by Lois Richer
Melanie could almost feel the heavy silk caress her skin as she studied the tiny row of buttons up the back and the beautiful full train that trailed behind.
“Her hair’s wrong,” she murmured, imagining a soft upsweep that would emphasize the tiny Juliet cap with its delicate pearls and fluff of netting.
“Yes, you’re right,” a voice whispered in her ear. “This is definitely your style. I can see you coming down the aisle carrying palest peach roses.”
Melanie came awake with a jerk as Mitch’s mouth nibbled on the corner of hers.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, startled and embarrassed. “I thought you had an important engagement.”
“I did.” Mitch grinned his lazy well-fed-cat smile, his fingers wrapping around one tendril of her hair. “And then I came back to you. Miss me?” His eyes sparkled like blue diamonds in the sun.
“Of course not,” Melanie muttered, shutting the magazine with a thud. “I’m just going out for a walk.”
“Wonderful idea,” he agreed. “A little exercise with my bride-to-be. Just what I need.”
She smiled, remembering his last venture in walking.
“It’s everybody at their own risk,” she warned, bending to tie her shoes. “I’ve got a very stressful week to prepare for.”
To her dismay, Mitch beamed with delight.
“Perfect! I can hardly wait.”
Melanie deliberately started out at a far faster pace than was good for her, hoping he’d drop out and leave her alone. To her amazement, Mitch kept up, jogging, even talking to her as they went. And all without a sign of breathlessness when she could hardly draw in a lungful of air for the pain in her chest.
She asked Sara about it later.
“How’s it going with you and Mitch?” Melanie asked tentatively with just the right note of compassion. “Any problems?”
“Problems? With Mitchel?” Sara had repeated. “No, since you left he’s been a model host. He’s up before dawn to jog for forty-five minutes, has his shower, eats his Wheaties and then he’s off, whistling, for work!”
“Wheaties?” Melanie stared at the phone. “Mitch only eats doughnuts for breakfast.” And lunch and dinner, she repeated to herself. “And he hates jogging.”
“Not anymore, Melanie. He says he’s turned over a new leaf, and I believe it. The kids don’t get their usual junk food treats from him anymore, you know. Now he brings home apples and grapes and popcorn. Popcorn,” she repeated with amazement.
“Well, I, for one, don’t believe it,” Melanie murmured. “What’s wrong with him, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Sara told her seriously. “All he’s saying is that I’ll know when he makes the big announcement.”
“What announcement?”
“Beats me, Mel, but I can tell you there’s a lot of fishy stuff going on here.” Sara’s voice grew faint as she called to her children. “Yesterday, for example. Just as I was leaving, a little old lady showed up here. Said she had an important meeting with Mitch. It was weird, I can tell you.”
“At least that explains this afternoon.” She quickly described her jogging and Mitch’s unexpected ability to keep up. “He’s up to something,” Melanie asserted. “I can feel it.”
“Well, whatever it is,” Sara said, “I like it.” She went on to tell Melanie about her husband’s imminent return from his peacekeeping duties overseas. “The kids and I will be so glad once we move in to our own place. Not that we don’t feel welcome here, but after all, it isn’t home.”
That night as she lay in bed, Melanie dared to ask God once more for direction.
“I love him, Lord. But I’m just not sure that he loves me. At least not enough to spend the rest of our lives together. Please, could You help me with this? Send me some little sign?”
It was rather providential that a dozen red roses arrived the next morning at work, addressed to her. Tucked inside was a card. Marry Me! it ordered in bold print, underlined for effect.
“That’s not exactly the kind of sign I meant,” she said. Melanie stuffed the card into her purse and refused to answer the questions with which her staff bombarded her. Mrs. Rivers strolled past her office in the afternoon and, sighting the roses, buried her face in their fragrant petals.
“Oh, Melanie, I knew Mitch was your true love,” the old woman told her softly. “I just knew the two of you were meant to be together. God let me see it so clearly.”
