She turned to go, but Michael hurried across the room and grabbed her arm, interposing himself between her and the door. “Damn it, Emily, will you stand still for a minute and stop rattling off lists? I shouldn’t have allowed you to go on about all those arrangements.” He crossed his arms and stared at her with a touch of defiance. “I wasn’t joking just now. I can’t marry you. We have to call off the wedding.”
“Call off the wedding?” Once again, it seemed to Emily that the world stopped. Only this time it didn’t immediately start moving forward again. She blinked and swallowed hard, trying to bring her vision back into focus. “Not…marry me?”
Michael drew in another deep breath and shook his head. “That’s right. I’m sorry, but we have to call off the wedding. I just can’t go through with it.”
Panic froze her in midbreath. Michael was a decent man, her good friend. There was only one rational explanation for what he was saying. She gasped, frantically trying to suck in enough air to speak. “Oh, my God! You’ve discovered you’re suffering from some incurable disease!”
“No.” His manner was so brusque she knew he had to be hiding something terrible.
“Don’t try to protect my feelings—”
“I’m not protecting you!” Michael yelled. He lowered his voice with visible effort. “I’m fine, Emily, never healthier. But I can’t marry you.”
He was serious, Emily realized. Dead serious. Michael was just fine, except that he wanted out of their marriage. Her brain, overloaded with details ranging from the color of the table linen for the prenuptial bridal dinner—cream with centerpieces of yellow rosebuds—to the gifts for her six bridesmaids—specially designed gold pins from Tiffany’s—refused to find space for the unpalatable fact that the reason for all these elaborate preparations had just vanished. On a whim of Michael’s, with no reference to her wishes, the wedding was off.
It was now ten-thirty on Friday morning. On Saturday evening, in less than thirty-six hours, fifty important out-of-town guests and three hundred movers and shakers from the state of Texas expected to see Emily Sutton, heiress to the Sutton land development fortune, married to Michael Chambers, candidate for governor of Texas. Unfortunately, it seemed that half the bridal couple wouldn’t be available.
Moving with great care, Emily walked across to the antique burled-wood desk and set down the ring binder. The 150-page tome of meticulous planning had suddenly been rendered as useless as a dead battery.
“Is there some special reason why you no longer want to marry me?” she asked. Amazingly, shock had so stifled her emotions that her voice emerged sounding coolly interested rather than heartbroken.
“There are a lot of reasons,” Michael said vaguely. He shoved his hands into his pockets and paced the library, seeming to regain his natural confidence. “For one thing, there’s obviously no sexual spark between the two of us. I know we agreed on this marriage for practical reasons, but in this day and age, doesn’t it bother you that we’ve been engaged for three months and we haven’t found the time to take a weekend away and actually make love to each other?”
Now he noticed that they’d never made love? She’d been wondering for weeks why not. Emily flushed, touching her engagement ring. The four-carat diamond solitaire—big enough to make a statement, not big enough to be vulgar-suddenly felt heavy and out of place on her finger. Twisting the ring, she decided this wasn’t the very best moment to confess that she hadn’t made any sexual overtures to Michael because their celibate relationship had been a source of considerable relief to her.
She gave an explanation she hoped he would accept. “We have frantically busy schedules, both of us. I’m sure our sexual relationship will be just fine once we get around to it.”
“Once we get around to it?” Michael shot her an incredulous glance. “You’re attractive, but you seem to have almost no sex drive. When we kiss, it’s as if we’re friends, not potential lovers. That’s strange, really, considering-” He pulled himself up short. “Anyway, I know this marriage of ours was never supposed to be a love match…”
Wasn’t it? Emily wondered, no longer listening to Michael’s attempt to explain the inexplicable. No, she supposed she had to grant him that much. She’d been determined to make her marriage last a lifetime, and she’d promised as much when Michael asked her to marry him. But neither of them had exchanged vows of everlasting love. Neither of them had mentioned passion. They’d simply committed themselves to a relationship based on friendship, mutual trust and loyalty. The qualities her adoptive parents shared in their marriage. The very qualities Emily had always wanted in her own marriage.
Michael was amazingly good-looking, Emily thought, watching his lips move without hearing a word of what he was saying. She wondered why she’d never felt even a twinge of physical attraction toward him. She pondered this for a second or two, then dismissed the question as one that no longer held any interest for her.
Despite the fact that she had never lusted for Michael’s body during their engagement, she’d intended to be the best possible wife for him, and she’d recognized that included being an active sexual partner. Just last week she’d bought a sexy black negligee for their honeymoon. Surely that proved she was willing to do whatever it took to keep her husband happy.
Sex had always struck her as a significantly overrated activity, but she wasn’t neurotic about it. Damn it, she was not neurotic about sex. Just because she was more aware than some of her contemporaries that getting carried away by passion could have serious consequences, it didn’t mean she was a prude. She wanted children, she knew men liked to have sex on a regular basis, and she was quite sure she could learn to enjoy a modest program of sexual activity. That’s why she’d carefully selected a prospective husband who looked as if he’d know how to go about the whole thing tastefully, without the excessive panting and pawing she found such a turnoff.
Besides, she’d assumed that what she and Michael shared was something much more important than messy emotions like lust and desire. She liked Michael’s company, admired his achievements, and envied his deep family roots. Surely those were better—stronger—grounds for marriage than a physical attraction that was likely to burn itself out within weeks of the honeymoon.
Emily felt a spurt of betrayal when she thought back over the past three months. Michael had assured her numerous times that she was going to be the perfect wife for him, the ideal partner for a man burning up miles on the trail to the governor’s mansion. Only last week, after their dinner with Senator Drysdale and his wife, he’d told her that she was the sort of woman most political candidates could only dream of finding. Socially gracious, well educated, but never pushy, she burnished his image whenever they appeared together, Michael had said proudly. What had happened between last Wednesday and today to change his mind?
Emily realized she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d given less than half her attention to Michael’s rambling explanation as to why he was calling off the wedding. In the end, though, perhaps it didn’t matter that she wasn’t much wiser about his motives now than she had been ten minutes ago. What could he possibly say that would justify such a crazy decision, anyway?
“I’m counting on you to help me come up with a reasonable explanation for this last-minute cancellation,” Michael was saying, in a jolting echo of her own thoughts. “Neither of us wants to provide any more fodder for the scandal sheets than we need. Our breakup is bound to be reported by the local San Antonio media, especially coming right before the wedding like this. If we’re unlucky, this is a story that could get picked up by the national tabloids. We can’t forget how easily my campaign for governor could hit a roadblock. I know I don’t need to remind you, honey, how important it is that we don’t do anything to derail my fund-raising prospects at this stage of the game. These days, if you can’t please the moneymen, you can’t hope to run a campaign.”
She winced at the endearment, but she could see he hadn’t even noticed the casual intimacy of the