The Tattered Bride

by Peri Elizabeth Scott

  Standing, she set a hand at her waist and leaned back over it. Her spine cracked and muscles stretched. She really wasn’t tired after all. In fact, she was strung pretty tight, her brain racing to avoid thinking about Logan. “I’ll polish it, and I want to go through our contacts until I find the right model. And someone who’ll do the costumes.”

  “You’re going to crash here, in case someone could be at your home—”

  “Nope. I was supposed to go to my sister’s last night.” She didn’t say it was for an intervention, happy to have cut Jon off before he said the name that would never again be mentioned. “I canceled because we were rolling on this, so I’ll head there for breakfast. They eat early because of the kids, and I’ll be finished here and over to big sister’s house before you roll out of bed to meet up with your tennis pro.”

  With a shrug, Jon shoved up and flexed his slender body. “I’m going. I’m of no further use to you.”

  “See you Monday.”

  Anticipating his intention to hug her again, Victoria slipped around the huge table and began to gather up the detritus of their meals and copious numbers of coffee cups. Jon hesitated, looking uncharacteristically awkward, before moving toward the door. “When do you want to schedule the shoot?”

  “The sooner the better. We have a ton of other spreads in the wings, and putting this out front is going to cost us some timelines.” Not that she regretted it, if he didn’t.

  Jon muttered something about costing someone in other ways and then gave her his trademark smile, the one that made all his staff give him their all. “It’s well worth putting out ahead of our other projects, Tori. It’s your heart and soul, and I hope it helps.”

  She winked and he laughed, though the worried look remained etched around his eyes. The project had helped, and it would continue to help. It was as though she’d parceled up so much of her angst and given it to someone else. “Have a great breakfast, Jon. And good luck with … afterward…”

  “From your lips…”

  As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, she rifled through the files. Most of the models’ information and headshots were on the company’s server of course, but she wanted to feel the shots, hold the prints up in any and all positions until she found the perfect bone structure and form to suit her vision. She located the right woman after pulling five folders, and knew it, but diligently perused the rest until she’d examined them all before returning to number five. Alexia Dubrovka.

  Thin and frail looking, although the model’s appearance was misleading—they had to be tough as nails to stay fit and skinny and keep up with their profession. Huge, doe-like eyes framed with dark lashes stared out of a finely boned face. Gray, as she’d envisioned, almost silver. The high cheekbones, narrow nose and almost too-large lips on a slender face were the epitome of what Victoria held in her mind’s eye.

  Those lips would be emphasized, the cheekbones made out to be twin slashes, and the eyes… She closed her own and imagined the luminous tears that would glimmer and then fall to track down the pale cheeks. Perfect.

  She’d insist on the blonde hair being partially upswept and held in place with a battered tiara beneath the ripped veil, while the rest would trail in tangled and defeated strands over the shoulders. And the gown… The layout boards spoke for themselves. Strategic rents and subtle yellowing in the folds would speak volumes to the camera and the observing eye. A heavy dress, to weigh the bride down further. The flowers were evocative, falling petals and a few blackened blood-red roses with their edges curled up, and thorns to mock the happy occasion. She’d sketched the perfect drop of blood on the model’s fingertip.

  With a shudder, she pulled herself from the vision and made several quick notes, posting them across the numerous drafts she and Jon had compiled. Perfect. Gathering up the chosen file, she made note of the contact information and fired off an email to the woman’s agent. Fashion never slept, after all. She couched the request in casual terms, not wanting to sound too desperate, despite the hour, though six-ish wasn’t an abnormal time for a person to be at work, even on a Sunday. She required complete autonomy over this spread, and the model was the medium and nothing else. The agent was one who liked to put his own spin on things, ingratiating himself, and she’d lose the model rather than suffer his input.

