Secrets of a Shoe Addict (41 page)

“You’re going to match the dress to the shoes?” Tiffany asked in disbelief. “You’re not going to pick the dress first?”

Sandra shook her head. “Good Lord, no. A dress is easy to find, but when you find the perfect shoes, you have to grab them. And
these
”—she took a page from a catalog out of her purse and handed it to Tiffany—“are the perfect shoes for my wedding.”

“The Sandra,” Tiffany read, then looked at her sister. “Oh, my gosh, he named a style after you?”

Sandra beamed and nodded. “Read on.”

“Pointed-toe pump, in a white pearlized kidskin upper, with stiletto heel and cut-out side quarters.” She looked at the picture and commented, “They’re so sexy, they’re almost indecent!”

“I know!”

“Well,
this
is cause for celebration as much as anything else.” Tiffany led Sandra to the kitchen and took the bottle of champagne
out of the fridge, along with two flutes from the cabinet. “What an honor.” She tore the foil off the bottle.

“It’s amazing,” Sandra said. “So what about you? How’s the real estate business going? Is Loreen a good teacher?”

“The best.” She pulled the cork off the bottle and poured the bubbly liquid into the glasses. “I think she was really glad to lighten her load by handing it over to me.” Tiffany handed Sandra a glass. “To the blushing bride and inspiration for the hottest shoes this season.”

“And to her sister, the uncontested president of the
blue ribbon award
–
winning
Tuckerman Elementary PTA.”

“Hear hear.”

They clinked glasses.

“Close your eyes,” Brian told Abbey. “I’ve got a big surprise for you.”

“You’re not going to
believe
it,” Parker added excitedly.

“Don’t give it away, bud,” Brian said, then to Abbey: “Seriously, close your eyes.”

“You don’t need to give me anything,” she said. “It’s enough that I have you two.”

“That’s nice, sweetheart, and I know it’s true, but you don’t have to be a saint
all
the time.” He gave her a nudge. “Every woman likes a little something special now and then, so close your eyes.”

“Fine.” She laughed and closed her eyes. “They’re closed.”

“Sure you can’t see?” Parker asked, and she felt a tiny breeze on her face and knew he was fanning his hand in front of her eyes.

“I can’t see a thing.”

“Put your hands out,” Brian instructed.

She did.

“Here you go.” He set a long slender box in her hands. “You can open them now.”

She opened her eyes, and sure enough, the box was of the kind jewelry came in. She couldn’t help that her heart did a little leap.

Then she panicked. Quickly, unexpectedly, with the certainty of a premonition, she panicked, knowing that inside the box was the necklace she’d sold so long ago to give money to the church. The necklace Damon had almost killed Brian in order to get.

Brian had tracked it down. He’d probably saved his pennies for years to buy it back for her, thinking it was a long-lost token.

“You remember when we first met,” Brian said, as she listened, frozen. “You had a very special piece of jewelry that you sold in order to donate money to the church.”

“Yes.” Her mouth was dry. The sound that came from her throat was barely more than a croak with a vowel in the middle.

“Well, I’ve felt bad about that for a long time,” Brian went on.

Stop
, she thought desperately.
Please stop. Please please please don’t go on, don’t make me open this box.

“—because a woman like you, as beautiful as you are, deserves something beautiful for herself.” He nodded toward the box. “So . . . go ahead. Open it.”

There was no way she could get out of this. No way to just say
no thanks
and set it aside.
Thanks for the thought, that’s what really counts
. No, she had to open the box, see the necklace, and then . . . what?

She’d given up the phone sex. Once the bills were paid and a nice little nest egg was established for the PTA programs fund, there had been no reason to continue it. She was just a
real
happy housewife now.

But if she opened this box, how would that change?

“I’ll help,” Parker said, pushing his sticky hands in the middle of things to open the little box.

Inside, on the black velvet, was a thin gold necklace with three little solitaire diamonds on it.

It was not
the
necklace.

“I know it’s not the same as the one you gave up,” Brian said, echoing her grateful thoughts with an unnecessary apology in his voice. “But it’s always bothered me that you didn’t have something to replace it. So I found this at a jeweler in the mall. Each of the diamonds represents one of us. You, Parker, and me. And, if we’re ever blessed with another addition, we can add another diamond. Although I hope it won’t be too soon, because my wallet is still smoking.” He was kidding, of course. She knew he wanted another baby more than anything, and that money would never be a consideration for him.

