Married by Monday (The Weekday Brides #2)(50)
Author: Catherine Bybee

Zod stood by the front door while Eliza opened it. Russell, one of the bodyguards, waited on the other side. “Sorry to disturb you Mrs. Billings, but your husband has asked that we keep you in sight or hearing range at all times.”

Reality slammed into her chest. All the girl talk and ease of the day shot away faster than the bullet leaving the chamber of a 357. “Why? Has something happened?”

“Not that I know of, ma’am. He directed me to step into the house.”

A shiver fluttered up her spine. She opened the door wider and let him in.

Samantha walked up beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Eliza. You’ll hardly notice him after a while.”

I won’t bet money on that.

Packing went quickly and Eliza was taking another trip to the car when Mrs. Sweeny, the neighbor from next door, walked around the hedge with a pot in her arms. “Eliza? Eliza dear?”

Zod snarled at the older woman wearing an apron who smelled like fish.

Eliza called him down. Her bodyguard watched from inside the house.

“There you are. I never knew you were dating our future governor and here I saw a picture of you in a wedding dress standing next to that handsome husband of yours.” Mrs. Sweeny liked to talk, and she never put on airs.

“We didn’t announce it to the world until after the ceremony. You’re not the only one surprised by our union.”

Mrs. Sweeny bobbed her head until her grey hair started to tumble into her eyes. “I should be grateful you didn’t attract many of those men with cameras like Samantha did.”

“I tried.”

Mrs. Sweeny struggled with the pot in her arms and shifted on her feet. “They’ve been here, but not many of them are hiding in the bushes. I’ve only had one broken rose bush this time.”

Samantha and Blake’s marriage brought on a circus of paparazzi attempting to capture the new duchess doing something naughty. Poor Mrs. Sweeny lost many buds that year.

“I’ll pay for any damage, Mrs. Sweeny.”

“I know, I know. I’m just so happy for you. Here.” She lifted the pot higher and Eliza reached for the smelly stew.

“It’s my famous linguine and clam sauce. I know how much you like it. Being newly married and all, you probably won’t be in the kitchen very much.” The older woman winked, leaving Eliza a little baffled. Who knew Mrs. Sweeny carried such wicked thoughts.

“Thank you.” Eliza took the pot from her neighbor and ignored the nauseous smell of the attempt at fishy pasta. Poor Mr. Sweeny must not have any taste buds left. None of the neighbors escaped a homecoming, welcome baby, happy bride pot of gritty clams in a sauce that might be white, but wasn’t creamy, covering cheap linguine. But the thought was always welcome and no one told Mrs. Sweeny that the contents made its way directly into the garbage disposal in the sink.

“No problem at all and congratulations, dear. You let your husband know he has my vote.”

Mrs. Sweeny waved as she walked away.

Inside the house, Samantha and Gwen were already running the water in the sink.

Gwen held her nose and Sam turned away as the food went down the drain. “We saw her talking to you and smelled this from upstairs.”

“How can she eat this stuff?”

“Have you ever seen her eat it? Seems she is always giving it away.”

The noise from the compactor filled the kitchen until all of the odiferous food was gone. “You’re going to have to burn a scented candle to get the smell out of here,” Eliza told Gwen.

“I’m ahead of you. One is burning in the living room already.”

“Smart girl.”

Eliza washed her hands and prayed she didn’t smell like fish. “Well, I think that’s it.”

Eliza gave Gwen a hug and turned to Samantha. “Thanks for helping me pack. Carter and I are going to work out a schedule between his campaign and Alliance. I’ll be back to work next Monday.”

“Take some time off, get settled.”

“I’d go crazy doing nothing. I’ll be back on Monday.”

Samantha knew better than to argue and dropped her concerns. As they walked out the door, Mrs. Sweeny’s conversation about broken rose rang in her ears.

“Gwen, have you seen any paparazzi outside the house?”

“No, why?”

“Mrs. Sweeny said something about her roses. Maybe it was Zod.”

“I know how to handle the media. Don’t worry.”

“Be careful. And call if you need anything.”

Gwen hugged her again. “I’m not a child.”

“I know.”

“I’ll walk you out. I need to get home myself,” Sam said.

Eliza took one last look at the house as she waved goodbye. “There goes a chapter of my life,” she whispered to herself.

“What was that Mrs. Billings?”

Eliza turned to her bodyguard and called Zod to her side. “Nothing.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Hey, Harry! You have a visitor.”

Harry looked at the face of the guard and considered the man’s words. A visitor? Who? He wanted to ask but kept his mouth shut. Visitors had been limited since his incarceration. Funny how when you swindle your friends and destroy your family people have no use for you. He’d made this bed and slept on the lumpy mattress every night of his pathetic life.

Harry pushed himself off the bench where he had been reading a paper and followed the guard to the visitor’s room.

The space was vacant. Only he and the guard stood on the inmate side of the protective glass. Halfway down the flank of chairs sat a man dressed in a tailored business suit Harry would have worn on the outside. He recognized the man, though they had never met. Harry’s heart sped in his chest and for the first time in years, his palms grew moist. He shoved down the drop of hope that threatened to take hold and spread into a lake of want. Wanting what he could never have would only breed discord and pain. Though he deserved it, he avoided emotional pain as much as possible.

Harry sat in the government issue chair and considered the man in front of him.

He picked up the phone and patiently waited for the other man’s move.

“Mr. Elliot.”

Harry tilted his head to the side. “Mr. Harrison.”

“You know who I am?”

“You’re married to my daughter. Of course I know who you are.”

Blake Harrison, the Duke of Albany, stared at him through the glass.

“You look nothing like your photos,” Blake told him.