  Stacking the rest of the files back into the cabinet, she took a quick look around before picking up her purse and phone. She’d stop in the ladies’ to freshen up and then make her way to Juliana’s for a calorie-busting breakfast and lose herself in the embrace of her family. She felt strangely hollow, but that was likely hunger.

  Paige and Robert’s car was pulled up behind her mom’s in the driveway, and Victoria parked on the street. The only sounds were the birds scavenging the lawns for their breakfast and the occasional bark of a dog. Her shoes clattered along the sidewalk and she stepped around a bike dropped carelessly to sprawl across the concrete and adjoining grass.

  This was the life she’d envisioned with Logan a few short years down the road, a house and kids in the suburbs, and her throat ached, closing against the loss. Calling up her courage, she pretended to smile despite her mouth’s refusal to cooperate. It stood to reason that these types of things would remind her, at least for the next while. There was no way around it.

  A flicker of anxiety flirted along the edges of her belly, silly because her family wouldn’t expect anything more than she could offer. They knew her and how she coped. She ran up the steps, fatigue unexpectedly gnawing at her heels, and rapped on the door before entering.

  “Tori!” Paige rushed her and wrapped her up. Victoria allowed herself a moment to revel in the warmth of her sister’s arms, soaking in the familiar scent of jasmine, before stepping back.

  “Hey, Paige. I can hear the urchins.”

  Brown eyes, for Paige had inherited her mom’s coloring, studied her intently before her sister smiled. “They’re helping Gramma make pancakes. The guys are grilling sausages and bacon outside and probably having a beer. Even if it’s damn early. It’s chaos. I’m glad you came, because we missed you last night.”

  Easing around Paige, Victoria headed to the kitchen from where happy food smells and joyful kid sounds emanated. “Probably for the best, sis. I expect you dissected the debacle. Saved me suffering through it, so I thank you.”

  “You’ve put it away like mom said. How do you do that?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to remind Paige that while she’d also suffered the loss of their father, she and Juliana had had him for years before Victoria came along. And that he’d treated them like princesses and her as the interloper. As someone never, ever enough. Like a plague—or a leper. So she’d had ample practice at denial. She halted and stared at Paige, feeling lightheaded.

  “What’s wrong?” Her sister moved in and grabbed her arm.

  “I’m sorry Daddy left on my account, Paige. Well, mine and Mom’s.”

  The faint color in Paige’s face drained visibly, leaving her pale and drawn. “What are you talking about? Are you inferring that Dad left because of something you did?”

  “No. Because of who I am. Or what I’m not.”

  “You’re crazy. That fucking Logan.”

  Worn out, Victoria leaned against the wall and tried to focus on her sister’s face. “That’s a name I hope never to hear again.”

  “She’s not crazy, just deluded.” Juliana spoke quietly to Paige, having come down the hallway without either of them hearing her. “Tori, our father left because he’s a sexist asshole who wanted a son to raise in his image because of some kind of whacked mid-life crisis. And accused Mom of failing him in the process. He didn’t much care to hear that it’s the man who determines the sex of the child because it didn’t fit into his way of seeing things. I thought we’d settled this. Years ago.”

  “It’s that other asshole’s doing. He triggered this.” Paige’s pretty face was twisted with rage. “You were getting better.”

  Victo
ria flinched at the truth as she struggled to escape the grip of the past. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that out loud.”

  Juliana stroked her forearm. “You’re feeling loss pretty keenly, I expect, and if you’re as tired as you look, you aren’t capable of processing intelligently. C’mon, we’ll get you some food and maybe you’ll consider there’s nothing wrong with you. That the two important men in your life didn’t leave because of you. It’s all on them.”

  Maybe she was crazy—or deluded. Juliana had summed things up pretty succinctly. She said close to the same thing the shrink had spoken all those years ago, while warning Victoria to expect her father’s abdication to impact her future relationships unless she guarded against it. Her mother said it too, though parsing it a little differently, probably because she’d borne much of the brunt. But, deep down, Victoria knew the truth. Logan had called off the wedding because of her … her lack, so all the psychoanalyzing meant squat.