Melanie stared. With vivid accuracy, she remembered the day she’d met Mitch, when Mrs. Rivers had said those exact words. She tried to laugh it off.
“Oh, Nettie, I don’t think he’s my true anything.”
The old face crinkled with dismay. “But he loves you, dear. Very much.” Nettie nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
Melanie excused the old woman’s silliness. After all, she suffered from dementia. Nettie Rivers could afford to indulge in fairy tales, Melanie thought. She needed to focus on the duties of the day.
The next afternoon, right after lunch, Melanie returned to her office to find someone had delivered chocolates, a monstrous box of the expensive Belgian kind she especially adored and seldom bought. The card inside was identical to the one that had come with the flowers. Marry me, the card insisted. She filed it away in her purse with the first.
Melanie hated to do it, but she didn’t want any reminders of him around to poke and probe at her conscience, so she passed the delicacies around to her staff, watching sadly as, one by one, the delicious tidbits were eaten.
Mitch showed up for an afternoon coffee break that day, full of bouncing good humor. Melanie found herself envying his sparkling eyes and obvious good health. She hadn’t slept at all well for days.
“Anything interesting going on?” he asked cheerfully, flopping down in the chair next to hers after he’d brushed her cheek with his lips.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that in public,” she told him angrily. “Now the entire staff will be talking about us.”
“They will anyway, once our engagement becomes public.” He grinned affably.
“For once and for all, we are not engaged. You’ve mixed yourself up with your grandfather.”
He ignored her cranky words and pulled two huge red apples from his pocket.
“Here, eat this,” he ordered her smoothly. “Your blood sugar must be slipping. Did you eat a proper breakfast?”
“Oh, that’s rich.” Melanie glared at him. “The king of junk food asking me about my eating habits!”
Mitch sipped his black unsweetened coffee without reacting to her gibe. He bit into his apple with those sharp, even teeth, blue eyes twinkling.
“Maybe your problem is too much sugar in that coffee,” he offered kindly. “Why don’t you switch to juice?”
“Ooh! Why don’t you go jump in the lake?” Melanie advised crankily. “And stop sending me things,” she ordered. “You can’t make me marry you.” She stomped from the room. To her dismay he followed her into her office.
“I’m not trying to make you do anything,” Mitch murmured, his hands closing around her shoulders. “And we will be married, as soon as you come to your senses.”
She had a number of things to reply to that, but her mouth never got to say them because suddenly he was kissing her and she had wanted that for so long, she couldn’t help wrapping her arms around his neck and enjoying every moment of it.
“I knew I was right!”
Melanie heard the words through a fog and turned to see Nettie Rivers standing in the doorway, her faded eyes bright.
“What do you mean?” Melanie unwrapped her arms and moved away from Mitch.
“My dear, you’re only fooling yourself. You and Mitchel are meant to be together.” She turned slowly and moved through the door. “I must go tell…” Melanie didn’t hear the remainder.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she said to a grinning Mitch. “She’ll tell the whole world that you were in here kissing me, and everyone will be staring at me!”
>
She could have screamed when he smiled before using a tissue to wipe a smear of pale pink lipstick from his mouth.
“I think the kissing was mutual.” He snorted in amusement. “And as wonderful as that was, I did come here for a purpose.” He straightened his tie and flicked back the errant lock of hair that seemed perpetually out of place. “I wanted to ask if you’d come to my place tonight.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked. “I’m up to my ears with this wedding tomorrow. I’m certainly not going to open myself up to any more of your silly tricks.”
“Okay.” He shrugged agreeably. “I’ll just have it delivered to you and come to your place.” And with a grin and a wave he was gone.
“Of all the rude, pushy, overbearing…”
“I like rude and overbearing men.” Bridget giggled from the doorway. “Especially if they’re also tall, dark and handsome.” She eyed the flush on Melanie’s cheeks and the agitated motion of her hands. “Give in, my dear, and admit you’re head over heels in love with the guy.”
