“You think this is funny?” Jess swiped blood from his cheek.
“No. I think it’s pathetic how men seemed to think they can treat women any way they wish. My father treated my mother like she was shuma-vini, the scum you skim off chicken broth, like the shit he scraped off his shoes when he returned from one of his “outings.” You think nothing of the hearts you break or destroy with your narcissistic ways with your little boy notions, with your pricks and your promises. You mean nothing to me. You are the trash I need to take to the curb. Nothing more.”
Jess clapped his hands. “Well said. Well said. Now if you’re through with your little bitchfit, I’ll personally take your bags to the car.”
“You really think I am leaving here with you and sweetie-puss alive?”
“Simone, please, baby, don’t be a pain in the ass. You made your point. Now go. We’ll catch up another time when were both not so…angry.”
“What do you have to be angry about? Did I shit on you? Or did I save your ass by getting you out of the country? For what? So you could cozy up to this undeserving twat? She doesn’t want you! Look at her? She’s trying to figure out how to get the fuck away from you! Just like your mother did!”
“What do you know about my mother?”
“I know she must’ve been a whore. Look at you, all fucked up in the head.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh?” she pouted, “Did I hit a nerve?”
“Shut up, Simone. I’m warning you.”
“You talk in your sleep, did you know that? ‘No, Mommy, don’t!’ Who’s Harry? The bitch’s john?”
“Shut up!” Jess lunged at Simone.
>Bam<
Jess’s eyes grew large.
Grace faded back in time. A menagerie of images swam behind her lids. Garret, Candy, red and blue lights, flashing in her driveway. Sirens. Loud. Clear. Blaring in her ears. Her eyes glued shut. Paralyzed. Colors swirling in her brain. People pounding on the door. Familiar voices shouting. Come on in. Join the party. Shouting. Louder. Spider? Another >bam<. Floating in the air. Bouncing on the clouds. Back to earth. A fallen angel. Fallen from grace.
* * *
When she awoke, Grace startled. Her surroundings seemed foreign. Frightened, she reached out, finding Paul’s hand. “Where am I?”
“UC Davis. You’re fine. The drugs have been diluted in your system.”
“What happened? How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you remember being in a bar last evening?”
Grace’s features relaxed. “I was mad at you.”
“Do you remember a dark-haired man?”
“Yes, my client was there. I told him he couldn’t sit with me.”
“Honey, that man wasn’t your client. That man was Jess Bartell.”
“What? No, that’s impossible! I’d know Jess anywhere!”
“He had a make-over in Buenos Aires: chin, nose, forehead, hairline, even his hands were altered. You had no way of knowing.”
Grace shook her head. “But I—”
“Sweetheart, I wanted to tell you how dangerous he was a million times. I didn’t want to scare you or tip him off that we were tracking him. He’s one bad dude.”
“Is?”
“He’s not dead. The woman shot him. Ironically, we showed up right as it happened. When she wouldn’t drop her weapon, Spider shot her. They’re both hanging by a thread in a lock-down facility.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll forgive me, chér. Say you’ll take me back. Say you still love me and want to be my wife.”
She warmed, melting into his arms. “Yes, yes, and yes.” Her arms circled his waist. His heart beat against her cheek. She closed her eyes, letting their energy mingle, healing the pain. Deep inside, she knew they would have this, the misunderstandings, misgivings, and moments when their worlds would collide. But she also knew she could count on resolution. Despite her apprehension about him withholding the truth about his relationship with Jess, Grace felt his love in her soul. “There’s no need to lie to me or hide anything anymore. If we are going to be partners in life, you have to trust me too.”
CHAPTER 23
HAPPY ENDING
T he sun kissed the horizon. A slight breeze plastered the short veil against the tiny satin buttons trailing down her back. She placed her hands on the railing overlooking the gardens below and sighed. In one hour, I will be Mrs. Paul Fortier. A crowd gathered near the gazebo dripping in white, tea roses, peonies, and hydrangeas. A tinkling of voices sweetened the air, but the voice she longed to hear was missing.
“Grace Lynn?”
“Mom!” Grace lifted her skirt, revealing satin kitten-heeled, peep-toe pumps.
“You look stunning!” Fran turned away to dab her tears before they fell.
“Mom, you okay?”
“Don’t want to spoil my make-up, that’s all.”
“Aw, Mom.” Grace stepped forward and took her mother’s hand. “You look beautiful. Fuchsia is a great color on you.” Grace had chosen black for her maid of honor, but Fran wouldn’t comply. After all, she was the mother of the bride.
“Well, I figured a little color would’ve offset white.” Fran had baulked at Grace’s dress choice. She said the ivory, sweetheart neckline was too revealing, the band of seed-pearl appliqués cinching her small waist from below the bust to the top of her hips too wide; the soft ruffle cascading down one side and the sweep train in chiffon charmeuse too simple. If it were up to Fran, Grace would have worn a pure-white, sequined and rhinestone ball gown with fifty petticoats and a chapel train. As much as Grace tried to appease Fran’s desires, Grace felt she’d rather not rival the wedding cake.
