by Pamela Yaye
“How long will it take you to write the exam?”
“Four hours.”
“So you’ll be home by five o’clock?”
Marcel checked his watch. “No, probably around six. I have a follow-up interview with Biomedical Technologies Unlimited this afternoon, remember?”
“No, you never told me they called you back. Marcel, that’s great news!”
“With everything that’s going on right now, it must have slipped my mind. Do you want to meet at the Seoul Kitchen later?” he asked, suddenly anxious to see her. “I can be there by seven.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t I make dinner at your place? I’d do it here, but I need a break from all this wedding stuff. I’m not kidding, babe. My mom’s obsessed with finding the perfect cake, and she’s driving me up the wall in the process!”
Marcel chuckled. “Dinner sounds great, but you’ll have to buy groceries because I have nothing in the fridge but old sandwich meat and a block of cheese.”
“Spoken like a true bachelor.”
Marcel pictured Dominique at home, with her feet up, rubbing her stomach, and a smile lit the corners of his lips. Their son or daughter was going to be raised in a home filled with— “Hey, was the technician able to determine the sex of the baby?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Come on, don’t do this to me. I’ve wanted to know the gender of the baby since the day you told me you were pregnant!”
“I guess I could be persuaded to tell you if you bring home a tub of pineapple coconut Häagen-Dazs ice cream.”
“You have a deal, Ms. Benoit-to-be.” Marcel saw his instructor exit the elevators. It was time to wrap up his conversation and take his seat inside. “I have to go now, babe. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now go in there and ace that exam!”
Pleased with her handiwork, Dominique stepped back from the glass table and did one last check. It wasn’t every day that she prepared a celebratory dinner for her fiancé, and she wanted everything to be perfect. And it was. The royal-blue linens, polished silverware and elaborate centerpiece bowl gave the kitchen a festive look. One that was sure to impress Marcel.
Dominique checked on the casserole, then hurried into the laundry room. Marcel would be home in an hour, and she still hadn’t cleaned the bedroom. Watching Designer Fashions on the shopping channel as she sorted through the pile of laundry made the task fun. The baby kicked and squirmed in her stomach, drawing her attention away from her favorite show. “Are you hungry, sweetie?” Another swift jab to the ribs. “Okay, okay, I get the hint. We’ll have a snack as soon as I finish up in here.”
Humming along with the music playing on the TV, she opened the oak chest and hung Marcel’s dress shirts on an empty hook. Dominique scooped up a pile of jeans with one hand and reached for the bottom drawer with the other. It wouldn’t open, and when Dominique jiggled the handle, she heard a scraping sound. Something was stuck in the drawer. She didn’t have the energy to fix it, but when saw the remaining stacks of clothes on the bed, she realized she had no choice. It was either get the drawer open or hide the clean clothes under the bed.
Bracing her hands against the chest, she lowered herself to her knees. To make her job easier, Dominique took out the top drawers and rested them on the floor. Paper was trapped between the wheels. One good hard tug and the bottom drawer slid out. At the bottom of the armoire was a folded manila envelope. Dominique picked it up. Important Documents was written on the front. She turned it over in her hands, curious. Why would Marcel hide this here? Shouldn’t these documents be with all the others in his desk?
Dominique started to unfold the envelope, then stopped. How would you feel if Marcel dug around in your stuff? a voice asked her. She thought for a moment. Her life was an open book. Marcel knew all about her ex-boyfriends, about her troubled relationship with her mom and her debt. And she knew everything there was to know about him.
“There’s nothing in here that’s going to surprise me,” she reasoned, slipping the contents out of the file. “See, I was right. It’s nothing but copies of his passport, his health card and…”
Dominique lifted the black and white copy of his birth certificate up to her nose. The year listed should have been 1973, but it said 1979. Her eyebrows rose. That meant Marcel was thirty, not thirty-six. So, he was three years younger than her, not older. That little liar! I’m going to make him pay for this! she vowed, laughing to herself. Some men would go to any lengths to get the girl, and her fiancé was obviously no exception.
