Page 40 of The Rented Bride

Chapter Eight

Morning sun streamed through the window. Cassie blinked in confusion at unfamiliar surroundings, then remembered she was still in Colorado. A dull throb pounded in her temples. How had she ended up in this mess? Sitting, she slid her legs over the side of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She was getting married today. Her father should be walking her down the aisle, her mother tearful, her two sisters serving as bridesmaids and her four brothers, groomsmen. Most important, she should love the groom. Instead she was entering a business arrangement. She marked the sign of the cross, forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder. Her family would be horrified.

Cassie slipped from the bed and crossed to the sixteenth century armoire where her clothes hung. She grabbed the long, bright, multi-colored LYCRA skirt and black sweater she’d planned to wear on the plane home. Not exactly a wedding dress, but this wasn’t exactly the wedding she’d planned.

She entered her room’s private bathroom, turned on the shower, then stripped and stepped beneath hot needles of water. Once she’d washed away any reservations, Cassie pulled her nerves together, dressed, and drew her hair back into a ponytail. She stared at herself in the mirror behind the marble sink.

Get married, get annulled, and get out of debt. Simple.

She’d lost her mind.

Cassie folded her dirty clothes. If she had to remain at Brettonwood, she’d need to use the laundry. It was critical that she return to Miami by Wednesday to prepare for Friday’s Bello event. Should she have discussed her work schedule with Trent? Surely he understood she had to be in Miami part of the time for work? She released a breath. He’d promised to have the contract ready for her signature first thing this morning. Wearing simple black flats, she left the room, softly closing the door behind her. Persian carpet padded her footsteps as she made her way down the hall to the staircase.

On the main floor, Cassie heard James’ voice and turned toward the parlor.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He approached the door when she entered, a little shaky in his steps. Annie hovered nearby. “You promised to have breakfast with me.”

She smiled. “Just coffee, please.”

He offered his arm and she wrapped her fingers around the crook of his elbow. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Better. Now that I’m with you.” He patted her hand. “It’s Sunday and Ace always makes blood pudding and tattie scones. Reminds me of home.”

He led her to the kitchen.

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what either of those are,” she said.

“Then you’re in for a treat. Blood pudding is a sausage made of pig’s blood, fat, oats, barley, and spices.”

Her stomach did a little tumble.

“Morning Ace,” James said.

The aroma of breakfast cooking smelled good, but she wasn’t about to eat anything made of pig’s blood.

Ace turned the sausages that sizzled in a pan. “Morning James. Ms. Adams. If you want to sit in the atrium, I’ll serve breakfast.”

James led her to the atrium, a medium-sized room surrounded by windows that overlooked the mountains. In the morning light, the groomed trails of a nearby ski resort carved their pattern into the white and rocky mountain face. Burnt orange and gold streaked across the morning sky.

“What a gorgeous sunrise,” Cassie said.

“Orange and gold,” James said. “My favorite of all sunrises.”

“I can’t blame you,” she said.

The left side of the room boasted a small seating area. A glass table and chairs occupied the right. A ten-foot long, antique buffet stretched along the wall. They crossed to the table.

“How long have you been in the States?” She helped James to a seat and sat across from him.

He sighed. “Over fifty years. It’s just me and the lad since I lost my son and daughter-in-law, Trent’s mum and dad.”

“How old was Trent?”

“Oh,” he furrowed his brows, remembering back. “Just a wee lad. Four years old.”

She thought of her family and how lost she’d be without them. Mom, Dad, four brothers, two sisters, aunts, uncles and—don’t let her mother hear these thoughts—an ungodly number of cousins. In fact, it was no secret that she wasn’t living up to her share of the family dynasty.

“Damn shame.” Moisture glistened in James’ eyes. “Hard to imagine with Trent being a man, but he looks so much like his mother. Especially her eyes.” He smiled, face alight with mischief. “And as I’m sure you’ve seen, his determination. That comes from the Weston men.”