A Bad Boy is Good to Find(22)

“Well, you certainly know how to do that.” she snapped, tense.

He shrugged and took another bite.

“So where did you buy this thing?”

“Saw it in a driveway with a for sale sign when I was on my way to the store. It called out to me.”

“What was it calling you—Sucker?”

Why did she have to keep sniping? She took a sip of lemonade. Bitter, like her.

“It’s a Corvette.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“Nah. You’re a girl. Trust me, it’s an investment.” He took another bite of pizza. Chewed it. “It’s really nice here.”

The setting sun pierced the trees with long shards of harsh light that bounced off all the windows. An unpleasant reminder of her last visit. “Appearances can be deceptive.”

“I wouldn’t have minded growing up here.” He stretched out on the grass.

She looked up at the house that was so familiar she barely noticed it. A vast shingle-style “cottage,” weathered dark brown except for the white trim and the rusty new layer of cedar shingles on the arching rooftops. Too big for the puny one-acre backyard. She’d never understood why her parents didn’t buy a house right on the dunes, but they liked being in town.

“I hate it here. We only came in the summer, but you try being the fat girl on the beach in a town like this.” She sipped her lemonade again. She had no appetite for pizza. Somehow the loss of Con’s car made her feel empty. Another beautiful thing that was gone for good.

“Wouldn’t bother me. Not if I had my own pool.” He leaned over and dipped his fingers in the water. Circles flew out across the shimmering surface.

“You probably would have liked it. You’re an upbeat kind of person. Guess I’m just spoiled rotten and don’t know how to be happy.” She lay back on the grass. Crabgrass prickled her neck. “Do you know why I’m looking forward to this TV show?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to be perfect. The dress, the cake, the flowers, everything. And do you know why it’s going to be perfect?”

“Why?”

She’d closed her eyes, shutting out the sunset.

“Because it’s fake. An illusion.”

“The cake is going to be fake?” She heard the grass next to her crinkle.

She laughed. “You know? It probably will be. A real cake would melt under the lights. The icing would slide right off. They’ll have to spray it with all kinds of gunk to hold it together. Maybe they’ll just make it out of cardboard and spackle. Oh Con, why is illusion so much better than reality?” She opened her eyes, and he was right there beside her on the grass.

“Maybe reality is better.” His dark eyes looked serious and good humored at the same time.

“Nope. I’ve been up to my neck in reality lately and it stinks. Do you know I called three of my so-called friends to ask if I could come stay with them and not one called me back? My mom is AWOL. My father is under house arrest in their Manhattan brownstone. I couldn’t go there.” She shuddered. Not sure if it was the memory of her last encounter with her father or the image of him in an ankle bracelet. “My old apartment is gone too. Repossessed by the co-op for fees owed, or something. I found out from the doorman who wouldn’t let me in. Like I said, reality stinks.”

“Look on the bright side. It’s a beautiful night, nice and warm, you’ve got this great pizza to eat and a friend to share it with.” His eyes glittered with the last of the sunset he squinted against.

She picked a fleck of dried grass off his collar, trying to ignore the funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Yeah, a guy who drives a ratty old used car. What a catch. I liked you better when you were a French aristocrat with a gold Mercedes.”

“Me too.” He smiled ruefully. “But I guess it’s time I grew up.”

“Not so fast. I’m just warming up to this illusion thing. I need to pick up some tricks of the trade.”

“Yeah? Well…” He looked at her, a half smile lifting his lips. “The first rule is to live in the moment. Don’t fret about where you’ve been or where you’re going, just love the summer breeze when it’s on your skin.”

“It does feel nice.” She closed her eyes, blocking out his smile.

“The second rule is to appreciate the people you’re with. Enjoy the good things about them and forget the bad.”

Her eyes snapped open. “So instead of focusing on the fact that you are a deceitful con-artist, I should concentrate on how you’re actually a pretty caring person and give a great massage, that kind of thing?”

“Exactly.” His eyes sparkled. “And don’t forget my well-toned physique.”

“How could I? You put it on display with such casual ease. I bet there are women all around us with binoculars trained over the hedges hoping you’ll skinny-dip again.”

“Only if you’ll come too.”

“Oh, they’d love that. Maybe a journalist will get a picture of my fat white ass for the local paper.”

“What did I say about focusing on the positive?”

“I guess it’s going to take some practice.”

“Kind of like kissing me?” A smile tugged at his lips and a shimmer of unwelcome heat stirred in her belly.

She scrambled to her feet. “I think I’ve had enough practice there, thanks. I’ll wait until I’m getting paid before I do that again.”





Chapter 9





They shared the damp-smelling mattress in the pool house because it was the only one that hadn’t been carted away. Lizzie spent the night with her face to the wall, hating that she slept so much better with Con snoring softly into her neck.

In the morning she gulped down some leftover pizza and took the train into the city to organize more details of her Dream Wedding.

Gia had found a pre-Civil War plantation house with beautifully landscaped grounds in Terrebonne Parish, not far from the apparently miniscule hamlet of Mudbug Flats. At least in the pictures the house was stunning, Greek revival columns supported deep verandas and gnarled live oaks dripped with Spanish moss. Con would love it. Why did that give her a tickle of pleasure? Wasn’t this supposed to be about punishing him?

Luckily there wasn’t too much time to think about Con. It was “accessory day” and by noon her mind boggled with taffeta trains and hand-netted demi-veils, freshwater-pearl-drop earrings, embroidered garters and hand-dyed satin sling-backs with intricate beading. The office bustled with assistants from designers all over the city bearing a train of extravagance.

She wouldn’t have batted an eye at all this stuff back when she was wealthy. Couldn’t have cared less. Now the pretty trinkets mocked her. More beautiful because they were unattainable, except on temporary loan.

She could say a lot of bad things about Maisie, but the girl worked like a galley slave. Lizzie was honestly impressed with how she juggled details and handled multiple phone calls without breaking a sweat. But one thing puzzled her.