The Silver Bride

Did he even appreciate how much he already cared about Aria Bailey? Once he had resented the pressure put on him to marry her. Wouldn't it be ironic if Dior was only now truly valuing Aria because he had had to face the prospect of giving her up?

All she could ever be to Dior was a very poor second best. If she hadn't conceived, Dior would never have offered her more than a casual affair. 'A little amus.e.m.e.nt,' as Aria had so succinctly put it. That had made Stella feel about an inch tall.

It hurt, even more, to frankly acknowledge herself outclassed by the competition. Aria belonged in Dior's elite world. Dior could marry the woman his father had selected and feel very good about doing so. A gorgeous accomplished intelligent, rich and classy ice cube, who was fond of him and didn't even care if he kept a mistress.

Maybe a lot of guys would be happy to marry a woman as understanding like that, Stella reflected with helpless bitterness. That weekend, Ashton Watson's nephew, Lily Watson, phoned tell her that his uncle had flu and wouldn't be in. Stella was run off her feet. On Sunday afternoon she went to see Grace Bell, to explain that she wouldn't be returning to her job at the Harlequin building again.

Grace ushered her into her small cozy front room with a smile of p.l.e.a.s.u.r.e. 'You do know how to get the gossip going into orbit, Stella. I think you're making a wise decision, though. I'll miss you, but you'd have to put up with some stick if you did come back. Some of the younger girls are just eaten with envy.'

'If they knew how I was fixed right now, I don't think they would be,' Stella fielded wryly. 'It's all off, Grace...was never really on, to tell you the truth.' 'He's turning night into day at the office right now. Half the top floor staff is having to work the same hours.

They look worn out, and I heard them muttering that he's in a foul black mood—' 'I don't want to hear about Dior, Grace,' Stella shared, having paled at those edifying titbits. 'Just one little question,' Grace almost pleaded.

'Did you dump him?' Not having expected so personal a question from the older woman, Stella stared. Grace flushed guiltily. 'It's just that's what we're all hoping. The word is he's never been dumped before, but he could do with being taken down a peg or two.' 'Grace...it would take an attack with an ax to dent Dior's ego,' Stella retorted.

A surprise awaited her when she arrived home again. Her employer's nephew, a portly pompous man in his early fifties, was seated in the tiny rear office behind the shop, going through the accounts. Standing up, Lily Watson smoothed his sparse hair back from his brow.

Ignoring her inquiry as to his uncle's state of health, he disconcerted her by admitting that he had come over in the hope of finding her at home. But it was what he had to say next which shook Stella up. He informed her that his uncle had retired and that he was now taking charge of the bookshop.

The bottom fell out of what remained of Stella's world. Struggling to come to terms with the shock of that blithe announcement, she frowned. 'But you already have a job.' 'I'm taking early retirement. I intend to plow a good deal of money into remodeling this place.

However...' He paused, pursing his lips. 'I'm sorry to say that your services will no longer be required.' 'I beg your pardon?' Stella practically whispered.