  Her mother kissed her cheek and watched her with a tense expression, her lips tight and her smile not reaching her eyes, before the kids swarmed over, screaming her name and demanding she sit beside them. Both her sisters had put off having children until they were well established in their careers, so her nieces and nephews were all under the age of six. She didn’t think there were better loved kids in the world. Certainly there were none sweeter or smarter.

  “Auntie needs a coffee! You can take turns sitting with me. We can set the timer.” She’d learned a thing or two about parenting from watching her sisters.

  She sat down to an enormous cup of coffee and doused it with cream and a touch of raw sugar, the lattes but a fond memory. Murphy was in his highchair beside her and Patricia crowded her other elbow. The other kids pouted but agreed to her terms, although Sabrina glared at her cousins.

  “Where’s Unca Logan?” Mikey asked.

  The adults froze for a moment before Victoria answered. “He’s working, Pooh bear.”

  “I like him. He’s funny.”

  “Of course you do.” Paige offered him his choice of syrup and he was distracted.

  It wasn’t only her who would miss him, and her pain lurched to the surface. Finally, she got her breathing under control. Her mom went back to stacking pancakes at the stove. The patio doors slid open and Robert stuck his head in.

  “You’re here! Great. The meat’s ready.” A kind, pleasant-looking guy, no one would ever see him as a high powered attorney, especially in khakis and a checkered shirt. She supposed lots of opponents underestimated his razor-sharp brain. He gave her a warm smile and his eyes said it all. A great guy. She was so happy for Paige, who was a force in her own right as a banker.

  Michael pushed past, bearing a tray heaped high with fragrant bacon and sausage, and dumped it on the table, smack in the middle. Tall and lean, he was also one of the best real estate agents in the city, and he and Juliana made a formidable team. He gave her a warm and understanding smile.

  The next hour was a feast, at least in the case of the rest of the bunch. Victoria pushed the food around her plate and listened to the casual conversation, punctuated by reminders from Mikey and Sabrina that it was their turn to sit with her. The elephant in the room huddled in the corner, away from little ears, but Victoria figured that would change as soon as the children went out to play.

  The dishes stacked in the dishwasher, the leftover food packed away, and the table and countertops scrubbed, the adults settled back with more coffee. Michael pulled a couple of bottles from over the fridge and tipped a couple of ounces into proffered cups. She accepted the brandy gratefully, knowing she needed sleep sooner than later.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” The lawyer took the floor and Victoria was most grateful. Cut and dried, black and white. Just what she needed.

  “No.”

  “He set her back a couple of decades.” Paige couldn’t let it go.

  “I won’t slip again,” she promised. “I’ve been up all night working and like Juli said, I’m tired and not thinking straight.”

  “And he didn’t say why.” Robert put things back on track.

  “He didn’t.”

  “And she doesn’t want to know.” Her mom offered that tidbit.

  Juliana fixed her husband with a glare. “Why would a man leave a woman at the altar?”

  Michael shrugged. “Cold feet. He doesn’t love her any more or not like he thought.” The glance he shot his wife belied everything he’d said, but the latter was close enough to Victoria’s truth that it lanced deep. “I just don’t see it in this case.”

  She hurried to interrupt and ignored the pain. “Does it matter?” she asked, as she looked around the table. “It’s done. Trust is everything in a relationship.”

  Everyone nodded somberly, and silence reigned, because how could anyone challenge that fact?

  “I can’t stand to be pitied by my family. I need to move on, better than languishing. Please.”

  All gazes blinked away from her, some to scan outside where the kids were, others to stare elsewhere. When her family members looked her way again, she saw nothing but love and acceptance.

  “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

  What choice did she have? Well, she could fall apart like she did as a child when her dad left, before she found succor in schooling, or she could be an adult. There might come a time when she’d allow herself to get in touch with her old shattered self, but it was something she couldn’t allow right now if she was to survive.

