“I know they met in high school, but other than that, they don’t really talk about how they met or what it was like dating.” Harmony had always found it strange that other people’s parents talked about how they met and had inside jokes about when they were dating, but her parents never joked around about anything.
Heath’s hands stilled. “Wait a minute. When’s their wedding anniversary?”
“April twentieth. This year they celebrated their thirty-third wedding anniversary.” Harmony knew that because she’d made the cake.
“Interesting. Don’t y’all turn thirty-three this year?” Heath beamed.
“Yes.” Lyric nodded absently. No doubt her brain was already working on some mystery of the universe.
“Don’t you see? They had to get married.” Heath looked from Lyric to Harm and back again. “That explains so much.”
“Wow, I never did the math.” Harmony sat on the end of the bed. “Okay, I get why he married her, and I can see why he stayed, but what about after we left? Surely he isn’t still putting up with Momma for us?”
If that was the case, her father was just plain crazy.
“I feel like I should feel sorry for him, but he’s free to leave. Why doesn’t he?” Harmony had always wondered.
“Growing up, that was one of my biggest fears. I was so scared that he’d leave me and you alone with Momma.” Lyric was paying attention, even though she didn’t look like it.
“Me too.” It had been Harm’s job to step between Momma and Lyric and keep her sister safe. Looking back on it now, she’d lost part of herself in taking the path of least resistance when it came to their mother. Well, no more. She’d love to have both of her parents in her life, but only on her terms.
Heath resumed the massage. “You know I adore you, Lyric, but if you suddenly morphed into Livinia, I’d have to think long and hard about running for the hills.”
“If I suddenly morph into Livinia, I’m running for the hills. Or the nearest shotgun.” Lyric shivered at the thought, or maybe at the movement of Heath’s creative hands.
“That makes two of us,” Harmony said. She’d spent more than enough of her life pretending to be a mini-Livinia. It was past time she started worrying about pleasing herself. She wanted a life with no regrets.
* * *
Chapter 21
* * *
Harmony stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her bathroom door. The Roberto Modesto dress was still huge and shapeless and terrible. No one had called about it or shown up to alter it in any way. The color was gorgeous, but everything else was a mess.
She wanted to ask Dalton about it, but at the same time, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Even though he’d kind of hurt hers by putting her in this monstrosity. Obviously, he didn’t trust her enough to dress herself for the Wranglers’ cocktail party, so he’d sent this instead. While she admitted he might have a right to be afraid—the gold-lamé bikini would live on in the worst kind of infamy—she still felt like he could have talked to her about it instead of sending her the most ridiculous dress on the planet.
Then again, it wasn’t like she’d seen much of him these last couple of days. She might have been super offended, thinking he’d told her he loved her and then bailed, but Heath hadn’t been around much either. The Wranglers were gearing up for an exhibition game at Lasso Stadium, and it was all football, all the time over there. Or so she’d been told by both Dalton and Heath.
He had sent her flowers today, though, along with a super sweet card that once again ended with the words “I love you.” Which had made the score 3-0 in the whole I love you game, and she was 0.
Considering she was pathologically allergic to losing, she figured it was past time for her to remedy the score. Tonight. Even if she looked like a giant blueberry wedding cake when she did it.
“It looks like we’re on our own, Super Girl.” Tre stood behind Harmony, pulling at the dress and trying to make something not-so-terrible out of something truly hideous. “I can’t let you leave the house in that.”
“Dalton obviously sees something that we don’t. I have to wear it.” She glanced at the clock on her phone, which was on the bathroom counter. “In less than an hour.”
“Don’t panic. I’ve got this.” He pulled one hand out from behind his back and waggled a fresh roll of silver duct tape. “It worked for your sister.”
“I can’t imagine that I’m going to like this, but this dress can’t get any worse.” Her other choice was the blue chiffon trash bag swallowing her from neck to ankle.
“Take it off and let me see what I can do with it.” He ripped off a long strip of duct tape. “God, I love that sound.”
She slipped the dress off and grabbed a robe and slid it on over her bra and panties. For the evening, Lyric had bought her a way too expensive but beyond sexy Agent Provocateur bra and panty set.
Lyric had a thing for lingerie like Harmony had a thing for shoes. And hey, at least she’d look good when Dalton finally peeled that monstrosity off of her.
“Just try not to make it too sexy. Dalton wanted me to tone it down. I’m pretty sure that’s why he sent me this dress.” She ignored the anger that simmered under the hurt, then shoved the hurt down deep inside. Between the #HotGirlNeedsDate free-for-all and the vagina gone viral, she was willing to admit that maybe she really did need to chill. But it sucked that the man she was head over heels for was the one who had to tell her that.
And she got it. She did. He was worried that she would embarrass him tonight. Given her track record and her outrageous campaign to sully her reputation, she understood where he was coming from. But still, didn’t he trust her enough to know that she wouldn’t deliberately embarrass him? Especially now that they were a thing and this was his job. She knew how seriously he took his job. Of course she did. How could he not know that she’d never do anything to jeopardize that?