“I am not,” Melanie muttered, snatching the schedules from Bridget’s hand. When the older woman simply smiled, Melanie glared. “Don’t you have anything to do?”
Bridget shrugged.
“Grumpy and out of sorts. Refuses to admit the truth. Yep, you’re in deep, Melanie, my girl.” And whistling “Here Comes the Bride,” she strolled out of the office.
That afternoon a package arrived for the Director of Care, Sunset Nursing Home. Melanie eyed it warily, suspecting Mitch of some trickery. But the plain, brown-wrapped package looked innocent enough, so she signed for it and tore away the paper. Three CDs were nestled inside the box, all of them wedding music.
Melanie stuffed the items into her purse before anyone saw. The enclosed card with its peremptory edict she filed with the others. The day dragged after that, and Melanie found herself scurrying home, wondering what he was up to.
By seven-thirty it looked as if there might be some respite. She checked through her list three times, organized the bows, bells and other fripperies and generally piddled around until the doorbell rang. It was a delivery man. Or rather, a delivery boy.
“Hi,” the young voice greeted her. “I’m to deliver this into your hands.” The youngster thrust a large, plain white box into her hands before loping off down the street. Melanie pushed the door closed with her foot as she tried to peer into the box. The thing was huge and weighed a ton, but the box was securely fastened, and she had to set it down on the dining room table before she could free the sides.
She gaped at the contents.
“Oh, my, now he’s really done it,” she muttered.
A square one-layer wedding cake sat nestled inside covered with a thick white frosting. Misty green tulle curled in soft gathers around the bottom. The cake had a trellis pattern on the sides. On top a tiny bride and groom stood below an arch with the tiny scripted gold letters PJPB on it. Across the top in pale green script were inscribed the words “Melanie and Mitchel.”
She let him have it when he came through the door.
“Are you crazy?” she squealed. “You’re going around planning a wedding and you don’t have a bride! This wedding cake must have cost a fortune. It’s custom-made, you know, and they’re not cheap.” When he kept on smiling, she tried reasoning. “You’re going to be very embarrassed when you end up standing at the altar all by yourself.”
Mitch studied her seriously while Melanie wondered about the odds in a marriage where only one half of the couple, the bride, for example, was in love. But, in the end, she refused to dwell on it. She prepared to do battle instead.
“I do have somebody to marry,” he told her seriously. “And I don’t want anybody but you.” He looked at the cake. “They’ve obviously mixed up the orders. I’ll call them first thing tomorrow morning. Hope’s cake is much more elaborate than this.” He picked up on her sigh of relief.
“Don’t get any notions about trying to keep this a secret, Melanie,” he told her sternly. “I’ve already asked your administrator if you can have two weeks off after the wedding.” He added the kicker with a smirk. “I also told her the reason why.”
Melanie studied him with a thoughtful frown. What reason? she wondered curiously. Had she missed something here? Why was everything spinning so wildly out of control?
“Are you going in for a lobotomy?” she demanded irately. Honestly, if the office people at Sunset knew about this wedding, then not only Sunset but the whole town would soon know. “What reason?” she asked, dazed.
“Our honeymoon, of course,” he announced, obviously pleased with himself.
Melanie desperately wished she could have slapped that grin off his smug face. But there didn’t seem to be much point. The whole world had apparently been informed of their blissful status. Sighing loudly, she rested her head on her folded arms atop the table, wondering if he would let her sleep through it all. Maybe she would wake up to find it had all been a dream, a very bad dream.
Instead, Mitch tugged her into his arms. He flashed his brilliant smile at her. Perhaps it could work, she considered. Perhaps, one day, Mitch would come to love her.
But then reality intervened and she remembered the PJPB on the cake. He was still thinking about that money! She floated to earth with a thud, to an engagement that wasn’t and a wedding that would never be.
“By the way,” she asked, “where is this grand occasion supposed to take place? You’ve done all this planning, and I’m certain you have not forgotten that tiny detail.” Her tone was only half joking.
