The Objection: A Read Me Romance Novella

by Renshaw, Winter

  We didn’t flirt. We didn’t do anything inappropriate. We simply had a meaningful conversation and that was that.

  “Can someone call security?” Dorian calls out, rolling his eyes. His arms lift before clapping against his sides. Someone scrambles toward the hotel, padding over the satin aisle runner and into the grassy space that separates the building from the rose garden.

  “Wait,” I say, gathering my dress in my hands and heading down the aisle toward the back row where Gabriel stands.

  There’s no salvaging this moment so I might as well hear him out, but I’m going to do it in private, not in front of hundreds of prying eyes and pricked ears.

  “Olivia,” Dorian calls at me like an owner calling their dog. “Olivia, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him.

  When I reach Gabriel, I motion for him to follow me inside.

  “You’re insane,” is the first thing I tell him. The second? “This better be worth it.”

  But I regret the words the second I say them. If this is worth it, it means the wedding is a mistake.

  Dorian’s eyes focus on mine, and he licks his lips before pulling in a hard breath.

  “There’s no easy way to tell you this,” he says in a way that makes my stomach plummet. “But last night, about an hour after you went back to your room … your fiancé came down to the bar. And he was with some girl named Elizabeth.”

  My heart free falls and the sting of tears threatens my vision.

  “No ...” I say, “He left my room and went back to his ...”

  “Clearly he lied to you.”

  “And Elizabeth is my best friend. My maid of honor. He wouldn’t—”

  “—he did. And he has. Apparently it's been going on for quite a while,” he tells me. “At least that’s what I gathered from the conversation they had.”

  I think of Elizabeth and the mystery man at work she’s been pining after the last couple of years, the one who’s always “unavailable” and “refuses to commit.”

  All this time, was she talking about Dorian?

  I glance out the glass toward the rose garden. All of it looks so small from here, but I spot Dorian chatting with the minister and Elizabeth avoiding all eye contact.

  I refuse to believe it.

  And yet somehow … I do.

  “How do I know you’re not making this up?” I ask. “And how do you know what my fiancé looks like? Maybe it was someone else in the bar last night.”

  He rolls his eyes. “First of all, I saw what he looked like when the two of you were FaceTiming right next to me. And secondly, I have better things to do than crash some stranger’s wedding and stand up in front of hundreds of people, making a fool of myself.”

  As always, the man has a point.

  Then again, I don’t know him from Adam.

  He could be crazy.

  “I want to see the picture,” I tell him.

  His hand lifts to his jaw and he forces a breath through his nostrils. “You don't want to see it.”

  I laugh. “Are you joking right now? I need to see it. Have to see it. Want to see it. It’s the only way I’m going to believe any of this.”

  Dipping into his back pocket, he slides out a thin black phone and thumbs in his code before tapping on an app and flipping the screen toward me.

  Sure enough, it’s Dorian and Elizabeth. His hands in her hair. His mouth—the very same one that kissed me goodnight—on her mouth.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” I gather my dress and run for the nearest restroom, which I find down the hall and around the corner. My dress, which once fit my body like a glove, now squeezes the life out of me.

  I can’t think.

  I can’t breathe.

  And I sure as hell can’t go back out there and marry that bastard.

  With my back against the wall, I slide down to the ground until I’m nothing more than a numb woman sitting in a whole mess of tulle and chiffon.

  I’m hurt. Shocked. Devastated. Humiliated.

  But I refuse to cry.

  He isn’t worth a single tear.

  Someone pushes the door open a few inches and a second later, a man’s voice calls my name.

  My heart leaps into my throat for a second when I realize it’s just Gabriel.

  “You doing okay?” he asks.

  “Peachy.”

  “What do you want to do?” he asks.

  I laugh because it's a strange question. A complicated question. A question for which I have no good answer.

  “Truthfully,” I say, “I just want to get out of here.”

  “All right then. Let’s go.”