Clearly, he thought the real Harmony wasn’t good enough. He wanted her to wear this dress, tone it down, and not embarrass him. It seemed that her only two choices in life were to be the good girl or to raise hell. Tonight, she would be the good girl because she loved him. And then the two of them were going to have a talk. One that settled the weird feeling inside of her once and for all. Because she hated second guessing him and hated even more that she was second guessing herself.
Tre turned the dress inside out and laid it down on the bed. “I have an idea, but I need you to trust me.”
Harm shrugged. “It can’t get any worse. I say go for it.” She hugged him. “Besides, I do trust you.”
“Go take a long bath and soak your cares away. I’ve got this.” Tre gathered fabric here and there, coming up with a design. “I mixed you up a batch of margaritas. They’re on the table next to the tub.”
“I’ll take you up on the dress and the margaritas.” She closed the bathroom door, turned on the tub faucet, added a gardenia bath bomb, pinned up her hair, shrugged out of her clothes, and waded into warm bliss.
Reaching over, she turned on some heavy metal, poured herself a margarita, and let the world fall away.
Thirty minutes and two margaritas later, she emerged from the bathroom. The tequila had definitely taken the edge off. That must be why Momma drank so much Southern Comfort. Being perfect all of the time—especially when it mattered and wasn’t a joke—was a huge weight to bear.
Tre looked up. “Almost finished.” He ripped off more tape and smoothed it down over a gather he’d made with the fabric. Carefully, he turned the dress inside out and gently laid it on the bed.
Her hand came to her mouth. “Oh my God. How did you do that? It’s beautiful.”
The dress now had a V-neck that had the appearance of being a wrap dress, but only to the cinched waist. He’d gathered some of the extra material and fixed it to the left hip. The ruffles had been replaced by an asymmetrical hemline. It was very 1940s glam.
The floor was scattered with fabric scraps.
“I had to cut it, but beauty always comes at a cost.” Tre watched her very carefully. “Are you mad?”
“Are you kidding? Now I can wear it and actually make eye contact with people. I can’t wait to put it on. Not something I thought I’d ever say about that dress.” She hugged him. “Why aren’t you a designer?”
“You’re sweet.” He smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric. “Don’t be silly. I could never design clothes for a living.”
“That’s what everyone said about me and baking.” Especially Momma, but Harmony had finally worn her down, and now Momma acted like she was the one who had encouraged Harm to open the bakery. And she lorded it over her with a Chanel-gloved fist. “I heard a lot of ‘oh, it’s a great hobby and you’re so good at it, but there’s no money in it.’” She shrugged. “They were partly right. I’m not going to make millions, but I make a decent living doing what I love.”
“Correction, you haven’t made millions yet, but Food Network wants you to. That’s a really big deal.” Tre inspected the dress for flaws. He brushed some stray threads away. “Besides, I haven’t had an art class since elementary school. My parents didn’t believe in frivolous things like art and music, or anything that was any fun.”
“Can I just say that they sound like terrible people? I think we should give Cherry Cherry their address and have her run them over.” Tre was such a fantastic person but his parents had thrown him away.
“I call shotgun.” He raised his hand.
“You know you’re our family now. All holidays will be spent under this roof. No exceptions.” She pulled him in for a hug.
“Now, Super Girl, don’t make me cry. I don’t have time for a breakdown. I’ve got to get you ready for the ball.” He tugged the clip out of her hair. “What were you thinking, up or down?”
“Before you Tre-ed the dress, I was going to wear it down so I could cover at least some of that blue balloon. Now I want it up so everyone can see an original Tre in all of its glory.”
He hip-bumped her. “You’re just flattering me so I’ll make you a matching purse.” He pointed to something on the bed. “Oops, already made one.”
“Oh my God.” She picked it up. The delicate fabric had been shaped into a drawstring bag. The silver duct tape behind it deepened the color. “How do you know how to do this?”
He was truly gifted.
“Just comes to me. Kinda like baking for you and math to Lyric. It’s just in us.” He beamed. He was so proud.
Twenty minutes before the party started, Dalton parked his Maserati in his reserved parking space and helped Harmony out of the car. “You are so beautiful. I knew that dress would flatter you.”
She glanced away, which was so un-Harmony-like that it gave him pause. She wasn’t exactly the shrinking violet type, so there had to be something else going on for her to be acting so weird.
He just wished he knew what it was.
He’d complimented her numerous times since he’d picked her up, and while she’d always responded to the compliment, something hadn’t felt right. She’d been quiet, off, and he wasn’t sure what the problem was. He only knew that he didn’t like it.
Where was his Harmony? The woman with the big attitude and even bigger mouth? The one who teased him, who challenged him, who gave a million times better than she got? He missed her.
“You doing okay?” he asked as he escorted her toward the front door of the complex. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m good. Just trying to tone things down a bit.” Her eyes met his for the first time all night, and he felt the sizzle all the way to his bones. At least, until he caught the wariness behind her smile.