  “Whatever you need.” Juliana spoke quietly and was echoed by everyone else. Her mom blinked tears away and worked her fingers through Victoria’s, squeezing tight.

  A creaking yawn broke the tension, and Paige chuckled. “Why don’t you say goodbye to the kids and have a sleep. Juliana made the spare room up for you.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  ****

  Her phone chimed and woke her. She wasn’t certain where she was for a moment and then recognized the picture mounted on the far wall. The house was essentially silent with the exception of the whirr of the air conditioning. Being a Sunday, they’d probably taken the children someplace to enjoy the sunny day before the work week started.

  She’d expected to find sleep difficult, but the exhausting events and the all-nighter had obviously drained her reserves—and probably the brandy hadn’t hurt. After falling into bed, slumber had tugged her deep. Oh, she’d dreamed a little, fragments of them stuck to her subconscious to rasp like sandpaper.

  Logan wouldn’t leave her alone, even in sleep, and she absently scrubbed at the residual salty tracks on her cheeks. Stretching, she forced the rush of memory back—this should have been day one of the first full day of married life—and instead selected a recollection she could deal with. Work. Yes, work had gone well yesterday, and she could foresee great things coming out of it.

  The chime was an email notification, and she fumbled her phone from the nightstand. The blinds were drawn, but enough daylight, compliments of the bright sunshine, filtered in, and she searched the small screen.

  The agent for Alexia the model had replied and invited a contract. That meant a trip back to the office, but she had nothing better to do with her time, so she climbed out of bed. Wearing the t-shirt Juliana had loaned her, and her panties, she listened at the door to ensure everyone was out and pattered down the hall to the bathroom.

  A shower and a light application of makeup later, she helped herself to her sister’s closet and pulled the clean clothes on. Stuffing hers into a bag, she wrote a note of explanation and locked up. Having a pressing project lifted her spirits and kept her focus away from yesterday—it felt like years had passed, so what was that simmering hurt so near the surface?

  Was she a coward? Maybe if she knew exactly why Logan had rejected her, she could guard against it with others… Her teeth ground furiously. She wasn’t going to go there. She’d as much as promised her family she wouldn’t blame herself, so she had to let the old Victoria go. And nothing w
as going to interfere with her work. She also never planned to open herself up to another man, ever, so why bother to consider it? Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction drew it back. She quashed the stupid quote flat in her head.

  Paying attention to her driving and the rest of the drivers on the road, she pulled up to the office building. It was like an oasis, a place of safety, and the awfulness that had created the need for such a thing nearly choked her. But better this place than none, because she didn’t think her little house would be a sanctuary, not when she’d see Logan at every turn. And he still had a key… If she was so goddamn fine, why was the pain leaking through?

  Electing to park at a meter, she clambered out of the car, and made her way to the door. She wondered if Jon would object to a cot being set up someplace, maybe in one of the storage areas. She could shower at the gym and… Okay, so work was going to be her life from here on in. That didn’t mean she was going to live here, for God’s sake, though the idea eased the roiling in her gut.

  Gaining her office, she accessed the contracts and drafted one for her chosen model and then called Jon.

  “Tori? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m sorry to interrupt.” What was she thinking? It was Sunday!

  “We’re heading back to my place. What do you need?” Her boss sounded a little tense.

  “Maybe it can wait until tomorrow.”

  “What do you need, sweetie?”

  She explained her contact with the agent, texting Jon a headshot of the model. He approved, giving her a sense of relief. She hadn’t forged ahead without consultation like this in the past and was regretting it now. Fortunately, Jon seemed to understand.

  He also accepted the terms of the draft contract. “Send it off. But we’ll deal with any changes tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, take the rest of the day off, Tori. Seriously. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After dealing with the contract, she had nothing else to do and the evening loomed large. She crept into the design room to view the mock ups—and wept.