  I press my palms against the wall and push myself to standing. A moment later I meet him outside the ladies’ room door. His entire expression holds an apology, though he has nothing to be sorry for. If anything, I should be thanking him.

  He dangles a set of keys. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Anywhere.”

  Chapter 4

  Gabriel

  We drive for hours, through hilly, evergreen-covered terrain, deep valleys, and lonesome highways. And we drive mostly in silence.

  Five hours ago, I objected at her wedding. I’d spent most of the day walking the hotel, hoping to run into her, and at one point I’d called the front desk, asking to have them connect me to her room, but since I didn’t have her last name, they respectfully refused for security reasons. It wasn’t until I was passing the rose garden shortly after noon when I saw the ornate sign on a silver easel, declaring the Peretti-Hawthorne nuptials were to be held there at two PM. A quick Google search later confirmed that Peretti was, indeed, Olivia’s last name.

  The sun has begun to set, and a sign on the side of the road indicates a hotel is off the next exit.

  “You care if we stop for the night?” I break the silence. I don’t want to drive too much farther because at some point, we’re going to have to turn back.

  All she wanted after I dropped that bombshell on her earlier was to get out of there, so I took her away. But she’s going to have to go back and face him at some point.

  She called her mother’s cell phone from mine shortly after we sped off in my car, and she told her everything, chewing on her manicured thumbnail as she drew in deep breath after deep breath. By the time she hung up, she had some semblance of a relieved smile on her pretty lips, saying her parents gave her their full support and they were going to handle everything.

  Olivia glances my way and nods. “Yeah. That’s fine. You’ve been driving for hours. You must be exhausted.”

  I’m not half as exhausted as I imagine she is, but I nod. “I wouldn’t mind stopping for the night.”

  Neither one of us have a change of clothes, and she’s still in her pristine white wedding gown.

  “There’s a big box store up the road from here,” I say. “Saw a sign back there. We could grab a change of clothes?”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.” She sighs. “But I don’t have my wallet.”

  “Olivia.” I give her a cock-eyed look. “You’re covered. Don’t worry about anything, all right?”

  I pull off on the next exit and follow the signs to the nearest Target.

  “You want to stay in the car?” I ask. “If you tell me your sizes, I can—”

  She interrupts my offer by opening the passenger door.

  Guess there’s my answer.

  A moment later, I’m following her into the store, where she makes a beeline for the women’s clothes section. I head for the men’s aisles, stopping to grab a few toiletries when I’m done, and we meet twenty minutes later by the checkout lanes.

  The woman ringing us up gives us a standard greeting, scanning item after item while periodically staring at Olivia’s attention-grabbing attire, but not once does she ask a single question.

  By the time we get back in the car, I start the engine and glance up the road, searching for that hotel I’d seen on a road sign a few mi
les back … the Rain Drop Inn, I think it was called.

  “You doing okay?” I ask as I start the engine.

  She offers a surrendering chuckle and a single-shouldered shrug.

  “Dumb question. Sorry,” I say. “I just meant … if you need anything … if you want to talk about it or ...”

  I’m not good at this kind of thing. Give me a law textbook, something in black and white, and that’s my wheelhouse. But emotions are complicated. And feelings are personal. And while I have an inexplicable growing fondness for this woman, we’re still just a couple of strangers who know absolutely nothing about one another.

  She places her hand on mine. “Thank you. For everything. This hurts. This hurts like hell. But you saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life.”

  Pressing my lips flat, I give her a nod. I know it wasn’t my place, but I’d have given anything for someone to warn me back when I was marrying my ex. It would’ve saved me a world of hurt and humiliation, not to mention thousands of dollars, a handful of friendships, and an ugly divorce.

  “I know we’re strangers,” I say, “but in the short amount of time I spent with you last night, it was clear to me that you’re a kind person with a big heart. And you deserve better than someone like him.”