Dominique was about to return the documents to the envelope when a letter bearing the address of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services caught her eye. “‘Dear Mr. Benoit,’” she read, leaning against the foot of the bed. “‘Due to the incredibly high volume of applications at this time, we regret to inform you that your visa extension has been denied at this time. You will be expected to return to your home country of Mauritius by the expiration date of your current visa. If you have any further questions, please contact us at the toll-free number listed under our Washington address.’”
The letter shook in her hands. She read it again, searching for the date it had been sent. December 12. Dominique’s heart pounded with fear. One week later, he whisked me away to Marco Island. The night Marcel had proposed was buried deep in her mind, and as the words of his speech rose in her thoughts, tears filled her eyes—this time for a different reason. Hurt consumed her. Marcel was facing deportation, so he’d done what any good-for-nothing jerk would do: he’d popped the question.
Breathing deeply through her nose didn’t help calm her. Resting her hands on her stomach, she fought a powerful surge of tears. The truth roared in her ears. Marcel had used her. Marrying an American citizen would secure his stay. He wouldn’t have to leave the country or remain in Seattle illegally. That was why he’d been so anxious to get married. It had nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with his shaky immigration status.
Her stomach rumbled, but she didn’t move. She’d just found out that her fiancé—the man she was set to marry in three weeks’ time—was a fraud. A con. Marcel didn’t love her, and he damn sure didn’t love the baby. Dominique hung her head. Her life was a disaster, and she only had herself to blame. That was what she got for making rash decisions. Her trouble was that she didn’t always think things through, and more often than not she acted on impulse—like the night she’d accepted Marcel’s fraudulent proposal. Tears came, and when she thought about all the plans her mother had made for their Valentine’s Day wedding, she broke into sobs.
Outside of the apartment, Marcel juggled a flower bouquet, grocery bags and an employment package from Biomedical Technologies Unlimited. Marcel couldn’t wait to tell Dominique about the job offer, but when he unlocked the front door, his excitement fizzled. A column of smoke billowed up from the stove, and the scent of charred onions burned his eyes. Moving swiftly, he turned off the outlets, dumped the pots into the sink and yanked open the balcony door. Cold air drifted inside the acrid-smelling kitchen.
Marcel listened for a moment. The house was dark, and the only sound he heard was the quiet whirl of the clothes dryer. Where was Dominique? His heart thundered in his chest as he tore down the hall, calling his fiancée’s name. “Honey, where are you?”
The lights flickered, then the room was blindingly bright. Dominique opened her eyes. How long had she been sitting in the dark? Blinded by tears, she groped for the dresser and pulled herself up. Marcel stood in the doorway, watching her. Hate bubbled in her veins, and for a moment she imagined inflicting bodily harm on him.
“I can’t believe you’re in here watching the shopping channel while the steaks are burning on the stove! Is everything okay? You could’ve burned the house down.”
They stood in silence, staring coolly at each other.
“I want an explanation, and I want it now,” he demanded.
“That makes two of us.” With difficulty, she be
nt down and scooped up the manila folder. “I found this in your bottom drawer.”
Marcel’s gaze slid down to the envelope, then back up to her face. “I know what it—”
“You know what I think? I think you’re a lying bastard who lied about his age, his status and only God knows what else.”
“I knew you liked older men, so I added a few years to my age. Honey, I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I just wanted you to give me a chance. I bet one day you’ll look back on it and have a good laugh…” He broke off when she glowered at him. “I’ll never lie to you about anything again. I promise. From here on out, I’ll be completely truthful.”
“It’s too late. We’re done.”
Marcel stopped laughing. “You’re breaking up with me because I lied about being a couple years older than you?”
“No, I’m breaking things off because you’ve been using me!”