He was just trying to put her at ease because he knew that
she
knew this was a rare extravagance.

“Brian Walsh, you are the most thoughtful man in the world,” she said, holding back tears.

“What about me?” Parker wanted to know.

“You, too!” She pulled them both into a hug. “I love you guys more than you’ll ever know,” she said.

“We love you, too, Mom.”

“Yes.” Brian caught her eye. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“This is Mimi.” Loreen lay back against her sateen sheets and switched off the light.

“What are you wearing?” the gruff male voice asked.

“I’m wearing a burgundy lace teddy with a black garter, fishnet stockings, and a pair of kitten-heel Carfagni mules in black leather.” She really was. And the shoes were outrageously comfortable, too.

“I want to take it all off of you. Piece by piece.”

“Oh, I want you to.” She sighed. “Believe me, I want you to.”

“Then I want to kiss you all over your body. Every square inch.”

She considered. “That could take a while.”

“We’ve got all weekend. I plan to have my way with you, over and over and over again. Beginning right now.”

“And then?”

“Then we do it again.”

She laughed. “And then?”

“Then I make you breakfast in bed. Strawberries, pancakes, coffee with cream—”

“
Now
you’re talking my language.”

“I know how to get to you.”

“Then, for heaven’s sake, Robert, hang up the phone and get up here.” She smiled. “I want you
now
.”

“Two minutes.” There was the distinct sound of utensils being put into the dishwasher. “I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll be waiting,” she said, thinking there was no bigger turn-on than a man who arranged for his parents to take the kids for the weekend so he could do every little thing for his wife for two days in celebration of her birthday. “Oh, and Robert?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you.”

There was a clattering in answer.

“Robert?” She frowned. “Hello?”

“I love you, too.” He was coming in the door, pulling off his shirt as he walked toward her. “The dishes can wait. But this—” He got on the bed and pulled her close against his bare chest. “—can’t. I’m not wasting one more second of my time with you, ever again.”

Turn the page for a sneak peek at
Beth Harbison’s new novel

AVAILABLE JULY 2009

Copyright
©
2009 by Beth Harbison

I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan,
and never never never let you forget you’re a man
 . . .
—ad for Enjoli perfume by Charles of the Ritz

T
he only thing worse than finding out your boyfriend is cheating on you with a beautiful woman is finding out he’s cheating with an average woman.

Allie Denty learned this the hard way, when she got off work early and walked into her bedroom to find what appeared to be a seal flopping under the covers of her previously made bed.

It was hard to say who became aware of whom first, or who was more surprised. At almost the moment Allie entered her bedroom, a woman she’d never seen before popped her head up from under Allie’s 450-thread-count Martha Stewart sheets and screamed like a banshee.

“But—” Allie began in shock, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation.

She didn’t have time to finish the thought, whatever it might have been, because the woman leaped off the bed, stumbling to pull the
sheet around herself, only to reveal Kevin, whose hands were bound over his head with his Jerry Garcia necktie.

The tie Allie had given him for Christmas last year, even though it cost more than all the other ones at Macy’s.

Every muscle in Allie’s body clenched and she looked in alarm from the banshee to the boyfriend she’d so foolishly—and so
completely—
trusted.

“What the—” Allie tried again. “Kevin!
What
is going
on
?”

The woman had stopped screaming, but her breath continued to sputter out in ragged gasps.

“Allie,” Kevin said, but it sounded like he was trying on someone else’s voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Allie, this isn’t . . .”—it was clear halfway through his sentence that he knew how lame it was—“what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re fucking some other woman in my bed,” Allie said. To hell with manners. She’d just discovered that she was less attractive to her boyfriend than a woman who, now that she got a better look, could have played the
before
in an ad for just about any diet, exercise, or lifestyle cosmetic ad in
The National Enquirer
. Her light brown hair was lank and shapeless; her eyes were the same dull shade as her hair; her mouth a thin pink line, too small in a somewhat doughy face.

And her butt—which Allie unfortunately got a good look at—was even more cottage-cheesy than Allie’s.