Love Me (Promise Me Book 4) Read online

  Love Me

  Promise Me Series

  Book 4

  Brea Viragh

  Copyright © Brea Viragh, 2017

  All rights reserved. The moral right of the author has been asserted. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. Nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Afterword

  Sugar and Gold

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  The evening dress rode snugly in the area between my belly button and breasts. I tugged at the material, a crimson blush of color designed to complement my hair. Yeah, right. My reflection in the mirror showed a French chignon, painted cheeks over pale skin, rapidly blinking eyes, and an irritated snarl.

  I looked like a doll who’d grown up on the mean streets of the Park Avenue district.

  I didn’t recognize the woman I saw. She was a stranger wearing my face, wiggling my arms, fondling my derriere to get the decorative fabric bow in the correct spot. There wasn’t much to do about the slight sheen of exhaustion. A splash of red across my lips gave the illusion of a woman who had it all. The illusion of a woman in control.

  “River. You look beautiful. Have I told you yet tonight? If I haven’t, I’ll say it again.” Weston Brown stooped to place a kiss on the swell of my exposed neck.

  He stood behind me like a fairy tale prince come to life. The fitted shirt and blazer outlined his athletic build, and although his facial features fell into the category of average, he had a certain allure. A charismatic quality I couldn’t dismiss. I had a hunch it was what helped get him to the office of mayor.

  “You haven’t. I could stand to hear it a few more times,” I replied.

  “You’d be drop-dead gorgeous if you’d stop fidgeting.”

  I sighed. “I don’t look like myself at all.”

  “Sweetheart, no one looks like themselves when they go to a party. It’s dress up. Didn’t you play dress up when you were little?”

  “I’m not little anymore.” The damn bow would not stay down. “I’m a grown-ass woman in a dress two sizes too small.”

  My reflection showed strands of reddish chestnut-brown hair slipping from a complicated knot. The hairdo accented my heart-shaped face, and I couldn’t help but be pleased with the creamy skin, feminine curves, and slick red lips. With the exception of the nose. If I’d really been a Park Avenue princess, the first thing to go would have been the slightly too long-ish schnoz.

  “Think of this as a normal day,” Weston said softly.

  I tugged at the bow for the billionth time. “On a normal day, there’s nothing mesmerizing about me.”

  “Yes, there is.” His fingers came down on my shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “You don’t see yourself the way I do.”

  “As an elbow ornament?”

  “As an extraordinary woman with a great deal to offer. I’ll tell you now, the longer we stay together, the more functions you’ll attend.” Those fingers drummed a reassuring tap along my skin. “This is a tiny little fundraising event.”

  “You sure I can’t stay home?”

  “The mayor needs his plus-one. I’d be lost without you.” His fingers stilled. “But please, if you can help it, don’t break anything. Don’t smear food on the tablecloth or spill your drink on anyone or set the curtains on fire.”

  I held my hands in front of me in supplication. “I was under duress! People kept looking at me. Wanting to make conversation.” How dare they?

  “People will continue to look at you and try to make conversation. Please, River, try to work on those awkward, clumsy tendencies so my credit card can stop getting a workout. I can’t write these accidents off on my taxes.”

  I shrugged, semi-agreeing. “Sorry. But those clumsy tendencies are a mile wide and going nowhere.” A recent and unfortunate side effect that developed once I’d moved back to Virginia. But how could I explain it to Weston?

  “Try? For me?”

  There was nothing good about these kinds of parties. They reminded me of the greet-and-schmooze events that those of my former profession scheduled multiple times a year. Some saw them as the promise of new connections, while others saw an opportunity to get drunk on free wine and liquor. Not for the first time I wondered why I preferred to stay home with a fuzzy pair of slippers, my favorite pajamas, and too many potato chips.

  “This is as good as it’s going to get.” I huffed out a breath, dragging my coat from the bed.

  “It’s stunning.” Weston continued to rain kisses down on my exposed skin. Who was I to stop him? “You’re stunning.”

  “And you’re trying to charm me into relaxing.”

  I recognized the signs. Weston was good at getting people to do what he wanted without explicitly stating his desires. Tonight, I didn’t mind being led. It helped with the nerves. He was a six-foot-four dose of relaxation in black Hugo Boss.

  “There’s no reason for you to get worked up. These are people you’ve met from the town hall. Do you remember Marvin and Donna?”

  “No.”

  “How about Butch and Sarah?”

  “No. I don’t know anyone! Which is why I’m worked up.”

  “You won’t always be the outsider,” he assured me.

  I hadn’t realized I was the outsider. Okay, maybe that was a lie. My reflection told me the truth I tried to hide. I knew people looked at me when I walked down the street. They peered at every line on my face and stitch of thread on my outfit and wondered at my story.

