall, with strongly etched features—a prominent aquiline nose, dark eyes that stretched up and out at the corners (
a face-lift?
I wondered), and thick blue-black hair that was cut in a blunt bob at her square jaw. She wore a floor-length white gown with a draped neck and long sleeves. A daring choice for an older woman, I thought, with the bridal and youthful implications of wearing all-white. But Mrs. Brooks had such a strong, grounded presence, she pulled if off magnificently.

“How do you do,” Drew’s mother said. She extended a limp hand to me. “Adeline Brooks.”

“Hello, Mrs. Brooks. It’s very nice to meet you,” I said, smiling at her.

She inclined her head gracefully yet without losing her imperious air. Adeline Brooks was, I decided, a woman who was used to getting her way.

“I thought it was about time we met,” she said.

I glanced quizzically at Drew. What had he told her about me? About us? He gave his head a slight shake.

“Mother, I told you Lucy and I have been dating for only a few weeks,” he said gently.

“That’s what you told me,” Adeline said, in a tone that made it clear she didn’t believe him. “But then, that’s also what you told me about that girl—what was her name? It was something odd. Genevieve? Alessandra?”

“Her name was
Sadie,
Mother.” Drew’s voice now had an edge to it.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. I’ve always been terrible with names,” Adeline said, allowing herself a smile that did little to soften her stern face.

Drew shot her a look. “You never forget anything,” he said pointedly.

“You give me too much credit, my dear,” Adeline said serenely. “Anyway, Lucy, when we met Sadie, Drew said they’d been dating only a short time, but it turns out they were practically engaged.” She gave me a conspiratorial look. “I think he was worried we’d scare her away.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Drew said dryly.

Adeline chose to ignore her son. “So, Lucy, do you have any dark and lurid secrets I should know about?” she asked, turning toward me.

I had just taken a sip of champagne, but now, pinioned by Adeline Brooks’s shrewd eyes, I started to choke on it. The bubbling liquid burned my throat, and my eyes watered as I coughed.

“Goodness,” Adeline exclaimed.

“Lucy, are you okay?” Drew asked, leaning down worriedly to peer at me.

“Fine, fine,” I managed, still coughing.

A man I presumed to be Drew’s father chose this moment to join us. “Ah, Drew, nice to see you,” he said. “What have I missed?”

“Oh, just Mother terrorizing my date,” Drew said.

“Adeline,” Drew’s father chided her fondly. He turned to smile at me and held out his hand. I shook it; he had a much firmer grip than his wife. “You must be Lucy. I’m Hal Brooks.”

Like Drew, Hal was tall with long limbs and wide shoulders. In fact, father and son looked much alike, although Hal Brooks’s hair had gone gray and the flesh around his jaw had turned jowly.

I had finally gotten control of my coughing fit, although a tickle remained in my throat.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Brooks,” I managed to say.

“Please, call me Hal,” he said, and I returned his friendly smile. He gave me a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t let Adeline give you a hard time. She likes to do that with Drew’s girlfriends, and then she wonders why he isn’t married and producing the requisite grandchildren.”

“Yeah, it’s a real mystery,” Drew said, rolling his eyes. He drained the last of his champagne and set the empty glass down on the tray of a passing waiter. She handed him a full glass in return. “Perfect timing,” he said gratefully.

“What do your parents do, Lucy?” Adeline asked.

“My dad is a dental surgeon, and my mom works with a number of animal rescues,” I said.

“I like her already,” Adeline said approvingly. “Where do they live? I think Drew said that you’re a native Floridian.”

“Yes, I grew up in Ocean Falls.”

“Oh, yes, I know it well! We have some dear friends who live there,” Adeline said brightly. “Owen and Cassie Forrester. Do you know them?”

My mouth literally fell open. I was distantly aware that gaping dumbly at Drew’s parents would not make the best first impression, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

They knew the Forresters. As in Matt’s parents. And if they knew the Forresters, there was no chance they hadn’t heard about me. The real me, Lucy Parker. The teacher who, according to the Forresters, had sexually propositioned their son.

“They were supposed to be here tonight, but I suppose with one thing and another…” Adeline began, but then trailed off and waved a hand in the air. “They’ve had a lot to deal with lately, I suppose.”

A lot to deal with
. It wasn’t hard to figure out what—or whom—Adeline Brooks was referring to, and I felt a familiar flutter of resentment. I was the one who’d had a lot to deal with, thanks to the Forresters’ destructively dishonest son. But even so, the very idea that I had almost ended up in the same room with them…My knees went wobbly at the thought. That would have been so very, very bad.

“Lucy? Is everything okay?” Drew asked, leaning toward me, his brows furrowed with concern.

Calm,
I told myself.
Be calm.

I didn’t want to lie to Drew’s parents or to Drew any more than I already had, but I obviously couldn’t blurt out the truth of exactly how I did know Owen and Cassie Forrester. I drew in a deep breath to steady myself.

“I’m fine,” I said to Drew. Then, to his mother, “Yes, I’ve heard of the Forresters.” Which was technically true. I
had
heard of them.

“I’ll have to ask Cassie about you the next time I talk to her. Your last name is Landon, right?” Adeline asked.

I nodded, hoping that a lightning bolt wouldn’t come streaking down from the sky to strike me dead on the spot. How many lies can you tell before officially arousing God’s wrath?

“Oh, look, there’s Bonnie Wilson. Her husband recently passed away. I think this is her first event out,” Adeline said, looking concerned. “Hal, come with me to say hello to her, will you? Lucy, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope I didn’t scare you off.”

“Not at all,” I said faintly. I was still feeling a bit shaky and was glad to escape further questioning.

Adeline and Hal moved off to intercept the new widow—who looked remarkably well rested, radiant even, dressed in a dramatic floor-length violet sheath—leaving Drew and me alone.

“That went well, right?” I asked hopefully.

“Absolutely. I could tell my mom liked you.”

“At least she didn’t ask me if my ovaries are working.”

“Miracles do happen,” Drew said. “But the night isn’t over yet. The fertility cross-examination could still come.”

“Where are your sisters?” I asked, looking around, wondering if I’d recognize them. I’d seen them in the family photos scattered around his generic bachelor-pad condo but only had vague impressions of big smiles and pretty hair.

Drew looked around, but the ballroom was getting more and more crowded, and finally he shrugged.

“I don’t see them. But I’m sure Mother put us all at the same table, so you’ll meet them at dinner. And in order to prepare, I suggest we ditch this champagne and get something more potent. Like a few shots of tequila,” Drew said darkly. He tried to take my champagne glass, but I held it back, shaking my head.

“First of all, I haven’t had tequila since a very bad, very dark night back in college that ended with me so hungover I couldn’t get out of bed for two days. And second, I don’t want anything stronger. I don’t want your family to think I’m a drunk,” I protested.

“They won’t notice. They’re all drunks. It’s a WASP tradition.”

“Even so, after this one glass, I’m going to switch to club soda,” I said.

“That’s it, I’m going to have to break up with you,” Drew said. “I can’t date a teetotaler.”

But he grinned and then leaned forward to place an impish kiss on my nose.

“God, Mother’s on a tear tonight,” Josie, Drew’s younger sister, said. She was short and curvy, with elegant shoulders and luminous skin. Her husband, Todd, had boyish features and a bland personality. So far, after greeting us, he hadn’t said a word.