Wedding Chocolate. Adrianne ByrdЧитать онлайн книгу.
wear?” Keri asked Katherine.
It was an innocent question, but the obvious answer stared Keri in the face. Isabella wore an average size eight while her mother would challenge anyone to a duel if they suggested her size eighteen frame was any higher than a twelve.
Waqueisha balled her hands on her hips. “Well, unless we’re going to snatch the curtains down and pull a Scarlett O’Hara, we’re going have to use one of your dresses, Ms. Kane.”
A few minutes later, Isabella stepped into one of her mother’s black sequin numbers and looked as though she was eight years old and playing dress up.
It was the perfect moment to have an emotional breakdown.
Boxes of Kleenex magically appeared and everyone patted Isabella on her back and head like she was a stray puppy.
“There, there. Baby, what’s wrong?” Katherine asked.
Isabella just sobbed louder and mopped at her face. How could she tell them the horrendous things those women had said downstairs? How could she tell them that she was beginning to have second thoughts about marrying Randall while she was at her own engagement party?
“Is it the dress?” Katherine asked. “I can go search for a different one.”
Seizing on the convenient excuse, Isabella bobbed her head and then slumped with relief when her mother raced back out of the room.
“Okay. She’s gone.” Keri turned Isabella from the mirror to face her. “What’s really wrong?”
Isabella wanted to hold it in, but before she knew it the words burst from her explaining about the two women downstairs. Four angry masks covered her sorors’ faces before they all started removing their earrings.
Waqueisha pivoted on her heels. “Oh, we can handle this for you right now. Girls, let’s roll.”
“No. No.” Isabella grabbed Waqueisha by the wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go beating up Randall’s ex-girlfriends—even if we knew who they all were.”
“What the heck are they even doing here?” Rayne asked.
“We should scratch their eyes out,” Keri snapped.
“C’mon,” Sylvia laughed. “One of the hottest bachelors in town? It’s a woman’s natural instinct to come and see who’d finally roped him into marriage.”
“And then laugh when they see me,” Isabella moped, snatching a new Kleenex from the offered pink box.
“Aww, now,” the sorors chimed sympathetically.
Isabella shrugged away from them and turned to face the mirror. “Just look at me.” She was a bigger mess now that her tears had ruined her makeup. “How did I land someone like Randall?”
“It’s not the how that’s important,” Rayne said. “Only that you did.”
“But I want to look like someone that belongs on Randall Jarrett’s arm. And more importantly like someone who knows how to keep him.”
“Just like you wanted to prep for your honeymoon?” Keri asked, crossing her arms.
“Say what?” Waqueisha asked.
Keri quickly brought the other girls up to speed.
“You told her to buy some books?” Rayne and Waqueisha asked, incredulous.
“Figured she needed to start with the basics,” Keri defended.
Waqueisha rolled her eyes. “You need a new sex teacher and hot makeover. Lucky for you I’m available.”
The girls nearly choked on their laughter.
Waqueisha ignored them both. “You’re coming to Atlanta for my party, right?”
Isabella hesitated, but then decided why not and nodded.
“Great. While you’re there I’m going to teach you how to rock Randall’s world and give you a top of the line makeover.” She took Isabella by the shoulder and turned her back toward the mirror. “Mark my words. When you return to Washington, you’re going to be a brand-new woman.”
“Absolutely not,” Randall shouted, appalled. “I forbid you to go gallivanting around Atlanta with those loose Delta Phi Theta sisters of yours. Need I remind you that we’re supposed to be planning a wedding?”
Isabella stopped listening after the word “forbid.” In the seconds that followed her back stiffened and her face grew hot. Before she knew it, she was up on her feet and stalking toward her fiancé with her hands on her hips. When Randall turned from his office desk to wag a finger, he jumped back, surprised to see her so close and doubly surprised to see the anger glaring up at him.
“What do you mean you forbid me to go?” she said in a near growl. “You don’t own me.”
Randall blinked.
Isabella drew a deep breath and took a step back. She didn’t know whether it was the excessive amount of alcohol she had—three drinks—or residual anger from Randall’s ex-girlfriends showing up at her party. All she knew was that she was tired of being pushed around. “You know what?” she said, wiggling her engagement ring off her finger. “I think I made a mistake.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Randall tossed up his hands, refusing to take the ring back from her. “Let’s slow down. I thought we were just having a discussion?”
“No. You were ordering me around like you thought this damn ring meant I was bought and paid for,” she hissed and then threw the diamond at him. Never in her life had she stood up to anyone like this. She found the experience exhilarating. Pivoting on her heels, she marched toward the door of Randall’s private study, but Randall made it there first and blocked her exit.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s calm down,” he said with clear panic written all over his face. “Obviously, I didn’t handle this well. I’m sorry.”
More like he was thinking about what a broken engagement would look like in the papers. “Move out of my way,” Isabella said calmly.
“You’re mad.”
“No shit.”
He jerked, stunned by the uncharacteristic language. “Fine. Fine. Go to Atlanta, if it means so much to you.” He acquiesced as if she held a gun to his head.
She stared at him, enjoying the feel of her newfound power. “Why did you invite your ex-girlfriends to the party?”
“What?”
Surely, he wasn’t going to play stupid. “They were all over the place, buzzing around hinting about...” She drew another breath; her courage waned at the thought of discussing his sex life.
“Hinting about what?”
“You know.” She straightened her shoulder. “How good you are—you know—in bed.”
He stared for a long moment and then finally burst out laughing. “Is that what all this is about? You’re jealous?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“C’mon, Isabella. I know you’ve never...but you can’t be that naïve. I’m thirty-two. Of course I’ve...dated around.”
“You mean slept around.”
He cocked his head at her; a bemused grin still on his face. “It’s all in the past.” He stepped forward and settled his hands on her shoulders. “I’m marrying you. Those women are only jealous and are trying to drive a wedge between us.”
“But why were they here at our engagement party?”
“C’mon. This is Washington.