“Uh, actually, I don’t have it all arranged yet,” he told her, clearing his throat. “Once I get the order in to the florist, I’ll look after the place and the time.”
Melanie knew he would not tell her until he was ready, so she gave up, wisely deciding to focus her attention elsewhere.
“What kind of flowers are you ordering?” When he stared, Melanie flushed. “Not that I care, since I will not be there. I was just curious.”
“I know.” The big oaf was grinning like a fool. “And you do know what happens to cats that are curious?”
“Yeah,” she replied pertly. “They die.” She shook the curls off her face and smirked. “They don’t get married.”
His lip turned down. “That’s not nice, Melanie. I’m doing this all for you.”
“Then stop.” Melanie whooshed out a puff of air in exasperation. “I am not marrying you for money. I’m not even getting married. Period.”
Nothing disconcerted Mitch. He sat down with his gargantuan list and began studying brochures. Although she asked questions constantly, Melanie got very little satisfaction from his vague answers.
She knew he was planning a reception, but she didn’t know where. She knew he had planned on a honeymoon, but Mitch wouldn’t say where they were going. She knew he had chosen someone to give her away, but he refused to tell her who. And on and on.
“Why don’t you just plan everything? I’ll just show up when you tell me to,” she muttered in frustration.
“Exactly what I’m doing,” he told her smugly.
Despair filled her as Melanie realized she had fallen into his fantasy trip. She jumped up from the table in frustration, wishing bleakly that her topsy-turvy world would right itself.
“I am not, not, not marrying you.”
Mitchel Stewart barely glanced up from the funeral wreath he was studying with interest. Melanie shuddered at the glistening black roses entwined with baby’s breath. She could only hope he wouldn’t go for that! Nobody deserved black roses. Not even for this peculiar marriage.
“I think you’re protesting too much.” He leered. “I think you like me a lot, too.”
“Mitchel Stewart,” she snarled. “Sometimes I don’t like you at all.”
Ignoring his smug grin, she turned away. It was only with the firmest resolve that Melanie got herself away from that room and into Charity’s office. He was going to have a rude awakening, she told h
erself. And it would be all his own fault because he didn’t or wouldn’t understand that she had absolutely no intention of marrying him.
Half an hour later his knuckles rapped on the door just before his head peered round the corner.
“I’m starving.” He grinned. “Want to go out for supper?”
Melanie shrugged. Why not? It would be nice to get out of the house and away from all these stupid wedding plans, she decided. Besides, there were a few things that needed to be discussed about the real wedding tomorrow.
“Okay. Where?”
“Why don’t we go out for dinner and dancing,” he asked her softly. His blue eyes shone in the dimmed light. “We’ll celebrate.” With a wink, he disappeared, leaving her to stare after his retreating figure.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she muttered. “You can buy me dinner and dance with me, but that’s all that is going to happen here. I’m not getting involved any deeper in this hallucination of yours. Just keep a level head, my girl,” she told herself over and over. “And watch out for those lips.”
She needed this break, Melanie told herself later, studying her new aqua outfit. An evening of fun dressed to the nines was just the thing to take her mind off that elaborate overdone wedding cake sitting on her mother’s dining room table.
Mitch whistled when he saw her, his eyes moving from the tousled curls on top of her head to the slim, straight lines of her dinner dress.
“You look very, er, nice,” he stammered, his eyes slipping over the shimmery silk as it hugged every curve.
“Thank you.” Melanie giggled, enjoying the rise of red in his face. “What kind of dancing do you like?”
“Close ones!” His comeback was quick, and he drew her into his arms. “Ones where I can hold my partner and do this.” He brushed his mouth over her cheek, stopping just short of kissing her.
Melanie moved back slowly. She wanted to remember tonight, savor it for all the dull, lifeless future days without him. Tonight would be the last time she had anything to do with him, she decided. She was determined to put an end to this foolish dream of his if she had to camp out at the nursing home to do it. The whole thing had already gone far enough.