  The perusal only worsened when I’d started dating Weston. Once I had officially “shacked up” with the mayor, as my cousin Nell put it, I was under the microscope twenty-four hours a day. I lived in the public eye and my mother loved every minute of the exposure.

  “This is a small party,” Weston said. “More of an in and out type of deal.”

  “I’ve been to my fair share before. I know the routine. I don’t like the routine.”

  “Yeah? I didn’t know.” His arm snaked around my waist to pull me closer. I happily snuggled against his warmth. “You don’t talk about your old job much.”

  “The accounting firm I used to work for was big on rubbing elbows,” I told him, struggling to fix a stray hair flopping over my face. “They had benefits and fundraisers at least once a month.”

  “I’m sure you were a natural. How you’ve managed to step on someone’s foot whenever I take you out, I will
never know,” he joked. “I’ve yet to figure out how to keep you from destroying something. My cute little Godzilla.”

  Well, if I had to be a city-scorching monster, at least I was a cute one.

  Destroy might be a little much. Did I make a mess? Certainly. It was nothing a few soothing words or a well-placed bribe couldn’t fix. I tried not to think about the mess I made or the embarrassment I caused whenever Weston took me out. Soon he’d develop a complex and think it was him.

  The hair refused to stay in place, and I growled, my patience thinning. “I might not look it, but I know how to navigate the social scene. You should have more faith.”

  “I have no doubts you’ll be fine. After all, you’ve had practice.” Weston held out his arm, looking every bit the charming mayor loved by his constituents, despite the sarcasm. “Now, shall we go?”

  “If you insist.” The mantle of responsibility should have fit easily over my shoulders. Instead I felt uncomfortable.

  What would go wrong this time?

  I’d never considered Heartwood, Virginia, a point of interest for me. Yet here I was, a whopping twenty-five years after escaping the place, and I was back to stay. I’d packed up the beater car I pushed to the limit on the drive, making for my hometown. Rather, my mother’s hometown. I was used to big-city living in Knoxville. There was more everything in the bustle of the city. More life. More excitement.

  Until there wasn’t.

  Now I had yet another opportunity to mingle with the Heartwood elite, who saw their tiny corner of paradise with as much importance as the old Persian Empire. And I was an inept and floundering social climber. The people were unsure whether to laugh at me or court me.

  We got in the car and drove off with little fanfare.

  A damp wind sliced through empty tree branches, moonlight- dappled against a bitter blue sky. Houses flashed by with dark windows and lawns of brown grass. Virginia in March.

  With the heater flipped to full blast, Weston and I pulled up to the front of a brick colonial ten minutes later. Lights illuminated the circle drive and cast long shadows on white columns.

  “Here we are, my sweet.” I made a half groan, half gargle of frustration when he got out and opened the car door for me.

  He wanted a smile, and I provided one, telling myself there was a slim chance that perhaps whatever business Weston needed to handle would be done quickly. Before I had a chance to play the fool.

  Weston bent to murmur against my ear, “Be careful tonight.”

  In response to his suggestion, that damn stray lock of hair blew across my eyes. I let out a breath, then nearly choked when my next inhalation brought the hair straight down my throat in an attempt to strangle me.

  Weston gave me a single hard pat on the back and the shock knocked me back to myself.

  “Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ll try my best.”

  My high heels clicked out a beat on stone. We walked to the front door arm in arm. I had an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. An entire sanctuary of butterflies. Not exactly bad, but I knew this evening would not be the same as any of the parties I’d attended on my own in the past. Then, I’d been someone. Known by my coworkers and included in the festivities.

  Now, I was arm candy. Arm candy with a proclivity for causing chaos, in spite of my best efforts. It didn’t matter what I tried to do, or not do. Once the clock ticked past the first hour mark, I was on a countdown.

  Something to break. Someone to embarrass. Maybe even set something ablaze.

  “Are you ready?” Weston took a deep breath before pushing his way inside. Noise hit me the moment the doors flew wide. Laughter, cacophonous conversation. The heartbeats of too many people in an enclosed space.

  The smile stayed pasted on my face while Weston took my coat, handing it off to a waiting helper.

  “Try not to look terrified,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth. “Nothing will go wrong this time. You got this.”

  And I’d make sure he was right.

  Once inside the large gathering room, Weston broke into a round of introductions the moment a couple stepped forward to greet him. I was caught in a vortex of sound. Not to mention the sight and crush of bodies pressing forward to get a look at their mayor and his date.

  My hand fisted on the dress, leaving a sweaty imprint in its wake. This was the fourth time Weston had asked me to accompany him to what he saw as a party designed to cement his community ties. The fourth time I’d been okayed to join and meet the people of Heartwood. The fourth time I had a blank canvas in front of me to ruin.

  For someone who spent the first five years of her life in this place, I sure wasn’t welcome.

