A Convenient Proposal(48)
Before Lauren or Kathy could respond, though, he looked over their heads in the direction of the guests of honor. “The crowd has shrunk to a manageable size. Shall we pay our respects?”
“Have a drink first.” Kathy held out the punch she’d brought for him.
Griff took the glass and tossed back the pink liquid in one swallow. His face contorted. “Bleh. Pink lemonade and champagne? What a foul idea.” He slipped his hand between Arden’s elbow and her ribs. “Here we go.”
His grip got tighter as they approached Zelda and Al, driving Arden’s tension higher in response. Somehow, as they joined the receiving line, the dynamics of crowd movement brought them to the guests of honor right away.
Zelda’s eyes widened when she saw them. “Hi, Griff. And…and Arden, right?”
“Yes,” Arden said, extending her hand. “We didn’t get to talk on Monday morning. You have my best wishes on your upcoming marriage.”
“Th-thanks.” Zelda’s hand shook her as fingers brushed Arden’s. “It was nice of you both to come tonight.”
“It was nice of your mother to ask Dee to invite us,” Griff said, his voice unusually deep.
All at once, they seemed to be the only people standing with the happy couple. Arden felt as if a bank of stage lights highlighted the four of them.
“Al, honey.” Zelda tugged on the hand holding hers. “Look. It’s Griff and—and his friend, Arden.”
Al turned to face them. “I’m pleased to meet you, Arden. Welcome to Sheridan.”
Then his stony brown gaze met Griff’s steel blue one. Al’s right hand lifted, wrist stiff and straight, at the same time as Griff extended his. The two hands, one light-skinned and the other bronzed from the sun, met and gripped until both sets of knuckles turned white. Each man spoke one word.
“Al.”
“Griff.”
In the next instant, as if struck by a hammer, the two hands broke apart. Al felt for Zelda’s grasp. Griff’s fingers clenched Arden’s elbow.
He spoke into the silence. “We’re out of here.”
Before the collective gasp had died away, he swept her past the Patricks and out the front door.
Chapter Nine
The downside of valet parking was that you couldn’t make a quick getaway. You had to wait for the attendant to notice you, find your ticket and then bring the right car back. You had to scrounge in your wallet or your pockets for a tip—or borrow from the woman you came with, which was a total embarrassment. Only then was escape possible.
Griff blew out a huge breath when the doors finally shut on both sides of the Jag and he could put his foot on the gas pedal. After a few minutes of driving blindly through the Patricks’ upscale neighborhood, he brought his brain back on track.
“How about a real dinner? Somewhere my suit and your dress fit in? We do have a fancy French restaurant in Sheridan, it’s called—”
“I don’t think so, thanks.” Arden’s voice sounded tight, rigidly controlled.
“What’s wrong?” He moved his hand to cover hers on the seat, but she slipped her fingers away. “Arden?”
He heard her sharp breath in the darkness. “Are you going to ignore what just happened? What you did?”
Griff pulled his hand back. “Sounds like a good option.”
“You investigate the behavior of others—you want to know every detail of my past, my—my motivations and my reasons, my plans for the future. But you don’t stop to examine your own?”
Jaw clenched, he took whatever turns became available, heedless of direction. “I’m aware of my own faults. Believe me, I know exactly where I come up short.”
“This is not about failing, Griff. This is about facing your life and making it work.”
“Which you, living like a hermit on a deserted island, know so much about?”
“I made my choice deliberately and was quite…satisfied, thank you very much.”
“That’s not true, Arden, and you know it. You’re happier after a week in Sheridan than you ever were on that pile of sand.”
“And you are an expert at evading the issue. But I won’t allow it this time. What you just did, in the middle of a very nice party, was rude and immature.”
“I shook their hands. I said hello.”
“And you stalked out as if you’d shaken hands with the devil himself.”