Stone Cold Fox (65)

Gale Wallace-Leicester stood there in the mauve column gown I’d selected for her and raised a champagne glass. She almost looked pretty with soft tendrils coming down the sides of her face. Professional hair and airbrush makeup can make just about anyone look good. “Against all odds, I was chosen as Bea’s maid of honor,” her voice boomed. The room filled with polite chuckles. They all knew she loved him. How pathetic. Why was she leaning into it? “Collin is my best friend. I suspect most of you already know that. In particular, Bea knows that.”

More laughs. Jesus Christ, was she going to try to roast me at my own wedding? I managed to exchange a glance with Syl, whose furrowed brow suggested she was also uncomfortable with the route Gale was taking for her speech. “It’s not easy to have a third wheel in a relationship, but when the third is someone like Bea, it’s a real treat.”

Pardon? Was she implying that I was the third wheel in their relationship? To a ballroom full of our wedding guests? “Bea has wisely never tried to get in between Collin and me,” Gale continued. “She understands our history, like our families do, like you all do. And that’s about all I could ask for in a partner for Collin. Someone who gets how important a friendship can be. That alone takes a really special person. I suspect that’s why she asked me to stand up next to her on this occasion and why Collin asked her to be his bride. So I’d like us all to raise a glass to the brand-new Mrs. Collin Case, a woman who knows her worth, but also the worth of her husband, his family and his friends. To the happy couple!”

Everyone inexplicably raised their glasses at that sorry excuse for a toast. Collin and I were expected to kiss afterward. We did so. I was then expected to get up out of my seat and embrace her, but under the guise of tears of happiness, overwhelmed with emotion, I was able to stay seated. I didn’t want to touch her. I didn’t even want to look at her.

This was a message. My prophecy coming to life in real time. She wasn’t going to give up. Ever. It wasn’t just about Collin or her, but all of them. Citing the history, the families, again with the legacy. It was a clear invitation for more combat that I’d have to accept if I was going to stay. And I was going to stay, I had worked too hard to let this one go and start anew. It might not even be possible to find someone as suitable as Collin again. I would not leave. I didn’t want to be like her, like Mother.

But perhaps some of her influence wouldn’t be the worst thing where Gale was concerned. Nothing too dark. No. No. Never that dark. Not again. But I needed to start playing dirty, too. Gale’s threat now all but demanded it. Cat and mouse was over. Time to go in for the kill.

Figuratively speaking.



* * *



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COLLIN AND I performed our first dance to a song he loved. “It’s Always You,” made famous by Frank Sinatra. It was a song with themes of overt obsession so I was delighted by his choice, even though Sinatra is rather pedestrian. Collin and his mother danced to another Frank Sinatra song with much less sexual overtones. I don’t remember which one because I didn’t really care. I even danced with my father-in-law, at his behest, since everyone would be watching. He chose a Dean Martin song to really mix it up. Way to go, Hayes. He finally got to put actual hands on me. I knew he’d been dying to do so, despite his initial protests of the marriage.

After a few of the old standards, courtesy of the live band, it was time to spice up the dance floor with the DJ. Everyone was good and sauced and rarin’ to go by that time, including myself. I thrived when I got to dance, and at my wedding, I was going to steal the show, especially after Gale’s moment in the sun. When there’s a dance floor, I’m on it all night long. Seriously. I do not leave unless I absolutely must. I’ve always been good at it. Whenever I’d gone out dancing, I would get compliments from complete strangers about how great I looked. So yes, I was most certainly going to put on a show in front of my now-legal nearest and dearest. Truthfully, when I get the opportunity to dance, I take it, because it’s the only time I feel like I can actually be myself. I’m not pretending when I’m dancing. I genuinely adore it. I don’t have to think about anything. I just do it. And I look incredible.

I should have known it would be like a moth to a flame. Like clockwork, during a particularly pulsating Rihanna number that all but encouraged gyrating hips and ass, Dave Bradford found his way over to the bride. “Mrs. Case, may I dance with you?” he shouted at me over the music. A sly smile. His tie long gone. A sweaty brow. He was irresistible.

“I’ll dance with anyone if they’re good!” I shouted back to him. I wasn’t lying. In my opinion, men should always learn how to dance if they want to get in with women anywhere, especially if they’re hard on the eyes. I’d dance with the ugliest guy in the bar if he had serious moves. It’s beyond fun to be twirled and dipped and tossed around by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, even if they’re ghastly by any other measure.

“I’m not very good.” Dave grinned, but I didn’t believe him. He looked like he’d be a phenomenal dancer, limber in the right places, but perhaps that was wishful thinking. He got closer to talk into my ear. “But I’ll do it anyway because it’s fun and I don’t really care what any of these assholes think about me.”

“I’ll make you look good.” I grinned.