  We head to the hotel, which is a convenient half mile up the road, and I park outside the front doors. The parking lot is unusually full for a middle-of-nowhere place like this, but I don’t give it another thought. All we need are a couple of rooms and a good night’s rest. Tomorrow she’s got to go back and begin to pick up the pieces of her new reality.

  A moment later, we head inside and stop by a small front desk where an older woman with bright red reading glasses and a floral-print blazer lights when she sees us.

  “Well, hello! Welcome to the Rain Drop Inn!” she says, bright eyes blinking. “And what name might your reservations be under?”

  “We don’t have reservations,” I say, digging into my back pocket to retrieve my wallet. “I was hoping you might have a couple of rooms tonight.”

  Her jovial expression fades, replaced with confusion and a hint of concern before she begins tapping at the keys of her computer.

  “Well. Um. We’re a little full tonight. There’s a car show up the road at the VFW and since we’re the only hotel in town, our rooms filled up quickly.” Wrinkles cover her forehead as she leans closer to the monitor and then readjusts her glasses. “Oh! Here we go. We have one room left.” She glances up at us, gaze moving back and forth. “It’s our honeymoon suite. Would that be all right?”

  Olivia looks to me, shrugging. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

  “I can just take the couch,” I say. Most suites I know of have some kind of pull out sofa.

  “Actually, there is no couch in the room,” the woman says. Her name badge identifies her as Irene. “There’s a heart-shaped bed and a jacuzzi as well as a mini bar.”

  Olivia chokes on her spit.

  Life can be cruel sometimes, especially when it forces a sweet woman like Olivia to spend what would have been her wedding night in a room with a heart-shaped bed.

  “The nearest hotel is another eighty miles east of here,” Irene informs us.

  I place my credit card on the counter. “We’ll make it work.”

  “On your honeymoon?” Irene asks, one brow lifted as she enters my card information into the system.

  “Not exactly,” Olivia says.

  “Oh?” Irene’s gaze passes between us.

  I can tell she wants to pry, but I’m thankful when she doesn’t—for Olivia’s sake. No need to make her re-live some of the worst moments of her life all to quell the curiosities of a nosy stranger.

  Ten minutes later, Irene hands us two key cards and gives us our room number: 314. I carry our Target sacks and Olivia gathers her skirt in her hands, and we head upstairs.

  Sure enough, the room contains a heart-shaped bed and a jacuzzi in the corner. Two towels folded into swans rest at the foot of the bed, along with a scattering of artificial red rose petals.

  Olivia stares at the scene for a moment, lost in her own thoughts, and then she takes her bag and heads into the bathroom to change, not saying a single word.

  When she emerges a few minutes later, she’s wearing leggings and a soft pink sweater that hits just below her hips, and all traces of her wedding makeup are gone.

  She plops on the bed, grabbing the remote to the little TV across the room, and begins to flip through the channels aimlessly.

  I change next—navy sweats and a white v-neck t-shirt. When I come out, she’s perusing a handful of takeout menus she found by the room’s phone.

  “Pizza or Chinese?” she asks, her tone casual like it’s any other day.

  “Olivia.” I take a seat beside her on the edge of the bed.

  “What?” Her button nose crinkles.

  “What happened today was unfortunate,” I say. “And I'm sure you’re feeling numb. But you can’t act like it didn’t happen. You’re going to have to process it. And take it from me, it’s better to process it now than to stuff it down and pretend like it doesn’t bother you. The more you ignore it, the angrier it’ll make you. And eventually you’ll be forced to deal with it.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Phil.” She winks at me. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  I get the impression she does this a lot—handles things with humor because it’s easier than breaking down and showing your weakness. And I know from experience that showing your vulnerability is one of the hardest things a person can do.

  “When you asked me last night if I’d marry my ex if I could do it all over again,” I begin to say, “the reason I told you ‘no’ was because she betrayed me. In the worst way. And she’s a deplorable human being.”

