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Bad Marlys.
But Blackie and being bad was all that she had left.
Twenty
In war, there is no prize for the runner-up.
—GENERAL OMAR BRADLEY
Second thoughts? A heavy dose of guilt? Or just an oversight? Juliet couldn’t know which had prompted the invitation she’d received to Helen Novack’s private book party. Maybe Helen had sent it to the old house assuming Juliet would receive it too late.
But instead, Marlys had done her a favor in bringing it so promptly, and done her another favor by sending out a challenge she probably didn’t even realize she’d voiced. You wouldn’t dare go.
The Juliet Weston who had hidden behind her shell for eleven months wouldn’t. But the Juliet Weston who had found a family, a job, a lover—the Juliet Weston who knew she was powerful and passionate—didn’t dare not go. Not and still continue believing she wasn’t the retiring rose that some still considered her.
Despite all that, her stomach played host to a standoff between fight or flight as she stood at the front door of Helen Novack’s 1920s-era L.A. mansion. Her palms smoothed her dress, which was much more Malibu than Bel Air. At a flirty, above-the-knee length and constructed of slinky layers of blue and green knit, this dress didn’t have a single beige thread.
And thank God Nikki hadn’t delivered on her promise of enchiladas—the dress was that clingy. But Juliet was going to demand the dish, if she made it through tonight—not if, when.
Helen’s houseman seemed pleased to see her. “Mrs. Weston!” If he was surprised, it didn’t show.
Juliet waved her invitation anyway, then tucked it into her bag. “Miguel, it’s good to see you.”
He made a little bow. “Everyone is this way.”
And everyone was. The crowd of a hundred-plus of Wayne’s friends created clusters and knots throughout the living room and also spilled onto the courtyard with its bubbling fountain and strategic floodlights. Waiters in black and white moved about with trays of drinks and edibles. Here and there Juliet noticed attractive displays of old photos and medals—Marlys’s distinctive touch.
But Juliet didn’t see the younger woman anywhere. Instead, at the far end of the room, where stacks of books were being given away at a table, she found Helen Novack—who stood staring straight at Juliet.
Taking what she hoped was an invisible breath, she made her way toward her hostess. Whether the room went quiet or she just couldn’t hear the chatter over the heartbeat in her ears, Juliet couldn’t say. She didn’t let the lack of sound stop her, though, even as along her path she caught the eye of people she’d known for eight years…and hadn’t spoken to during the last twelve months.
With a nod, with a smile, she continued moving.
Until she felt another, different gaze on her. Her head jerked left, and there, coming through the doors to the courtyard, was Noah. In pale gray slacks, and a darker dress shirt and jacket, he looked more attorney than ex-soldier.
Had Helen’s social secretary made a second screw-up?
Whatever the answer, her feet halted as her traitorous heart tried climbing from her chest to her throat. Yet the traitor was him, damn it.
Turning her head away, she moved forward again, nodding at other acquaintances, murmuring greetings, but not hesitating until she was face-to-face with Helen. I’m sorry, she remembered saying the last time the two of them had met. Tonight, she would not be apologizing.
Stretching out her hand, she smiled at the other woman. “Helen.” Now she knew the room had gone silent, and she raised her voice to carry to every corner. “Thank you so much for all the trouble you’ve gone to tonight. The party looks beautiful. Wayne would be so pleased. I’m pleased.”
Helen’s fingers were cool in hers, but Juliet didn’t let that stop her from covering them with her second hand. “You’ve always been such a very good friend,” she added.
Okay, to Wayne and not to Juliet, but that didn’t matter anymore. They’d both lost a man who’d been important in their lives. As a photographer’s flash went off, she moved even closer to the older woman and brushed her cheek with her own. “Let’s give Wayne a little chuckle,” she murmured for Helen’s ears only. “And make the press look like idiots for reporting any ill will between us.”
And it was Helen who chuckled, but that was good enough for Juliet. She pulled back to find herself surrounded by people. Whether they were well-wishers or ill-willers, she didn’t bother deciphering. More smiles, more chat, more deep breaths later, she realized that like everything else in life, there was a balance of both in this crowd.