His shoulders sagged. “Oh, Dominique…”
“That’s right, Marcel. I know all about your little immigration problem.” Dominique crumpled the letter and hurled it at him. “I thought you were so anxious to get married because you loved me, but you’re nothing but an opportunist. That’s why you’ve been engaged a dozen times. You’ll propose to anyone if it means getting your green card.”
“I’ve only been engaged twice.”
“Third time’s the charm then, huh?” Dominique crossed her arms. “For all I know you could have a wife and kids back home in Mauritius, or a string of fiancées right here in Seattle.”
“Baby, listen to yourself. You don’t believe any of the things you’re saying and neither do I. You’re upset, and rightly so, but once I explain the situation to you—”
“You have five minutes and not a second more.”
Marcel went over to the bed, sat down and gestured to the space beside him. Dominique looked away. “If you hadn’t gotten pregnant when you did, I probably would have waited until our one-year anniversary to propose. You captured my heart the moment I laid eyes on you, and I knew I wanted to marry you. I’ve dated a lot of girls, but no one comes close to you. You’re my star, my treasure, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And the fact that you’re carrying my child makes me love you even more.”
“What a moving speech,” she quipped, dabbing at imaginary tears.
“Dammit, Dominique. Why are you making things so difficult? Why is everything I say a joke to you? I never told you about my immigration status because it didn’t matter. I was never going to ask you or anyone else to sponsor me. I plan to make it in this country on my own—”
“Great, because the wedding is off!”
He surged to his feet, and caught her arm. “I’m not letting you go, Dominique.”
“Just watch me,” she raged, breaking free. “Stay away from me.”
“Please, don’t do this. Think about the baby, the wedding and all the plans we made.” He reached for her, but pulled back when she stepped away. “Biomedical Technologies Unlimited offered me the manager of engineering position at the conclusion of my interview. Do you know what that means for us? What this means for our future?”
“Our future was founded upon lies, and I don’t want any part of it.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.” Dominique refused to acknowledge the anguish in his voice or the wounded expression on his face. Her inner voice told her to stay, to work things out, but she refused. “I don’t want anything to do with you, so leave me the hell alone.”
Marcel put his hands against the wall, fencing her in. “I’ll give you all the time and space you need, but I’m not giving up on us.” His tone changed. Grew darker, resolute. “I won’t lose you, Dominique. We belong together, and I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen. You’re the best part of me. I have faith in you…in us. We’ll get through this, I swear.”
Determined to end this farce of a relationship, she stood her ground. “Get out of my way, Marcel. There’s somewhere else I need to be.” When he moved aside, she stalked out of the bedroom.
Dominique heard Marcel behind her, felt his eyes following her as she hurried into the kitchen to retrieve her purse. Without breaking her stride, she collected her things. Seeing the charred pots made Dominique realize the evening had been ruined in more ways than one, but as she slammed the front door behind her, her only regret was that she’d left the tub of Häagen-Dazs ice cream in the freezer.
Chapter 25
“What do you mean the wedding is off?” Mrs. King’s shrill voice shot through the earpiece, practically deafening Dominique. “The wedding can’t be off. I’ve been working like mad the past few weeks trying to get everything done on the checklist. Do you have any idea how much money I’ve spent on flowers, decorations and party favors for all eighty-five guests?”
“I know,” she conceded, slipping out from behind the wheel of her car. “That’s why I’m going to handle everything myself. I left the office early so I can go to the bridal boutique to cancel the dresses, and then I’m off to meet with the owner of the hotel.”
The silence lasted uncomfortably long. When her mother finally spoke, her tone was low, shaky, akin to a ninety-year-old woman on her deathbed. “I don’t understand any of this. Three days ago you and Marcel were deliriously in love, and now you’re telling me it’s over. What’s happened in the past seventy-two hours?”
He betrayed my trust, that’s what happened. Since walking out on Marcel, Dominique had been trying to find a way to tell her mom about their breakup. There wasn’t going to be a wedding at First Baptist Church on Valentine’s Day, and the longer she waited to tell her mom, the harder it was going to be. So that morning, she’d left a message on her mother’s answering machine and hoped for the best.