  Olivia places her hand over mine.

  “Seeing him—your fiancé—cheating on you the night before your wedding … it brought up all those old feelings, and I wanted to protect you. I wanted to warn you because no one ever warned me. And believe me, I’d have much rather called off the wedding than lived through the nightmare of the year that followed.”

  A rhythmic pounding from the other side of the wall is followed by the moans of a woman mid-orgasm.

  Olivia snorts through her nose and we share a laugh.

  “I’m sorry you have to spend the night here,” I say.

  "Don’t be.” Her voice is sweet and her dark eyes study me. “I like being with you.” She lifts a hand. “And I don’t mean that in a crazy, clingy kind of way. I just mean … I like your energy. There’s something genuine and grounding about you. Like you know who you are and you know what you want and you know what you stand for and you don’t take anyone’s crap. I like that about you, Gabriel.”

  I refrain from allowing my attention to land on those rosy, pillow-soft lips of hers, but I let my mind wander, thinking of all the things I could do to her if we weren’t fresh off the heels of one of the shittiest days of her life.

  I’m not an opportunist.

  The couple on the other side of the paper-thin walls finish and Olivia fans herself. “I’m not a smoker, but I feel like I might need a cigarette after that.”

  God, I love her sense of humor.

  Any woman who can maintain that during one of the lowest moments of her life deserves all my respect. She’s a class act. Graceful despite her humble roots. And I bet she doesn’t even know it.

  I’d also be willing to bet she doesn’t even know how beautiful she is. And I’m not talking about her looks. Olivia can turn heads, no question. I’m talking to her inner beauty. The sweetness and softness that radiates off of her, drawing me to her like a magnet.

  “You hungry?” I ask, changing the subject because clearly she’s handling this a lot better than I assumed.

  She slaps a menu into my hand. “Starving.”

  Two hours later, we’re lying on our backs, bellies full of delivery pizza as we watch some Dateline special on the hotel TV.
r />   “Do you ever think about the timing of things?” she asks out of the blue when a commercial comes on.

  “What do you mean?”

  She rolls to her side, tucking her hand under her cheek as she faces me. The reflection of the flickering TV screen shines off her eyes.

  “I just think, like … what if I never would’ve met you?” she asks. “If I never would’ve went down to the hotel bar to have a drink, I never would’ve met you, and I’d be married to that lying asshole right now, none the wiser.”

  “Everything happens for a reason.” I’m not one for cliche sentiments, but this one fits now more than ever.

  “It’s the craziest thing,” she rolls to her back, hands clasped over her chest as she stares at the ceiling, “when you told me that he’d cheated on me … I wasn’t angry, Gabriel. I was relieved. Relieved not to have to marry him.”

  She looks to me again, gauging my reaction.

  “That isn’t crazy at all,” I tell her.

  “Why couldn’t I have met you all those years ago?” she asks, peering at me through long lashes. “Or at least someone like you … someone real, someone honest, someone who cares about doing the right thing.” Olivia exhales. “All those years. Wasted.”

  “Don’t look at it that way,” I say. “I’m sure you had some good times. They weren’t a total waste.”

  “Can I tell you something, Gabriel?” she asks, eyes still glued to the popcorn ceiling above us.

  “Of course.”

  “Last night I had a dream that I was walking down the aisle, only it wasn’t Dorian at the alter,” she says before turning to me. “It was you.” Before I can respond, she adds, “I’m not telling you that to freak you out. Honestly, I think it’s funny. Or ironic. Depending on how you look at it.”

  “That’s … interesting.”

  “You know how dreams are … they never mean anything. It’s like a mish-mash of all your anxieties with your hopes and random pieces of your day,” she explains away her confession, almost as if she’s embarrassed about sharing her little revelation.

  The show comes back on the TV, but I’ve already lost interest. The woman lying next to me is far more intriguing to me, far worthier of my attention than any weekend mystery special could ever be.