  Eventually we shifted apart, me left with a drink in my hand and a sea of unfamiliar faces.

  “Is this your first one of these? I haven’t seen you around before.” A woman wearing knock-off mink, boasting the boniest shoulders I’d ever seen and looking like a bat yanked from its cave, shuffled over to extend her welcome. And sate her curiosity.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  She waggled her eyebrows knowingly and, before I had a chance to answer, said, “I can always spot the newbies. It’s a gift.”

  I set my jaw, determined to make nice. “It’s my fourth one in Virginia. Although I haven’t seen you at any of the other functions I’ve attended with Weston.”

  I was used to older women and their patronizing tones. In this town, they considered me a fresh-faced foreigner.

  A server slid casually between us offering a platter of fluted champagne glasses. Before I had a chance to reach out, my newest friend grabbed two.

  The glass nearly slid from my hold when she handed it off, exchanging my empty drink for a full one.

  “Careful, honey, careful. That’s very expensive champagne.”

  I tightened my fingers around the stem until I could almost hear the sound of cracking glass. “Got it.”

  Ms. Mink-off eyed me up and down, from the diamond studs in my ears to the four inches of heels enabling me to tower over the majority of women there.

  “I’m sure I haven’t seen you around, and I would have noticed you right away. It’s not often I see a woman with such height and beauty. It’s not surprising. Weston has a knack for finding the prettiest girls around and drawing them to his side.” She gestured with her chin to where the man in question stood, surrounded by a ring of gentlemen who probably golfed more than they worked. Then she turned to me again. “You’re a skinny thing, aren’t you?”

  I read the look, and wanted to either toss my drink or head for the nearest exit. Would it be greedy to consider both at the same time? I didn’t think so.

  “Thank you for the compliment,” I said instead. It was better to focus on the positives. Better to bite my lip and stifle the urge to bolt. Trip over my own feet. Accidentally set something on fire again.

  Unfortunately, I bit my lip to the point where I tasted blood. Damn. “I have a fast metabolism. It’s genetic.”

  “I would kill to wear that dress, dear. Enjoy it while you can. And I have to say, you are more than a hair better-looking than his last girlfriend. She was a bore,” Ms. Mink-off continued. “Did nothing but drink and stare at her fingernails for hours on end.” The woman’s face crinkled. “A spoiled brat.”

  “Oh?”

  She fluttered her own white-tipped fingernails at me. “They were engaged, you know. About to tie the knot when she ran off with another man. It was the talk of the circuit for months afterward. I wasn’t sure Weston would pull through.”

  “He’s…a strong man,” I answered. Honestly, the champagne gripped in my hand was not enough to have me feeling perky in regard to references of past fiancées.

  Ms. Mink-off cackled. “He’s got luck on his side. Had his heart broken, and then six weeks later he shows up with you. That was almost half a year ago.” She elbowed me in the side and laughed. “Like I said. Lucky!”

  Six. Weeks? I stared straight ahead, at nothing in particular, and
tried to reconcile her words with my boyfriend. What kind of man comes out of an engagement and gets into a new relationship six weeks later?

  I’d been in town longer than they’d been broken up. Why hadn’t I noticed anything strange about him when we first met? Then I shook my head. This was Weston, and he loved and supported me. He was one of the only people who did right now. This revelation changed nothing.

  “Aw, dear, don’t look so glum. It doesn’t go with your dress.” Ms. Mink-off elbowed me a second time and sent half of my drink splattering to the floor. At least I managed to catch the glass before it fell. So much for the expensive champagne. I hoped it wouldn’t stain the rug.

  “I’ll try not to.” I kept my voice cheerful, warm.

  “I figure it best to be honest at these types of affairs. You won’t find a whole lot of other people willing to do the same.” She held out her hand. “Mrs. Iva Fishman.”

  “River Shayne.” I returned the handshake, surprised at her firm grip and my weak one. “Charmed.”

  “I was serious about the luck, though. The boy has always had a golden tongue, and apparently a four-leaf clover shoved up his patoot. You’re taller than his ex, too, and better-spoken by a mile.”

  I swallowed the last sip with a grimace. “Glad to know.”

  The host announced that dinner would be served in the dining room. I ached to find my seat and decorate the chair for the remainder of the evening. Engaged in a plate of food, I would be less inclined to say something regrettable. Barring a choking incident.

  Mrs. Iva Fishman had other ideas.

  “Come on and have a chat with me before we eat. No sense in you standing around looking lost.” She shook her hand, nails tapping against the small of my back and guiding me like a show pony.

  “I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you.” I said it in the nicest of ways though I knew the battle was lost.

  I didn’t try to fight because I knew the type. Mrs. Fishman wore her standing in the community like others wore jewelry: on display for the world to see. She would not take no for an answer.