You May Now Kill the Bride by Deborah Donnelly

Author:Deborah Donnelly
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780440335771
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2008-10-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

As Aaron steered India down the flagstone path, I smacked the table with my fist and turned my head aside. Right toward Adrienne, who stood just within the back door. Even through the screen I could see the petty triumph on her face.

“Temper, dear,” she said, quoting my mother, and turned away.

Suddenly my mother was the one person in the world I wanted to see. I took a moment to compose myself, then strode quickly through the kitchen, ignoring both sisters, and headed upstairs.

Mom had been single for so long that I was halfway to the second floor before it occurred to me that barging in on her and her man would be kind of rude. And I’d seen enough rudeness this morning.

“Dammit, Lou, we’ve been over this!”

I had turned around to take my first step downward, but I froze with my foot in the air at the sound of Owen’s voice. It was tight and controlled, as if he were furiously angry but determined not to be overheard. Which of course made me determined to overhear as much as I possibly could.

I ascended stealthily, moving in slow motion to test for squeaky steps, until I reached the second-floor hallway. This was broader than the one above where my bedroom had been, carpeted in celadon green and wallpapered in a soft floral pattern. A door at the other end was slightly open, but I couldn’t see inside. I waited.

My mother’s voice was calm enough, but I could hear the tension in it.

“I simply don’t understand why it should be a secret, Owen. Let me just explain to them—”

“Absolutely not! You promised me you would keep this confidential, and I insist—”

She interrupted him, murmuring too low for me to hear. Then came a muffled exclamation that gave me goose bumps—it sounded like a cry of pain. I took a stride toward the door, hesitated, and then broke into a run when I heard the unmistakable slumping crash of a body hitting the ground.

“I’m coming, Mom!”

I burst into the master bedroom with all flags flying, ready to do battle with this evil-tempered man who for all I knew was a cold-blooded killer and—

“Oh.”

In contrast to my sudden waking nightmare, my mother was the one on her feet. She stood beside a king bed with its sheets and duvet dragged halfway to the floor. Entangled in the bedclothes, and himself more than halfway on the floor, was Owen Winter.

Mom was fully dressed, but Owen wore a pair of truly regrettable pajamas, the top of which had ridden up over his belly as he slid from the bed. He also wore a scowl of mortification and rage, and when he saw me he bellowed an obscenity that struck like a blow.

But what really hurt was my mother’s expression of baffled dismay.

“Carrie, what on earth are you doing, coming in here like that? Can’t you see . . .” She faltered, at a loss for a sufficient phrase, then mustered enough dignity for both of them.

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