Remember When (Foster Saga 1)

She saw Cole’s expression shift from gravity to poorly concealed amusement, and in her anxiety, she crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “I did something while we were there, didn’t I?” she demanded. Her fevered imagination conjured up an image of an inebriated woman in a purple gown trying to climb on stage and dance with the showgirls. Or, dear God, were they strippers? “Whatever I did, it was awful, wasn’t it?” she said weakly.

“That depends. Are you morally or religiously opposed to gambling?”

“No.”

“Then it wasn’t awful.”

Diana threw up her hands in joyous relief and cast her eyes heavenward. “I gambled!” she cried.

In the space of a few hours Cole had seen her switch from solemnity to panic to relief to humor, and it occurred to him that no matter her mood, he thoroughly enjoyed her company. He always had. With a sideways smile, she picked up her fork and took a bite of scrambled egg. “How did I do?”

“Not bad.”

“I lost,” she concluded with a muffled laugh, her happiness and her appetite remarkably unspoiled by that discovery. When Cole nodded, she reached for the orange juice and drank a little. “How much did I lose?”

“At the roulette table? Or at baccarat? Or at the slot machine?”

She put the glass down, nonplussed. “I lost at all three?”

“Yes, but I stopped you before you got into a high-stakes poker game,” he added as he picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

“How long were we at the casino?”

“Not long—a half hour.”

“Then I couldn’t have lost very much,” Diana said, but something in his carefully noncommittal expression made her pause. “How much did I lose?”

“About three thousand dollars.”

She was appalled, but she nodded and said very formally, “I’ll write you a check.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I insist. A lady must always pay her own gambling debts,” she quoted with humorous finality, as if she’d learned it in finishing school.

She wasn’t merely beautiful and intelligent and witty, she was obstinate as hell, Cole realized. But then, so was he. “And a gentleman always pays for the honeymoon,” he countered firmly.

Unfortunately, by referring to a thirty-minute stop in a casino as a “honeymoon,” he had inadvertently made a mockery of the word and a mockery of the abrupt, unromantic wedding that preceded it. He realized this as soon as he’d said it, and so did Diana. Her smile faded, but he noted that she didn’t grow angry or hurt. She simply . . . readjusted to reality.

“I wish you hadn’t let me make those phone calls from the plane,” she said instead.

“I didn’t stop you because it was to your benefit and to your company’s benefit for the public to find out as soon as possible that you’d married me.” He hadn’t stopped her because of that and also because her phone calls to the media had eliminated any possibility that she could back out of their bargain this morning. On this point, however, he wisely kept his thoughts to himself, and she cooperated by changing the subject to something more neutral.

“At least I understand now why I kept dreaming of slot machines. Except that in my dream, the slot machine was gigantic—taller than you and at least five feet wide.”

“That wasn’t a dream.”

“Really?” she said with well-bred interest, but it wasn’t a question, it was a courteous statement. She had retreated behind a wall of pleasant reserve, which was her norm, and Cole switched his thoughts to business details, which was his.

“We have some practical details to discuss, but we can do it on the way to see your family.”

She nodded, looked at her watch, and got up. “It will be five o’clock by the time we get there. Corey had to retake some shots for the magazine, so the crew should be wrapping up when we get there.”

With her hand on the bedroom door she stopped and turned. “Last night I walked off with my grandmother’s purse instead of my own. Since I didn’t have any identification with me, how did we get married?”

Cole was pouring coffee into his cup and he glanced up, his expression wry. “Actually that caused a minor problem for a few minutes, but the wedding chapel belongs to a man and his wife. She recognized you, and with the help of an extra hundred dollars, her husband agreed that was proof enough of your true identity.”

Diana accepted that with a nod, her thoughts turning to the problem of clothing. “It’s a good thing I left my car with the valet last night, or I wouldn’t be able to get into my apartment to change clothes.”

Chapter 31

A HALF HOUR LATER, SHE’D changed into a pair of white linen slacks, white sandals, and a lilac silk shirt that she’d knotted in the front at the waist, and they were on the way to the family house on Inwood Drive.

Because she still was feeling a tad under the weather, Cole took the wheel of her car, and as he drove along familiar boulevards lined with gracious mansions set back among the trees, he felt a strong sense of déjà vu combined with a feeling of total unreality. Of all the bizarre, unpredictable twists and turns his life had taken in the years since he’d last driven down these streets, the oddest by far was to return here with Diana Foster sitting beside him—as his wife.

Oblivious to the direction of his thoughts, Diana was concentrating on the best way to break the news to her family. Somehow, she had to portray an optimism she didn’t completely feel and simultaneously convince them that last night’s marriage was not only sane but ideal.

She was working out her strategy, rehearsing her opening speech, and deciding on the right location to give it when Cole reached into the inside pocket of his navy blazer and extracted a folded sheet of hotel stationery. As he handed it across to her, he said in a businesslike voice, “While you were sleeping this morning, I wrote out a summary of the terms of our verbal agreement. Basically, it sets out that our marriage will last for one year. At the end of that period, we will obtain a quiet, amicable divorce with neither of us making any financial claims against the other.”

A bicyclist was in the middle of their lane when they rounded a curve, and Cole paused as he went around her; then he continued, “Naturally, any gifts we give each other, such as our wedding rings or the necklace I bought you last night, will remain the property of the recipient.”

“Wedding rings?” Diana echoed blankly. “What wedding rings?”

He reached into the outside pocket of his jacket and extracted two plain, wide gold bands, holding them toward her in his palm. “These wedding rings.”

“When did you get those?”

“The Silver Bells Wedding Chapel is a fully equipped, full-service establishment. I bought them there from the owner, and we exchanged them during the ceremony.” With a sigh of mock dismay he chided, “How quickly some of us forget the tender, poignant moments in life.”

Diana took the smaller of the two rings from his palm and held it between thumb and forefinger, puzzled by his description of the event as poignant and tender. “Was it a tender moment?” she asked, peering at his profile.

A smile quirked his lips. “You seemed to think it was. You cried during most of the ceremony.”

“I always cry a little bit at weddings,” Diana admitted ruefully.

“At your own wedding,” he ungallantly said, “you cried so hard you had to stop twice to blow your nose.”

Diana’s initial horror gave way to a sudden burst of hilarity at the picture of a drunken bride in a purple gown bawling her heart out and blowing her nose. She slumped down in her seat, her body quaking with laughter. “Before the ceremony, you were deeply distressed about the decor.” Diana laughed harder.

A few moments later, however, Cole’s brisk words made her sober and straighten. “Look over my list, and see if you have any questions or comments,” he instructed.

Diana unfolded the sheet of paper and read what he’d written. His handwriting was a bold scrawl, and yet it was r

emarkably legible.