“Has Sal showed up yet?” How Grace missed her. Her honesty, selflessness, understanding, and knowing.
“I didn’t see her,” Fran snipped. “Are you sure she’s coming?”
“She said if she had to come from the grave, she’d be here.”
Fran checked her jeweled watch. “Well, she’s late. It’s almost time.”
“Okay, you go ahead.” Grace indulged herself with one last sweep of the grounds, checking around the corner where cars were still pulling up. When she didn’t see John’s car, her spirits dulled. Sal hadn’t returned her calls in the past week. John said she was hanging in there, but what exactly did that mean? Sal’s chemo treatments had ended weeks ago. If she were in remission, wouldn’t she have known by now? Grace gnawed on her bottom lip.
A light tap on the door drew her back inside the room. Her heart thrummed. “Yes?”
Beyond the door, a man’s voice announced, “It’s time, Miss Simms.”
“Thank you!” Grace called out, tickled at being called “Miss Simms” one last time. Checking her image in the full-length mirror, she said hello to Mrs. Paul Fortier. Her heart filled with joy. This is it.
At the bottom of the stairs, her escort, Dr. Meltz, greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Gracie, you look like a million bucks.”
“Thanks. You look pretty dapper yourself.”
“I’m a happy man,” he said, waving to his daughter Willa— Grace’s half-sister—Willa’s husband Spencer, baby Lulu, and their other two children. When they waved back, he blew kisses.
“Promise me you’ll be grandpa to my children, too.” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
Grace steadied herself at the edge of the isle runner. Two words scrolled across the stiff fabric sealed her fate, “Always & Forever.” When the music began, she stepped into her future, where the man of her dreams awaited—a kind and generous man, a man who would love her always—body, mind, and soul. She wanted to run into his arms and not waste another second without him. Savor the moment. Smile. All of these people have come to share this special day.
She scanned both sides of the lawn for Sal, her disappointment squelched by the time she reached her destina
tion. Her heart leapt with excitement, her mouth did an upward turn, a natural phenomenon she had come to accept being in Paul’s presence.
The couple stood at the altar, etched in the setting sun’s ethereal glow, stating their vows light, simple, and true.
“I Paul, embrace you, Grace, as my lawfully wedded wife. I vow to share all that I am and become and to honor all that you are and become on our journey together as one with trust, understanding, passion, and my undying love.
“I Grace, embrace you, Paul, as my lawfully wedded husband. I vow to trust you with all that I am and become and to honor all that you are and become as we journey as one. My love for you will be an eternal flame I hold in my heart and soul, ever bright, everlasting. My passion for you will burn in my soul until death do us part.”
Paul and Grace looked deeply into each other’s eyes as they exchanged rings. When the minister asked if anyone objected to the joining of these two hands, one voice rose above the din. “It’s about damn time!”
Grace and Paul turned simultaneously. A woman, wearing a curly blond wig and a black Chanel evening dress, sat in a wheelchair off to the side. John and their five boys, Sam, Oakland, Justice, Mack, and Buns, sat behind her rolling their eyes. “Sal?” Grace’s mouth stretched into the biggest grin. “Is it okay if we kiss now?”
“Hurry up. I’m next!” Sal winked at Paul, and he blushed.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister proclaimed.
A pair of doves soared into the air.
EPILOGUE
G race waddled into the kitchen. “Oh, boy,” she said rubbing her belly. The baby had dropped that morning. Paul hadn’t returned from the emergency call he took the night before. A neighbor’s horses had stampeded through some barbed wire.
Sneaky lay in her bed, nursing four pups. Grace eased herself to the floor beside the activity and suckling noises. “I don’t know how you do it, girl, I can’t imagine keeping up with one!” Sneaky rested her snout on Grace’s knee with an exhausted sigh.
Outside, the wind howled. A spring storm snuck down from the north, bringing cold air to the bay. Grace shivered. She closed her eyes and petted Sneaky’s soft fur. Relax. Suddenly she heard a noise. Her eyes flashed open. She saw a figure move out of the corner of her eye, and she blinked. The figure moved closer. Her heart pounded in her chest. The hooded figure hovered over her. “Grace?”
Just then, her water broke.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she said. “Your timing is perfect.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A side from writing romantic suspense novels featuring Psychotherapist Grace Simms, The RED CHAIR, The GREY DOOR, and The BLACK DRESS, Dänna Wilberg is an award-winning short film maker. For fifteen years, she produced and hosted two local TV programs in Sacramento, California, Paranormal Connection and Story Connection. and has been published in several anthologies, including one in London.
Dänna is inspired by family, friends, and karaoke. Look for her upcoming paranormal suspense series Borrowed Time, featuring intuitive Suzanne Cash.
Visit Dänna at dannawilberg.com.
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