A Bad Boy is Good to Find(23)

“Maisie,” she said, between bites of Cobb salad. “Why are you and Dwight having such a long engagement? Why don’t you just tie the knot?”

“It takes time to plan the perfect wedding.” Maisie sorted through a box of Calvin Klein dinnerware samples. “Dwight knows that a society wedding is an occasion to be taken seriously. It shouldn’t be rushed. You only get married once in a lifetime.”

Lizzie almost choked on a crouton as a stab of raw pain shot through her. She’d been so excited to marry Con and spend the rest of her life with him.

Or with the person he’d tricked her into thinking he was. How could she have been so blind? So naïve?

Because she’d wanted so badly to be loved. Loved for who she really was, not the thinner, hipper, more witty version of herself her parents always seemed to hope for.

To be able to give love to someone who loves you in return was the best feeling she’d ever known. She’d never imagined she could be so very, very happy.

A strange sound emerged from her throat and she covered it with a cough. She realized she was gripping her napkin in a clenched fist, and she made a show of fluffing it out and spreading it on her knee.

Conroy Beale hadn’t loved her. He’d loved her money.

Raw agony flickered into quiet fury as Maisie held a dish up to the light. Lizzie sat up and cleared her throat. “Those ones with the fleur-de-lis pattern—they’re perfect. Definitely use those.” She forked some salad into her mouth, shoved her hurt feelings back down where they belonged and wrapped them in barbed wire.

“You like them? I was thinking they were a bit subtle. Almost too European. I want a Grand Old South feel.”

“Trust me on this. They look just like the tattoo on Con’s butt. We’ll have to make sure he bares it on screen some time.”

Maisie’s shocked stare made her worry that she’d overplayed her hand.

But, as her cousin’s mouth quirked into a sly smile, another thought dawned on her: an image of Maisie enjoying a one-on-one viewing of Con’s well-formed backside.

Lizzie had kept Con away from the offices so he wouldn’t get wind of her plan, so he and Maisie still hadn’t met, but she strongly suspected Maisie would simply have to try screwing her fiancé. It wasn’t in her nature to pass up a challenge like that.

She had that thought firmly in mind as she walked the short distance from the train station to the house that evening. The beat-up Corvette was still in the driveway. The hood was propped open and some tools lay on the gravel, but Con was nowhere in sight.

“Con,” she called out as she approached the door. She was hungry. She’d forgotten to borrow money from him to buy lunch so she’d had to make do with salad.

I need Con for his money. The thought made her want to laugh or cry, she wasn’t sure which.

“Con, where are you?” She stepped over a socket wrench. How did she know the name of it? The front door was ajar.

“Con?” She called up the winding staircase, her voice echoing off all the bare wood and uncovered walls.

“Hello.” A woman emerged in the upstairs hallway and Lizzie jumped.

“Who…? What…?” Words sputtered and died in her mouth. Blood whirred in her ears as the woman descended the stairs, hand on the railing. An elegant woman of forty or fifty with a smart yellow suit and glossy hair. “Lizzie?” She held out her hand to shake.

Lizzie stood there open mouthed as flames of white hot rage snapped through her. It wasn’t Frankie. This woman was a brunette and she remembered Frances Allen as a pale blonde, so it must be another one of Con’s “friends.”

The woman drew back her hand and tucked her shiny hair behind an expensive earring. Offered a lipsticked smile. “Conroy is getting dressed.”

“Get out of my house!” An undignified high-pitched shriek.

“I’m sorry?” The woman didn’t seem all that flustered by her outburst. She looked at Lizzie rather curiously.

“Lizzie, hey, this is Amanda.” Con appeared at the top of the stairs, immaculate as usual, wet hair combed back.

“I don’t care who the hell she is! Get her out of my house right now. And throw your own sorry ass out after her.” Her heart pounded. She was so angry she could barely see.

“She’s the Realtor.” Con bounded down the stairs. “She stopped by to see why my car was in the driveway.”

Lizzie froze. She looked at the woman, who was now staring at Con with a secretive smile.

The brunette lifted her chin. “I’m sorry I complained. It’s just that first impressions are so important to a buyer. It’s called curb appeal.”

“I told her I’ll put my car in the garage, so it doesn’t lower the tone of the neighborhood.” He winked at Lizzie.

Lizzie stood very still as a crimson tide of humiliation washed over her.

“Mr. Beale explained that the car is a hobby project of his, and I quite understand. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.” The Realtor looked like she was trying hard not to laugh. Lizzie felt like slapping her.

“It is a shame that your family removed all the furniture already. Houses show so much better when they’re occupied, but I know the family has been in a rather difficult situation. It would be advantageous to turn the electric back on and get the landscape service to do more than mow. I’m doing my best to sell it, but the market is rather slow now that we’re into the off-season—”

“I need to use the bathroom, excuse me.” Lizzie pushed past the woman and heading for the stairs.

“Isn’t the electricity turned off?” the reedy voice called after her.

“It flushes just fine with a bucket of pool water,” hissed Lizzie, her face still burning.

“Anyway, thanks for stopping by,” said Con. “I’ll make sure the place looks neat.”

“So sorry to make a fuss, but obviously this property is rather a challenge anyway, what with the notoriety…”

Lizzie slammed the bathroom door, blocking out the noise. There was no bucket of pool water because they always used the downstairs bathroom. Just a window to stare out at the tree-fuzzed horizon. Make it all go away.

“Lizzie.” She heard Con coming up the stairs. She rubbed her face in her hands, then remembered her makeup. She was wiping smudged eyeliner off with a fingertip when he flung the bathroom door open.

“Do you mind? I’m in the bathroom.”

“I know you aren’t really using it. What did you make all that fuss for? Did you think I was…” He stopped and let a smile creep across his mouth.

“What was I supposed to think? You’re here alone, and a woman comes out of the bedroom?” Irritation pricked at her.

“I couldn’t get rid of her. She kept saying she needed to check on stuff. I was just getting cleaned up when she showed up.”

“You were in the pool?”

“No, I’d gotten out, thank God,” he grinned. “I had a towel on, but I had to come up here to get my clothes. She followed me. Came in to check out the bedroom after I got dressed.”