A Convenient Proposal(12)
Thinking about the parties Griff had mentioned, Arden exposed the second half of the closet…and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her pulse rate quickened and tension cramped her stomach as she caught sight of evening gowns covered with red or navy or emerald sequins, plus the thousands of tiny black beads sewn onto party frocks and formal dresses she’d once considered her work wardrobe.
Worse still was the corner of a white gift box peeping out from beneath a black skirt hem. She didn’t have to lift the lid to remember the contents—tiny caps knitted from soft pastel wools, cotton blankets and towels in pale green and yellow, a small rattle carved from walnut. In a year’s worth of free time, she’d failed to dispose of her last ties to that fragile, lost soul.
Arden squeezed her eyes shut. Stupid—she should have planned to buy new dresses rather than subject herself to this ordeal. God knew she would never wear any of these clothes again. Why call up her worst memories?
Definitely not because she intended to share them with her fiancé. “No confessions” would join the list of rules for this engagement, she decided as she closed and resealed the closet. Her past didn’t affect Griff Campbell in any way.
As for her hearing loss, she would keep that a secret, too. The whole point of this exercise was to present a lovely, desirable woman to his hometown. Showing up with a deaf, unemployed musician would not create the same impression.
Anyway, Arden hated being the object of pity. She’d retired from the music business so she wouldn’t have to face the sympathy of her colleagues…and the smugness her rivals.
With her choices made, she snapped her fingers at the dog. “Come on, Igor. Let’s go for a ride.” Alert and ready for adventure, as always, he hopped off the bed and pattered down the hallway. With the few clothes she’d chosen folded into a suitcase, Arden took a deep breath and followed. The rest would go to charity when she returned. An empty closet. A new life.
“I’m ready,” she called, returning to the living room.
Griff didn’t answer, because he’d fallen asleep on the couch. Again. He had certainly taken to the Hispanic tradition of the siesta.
Leaving her luggage with the other bags by the door, she crossed the room to shake him awake, but paused at the end of the sofa, observing the man to whom she was now engaged.
Though his clothes needed changing and his jaw remained stubbled, this morning’s shower had revealed just how attractive he was. His clean hair was a lighter blond than she’d realized, his eyelashes longer, darker and thicker. The fullness of his mouth explained a lot about the power of his kisses.
Remembering that encounter in her kitchen this morning, she found herself holding her breath. Not since she was a teenager had she experienced such an intense, immediate desire for a man she didn’t know. She’d never before indulged the feeling, as she was preparing to do now.
In the past, she had proceeded with care, slowly developing what she thought was a solid relationship. Despite such caution, love had ruined her life—one lesson she didn’t want to repeat.
“Hey.” The long lashes lifted and Griff’s bright blue eyes focused on her face. “I didn’t intend to fall asleep. You ready to head north?”
“Yes.” She turned away from him to hide her blush. “I need to leave a note for the housekeeper and then we can go.”
“Take your time.”
When they met by the door, he shook his head at her single suitcase. “My sister Kathy needs one that size for just her shoes.”
“I’m not bringing many shoes.” Arden wrestled with him for a moment over who would wheel the case along, then gave in and picked up Igor’s bag. “There will be shopping going on, I assure you. Most of my clothes here are out of style.”
“You should let me pay for your new clothes,” he said, in the elevator. “You wouldn’t be buying them if I hadn’t asked for a favor.”
“But then I’d have to think about how much everything costs, and that wouldn’t be any fun.”
“You don’t consider prices when you go shopping? You must be wealthier than I’d imagined, having a condo like this.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Or is it your ‘friend’ who doesn’t think about prices?”
“I consider value before cost.” She tried not to sound defensive. “If you tried to sell me a car for sixty thousand that I knew was worth only forty, I’d balk. And I don’t like buying two-hundred-dollar jeans if fifty dollars buys the same comfort.”