It hit him down low and had him pulling her aside only a few yards from the center’s entrance.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, nodding toward the lights sparkling right in front of them.
“That’s what I want to ask you. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Why?”
“I don’t know. Something is telling me I’m missing something.” He cupped her cheek, ran his thumb along the seam of her lips. “I know I’ve been busy these last few days and I’m sorry about that. Now that the opening is done, things should go back to normal.”
“I know what it is to be wrapped up in a project, Dalton. I don’t mind that you had to work.”
“Are you sure about that?” He didn’t know what else could be making her look so … reticent, for lack of a better word.
“Of course I’m sure.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and then pulled his head down to give him a kiss. For a few seconds, he let himself luxuriate in the feel of her mouth under his. In the fantasy of pulling her into the building and up to his office, where he could bury himself inside of her so deeply, so completely, that she could never get him out.
But duty called, and as he heard voices coming up the walkway behind him, he forced himself to pull away. The last thing the Wranglers’ GM should be doing was all but devouring a woman on the front steps of the Lasso Center. No matter how much he wanted to do just that.
And reporters were going to be here tonight, along with a bunch of high-society types, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Harmony feel uncomfortable. Especially when he knew how guilty she still felt about everything that had happened with Lyric these last few days.
Reluctantly, he pulled away, disengaging himself one agonizing piece at a time. “Sorry, baby.” He smoothed a hand over his hair to try to smooth out the furrows Harmony’s fingers had caused . “We should probably tone it—”
“Down,” she interrupted. “Yeah, I know. We don’t want anyone watching to get the wrong idea.”
She gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and then turned and marched into the building, leaving him no choice but to follow her.
He started to tell her that wasn’t what he’d meant—he was proud as hell to have her on his arm, and he didn’t give a shit if all of Fort Worth knew about it. Actually, he wanted them to know about it. But he didn’t want to cause any more problems for Harmony either, and he knew she was trying to walk the straight and narrow until Food Network signed on definitively for Badass Baker.
Before he could say any of that, or so much as catch up to her, the team owner swooped down on him. Followed by one of the team’s biggest donors. Followed by someone from ESPN. And no matter how much he wanted to talk to Harmony about whatever was going on in her head, he was there because he had a job to do. He’d never shirked his responsibilities in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. No matter how much he wanted to play hooky with a certain gorgeous blonde.
As Barry Lamont started to pull Dalton away for a little shoptalk, Dalton reached out, grabbed onto her hand. His eyes made a plea for understanding, and she must have gotten it, because she smiled—for real this time—and nodded for him to go.
“I won’t be long,” he promised her, dropping one last, quick kiss on her lips before she could turn away. “If I haven’t told you this already tonight—”
“I know, I know. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
He frowned, unsure of where all this best-behavior and tone-it-down stuff was coming from. Surely she knew how much he loved it when Five-Alarm Harm came out to play? “That wasn’t what I was going to say,” he told her, dropping another kiss on her lips.
“No?” There was just a hint of a challenge in her lifted brow.
“No.” He shook his head. “I was going to tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”
She laughed, and it was the first genuine emotion she’d shown all night. “That might be more believable if my identical twin wasn’t standing on the other side of the room.”
“Is she?” he asked, going for old-school corny. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Really? You hadn’t noticed your former quarterback holding court over there with his wife?”
Dalton just grinned. “Why would I waste my time looking for Heath’s ugl
y mug when I could spend my time looking at you?”
It was a corny line—totally embarrassing, really—and he waited for Harmony to call him on it. But when all she did was grin, a slight flush lighting up her cheeks, he couldn’t help bending his head and kissing her one more time. To hell with being a modern man. He wanted the whole damn place to know that Five-Alarm Harm belonged to him.
* * *
Chapter 22
* * *
Harm didn’t get Dalton. She really didn’t. While he’d spent half the night playing host at the most exclusive party of the year, he’d spent the other half at her side, introducing her to anyone and everyone who was important to the Wranglers’ organization.
While she stood at his side he kept his arm around her waist, his body pressed to hers, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. As if he wanted them to be as close as two people could get.
It would have gone a long way toward easing her mind about the two of them if he didn’t dig his fingers into her side whenever anyone talked to them, like he was warning her to keep things on a steady keel. The argument could be made that Dalton just wanted to touch her, or that he had his arm around her as a way to claim her.
It didn’t feel like that. It didn’t feel like that at all, no matter how many times he complimented her that night. And he complimented her a lot—told her how beautiful she was, how much he thought the dress suited her, how much he appreciated all she was doing in her hostess duties. But somehow, it wasn’t enough. Somehow, every word he said only made her feel more like he was using his comments as positive reinforcement as opposed to them actually being genuine.
Yes, she knew she was being paranoid and was probably assigning blame to him where there was none. But if he told her that he wanted her to tone it down, she was going to lose her shit completely.
And since that was the last thing either of them needed or wanted, she figured she’d better disentangle herself from him pretty damn quickly.