“Dominique, I think I know what’s going on, and I don’t want you to worry because it happens to every bride. Men aren’t the only ones who get cold feet you know.” Mrs. King gave a spurt of laughter. “Honey, marrying Marcel is the right thing to do. I know I wasn’t exactly supportive when you first told me about the baby, but I’m on board now. Marcel is going to make an exceptional father and husband. You have nothing to fear.”
“Mom, I don’t have cold feet, and I don’t have a case of the jitters either. Marcel and I are through, and the sooner you come to terms with it, the better.” Dominique hated being harsh, but her mother just wasn’t getting it. “I’m not doing this to hurt you. I made this decision on my own, and I’m not going to change my mind.” More silence.
“I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to say. You and Marcel are so in love, and he’s so excited about the baby. This is so sudden. It reminds me of a story I saw on one of those trashy talk shows yesterday. A woman discovered her fiancé was sleeping with— Oh, my God, you caught Marcel in bed with your best friend!”
“Remind me to disconnect your cable the next time I’m over there,” Dominique quipped dryly. “You’re watching way too much TV.”
“The only reason a woman would call off her wedding is if she learned a secret about her fiancé. Is Marcel already married? Does he have another woman on the side? Is he an ex-con?”
“Of course not, Mom. Now you’re just being silly.” A short walk through the parking lot and Dominique was at the entrance of Olympia plaza. “I have to go. I just arrived at the boutique, but I’ll give you a call once everything’s sorted out.”
“Dominique Rosemarie King, I’m not getting off this phone until you tell me what the hell is going on! I want some answers, and I want them now.”
“Mom, it’s a personal matter, and I’m not going to discuss it with you.”
“Since you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll just have to come down to the bank tomorrow.” He tone brightened. “I have a feeling you’ll be more talkative then—that is, if you don’t want me to cause a scene.”
The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Great, she thought, switching off her cell phone. Now I’ve made an enemy out of my mother.
&
nbsp; “Welcome to Designer Gowns Bridal. How may I help you?” asked the slim saleswoman.
“My name is Dominique, and I phoned earlier about canceling my order.”
The woman nodded, went over to the rack next to the fitting-room door and unzipped one of the clear plastic bags. “It was headed down to the alterations department when you called this morning, and I was able to hold it back.” Her eyes lit up as she held up the off-white, empire-waist dress. “This design is very popular among our expectant brides. And since you’re carrying your baby so low, you’d hardly even look pregnant in your wedding photographs. I don’t know if you care about that sort of thing, but that’s always the number one concern of brides. Not wanting to look like a balloon and all.”
Dominique reached out and ran a hand over the lace bodice. Am I making the right decision? Am I sure this is what I want? Remembering the morning of her last fitting made her smile. It was the first time since her father died that her mom and sisters had laughed and joked around together. Later, over lunch, her mother had admitted to feeling happier than she’d been in months.
“Would you like to try on the gown again? That might help make your decision a bit easier,” the woman said. “Follow me to the back, and I’ll help you get the dress on.”
A bitter winter wind gushed into the boutique.
“I’m glad I caught you,” Taryn panted, rushing inside. “Mom just called me in a fit of hysterics. The wedding’s off? Since when? Why?”
“It sounds like you need a minute.” The saleswoman stepped aside. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Can we discuss this later? As you can see, I’m in the middle of something.”
Taryn glanced around, then grabbed her sister’s arm, led her over to the couch and ordered her to sit down. “We’re not leaving here until you tell me what happened. I called Marcel after I got off the phone with Mom, but he didn’t answer his cell.”
Dominique stared out the front window. A silver-haired couple strolled past, their arms locked securely around each other. She absently ran her thumb over the diamond. Do Marcel and I have what it takes to go all the way? To make it through the best and worst of times?