As I waited for the beignets to come out, I briefly enjoyed the thought of eating like this every day. Enjoying life and not caring about my mother, who would pinch the fat overflowing out of my tight jeans or walk around like a victim because her daughter had given up. I wanted her to be miserable. To suffer. I should dye my hair pink and cut it short.
I watched a three-person family at a nearby table. The man and woman were so focused on the little boy sitting in the highchair, making him their whole world. I wondered what sort of parent I would’ve been, if I had gone through with the wedding. Greg and I had discussed in detail the future he expected: two kids, a full-time nanny to watch and teach them, scheduled playdates with the “right” kind of kid. At the time, I’d gone along with it, because I couldn’t even really imagine having kids. But now, I realized that just like the wedding dress, just like the venue and the cake and the flowers, I hadn’t really been consulted in the decision. It was just made for me, because it was the expected thing.
“Here you go, darlin’. I recommend dipping them in both sauces. Then you get the tart from the berry compote, but the creamy sweetness from the crème anglaise.” The server set down a plate with several powdered sugar-coated balls of fried dough, and two ramekins of sauce. “And whatever it is that’s got you down, just remember, life’s too short to not let it be what you want. If you don’t like something, change it.”
I smiled at her, taking a moment to read her nametag. “Thanks, Margie.”
“Anytime.” She grinned and took her time walking away, looking almost leisurely compared to the bustle of the busy restaurant. I wondered how someone managed to stay so grounded, so at ease, this close to New York City. In a metropolis where coffee and ulcers went hand in hand with success, I couldn’t imagine taking such a laid-back approach to life.
I tried one of the beignets, and my eyes closed as the sweet and tart mix played over my taste buds and the fried doughnut nearly melted in my mouth. I’d never had anything so decadent.
A glance at my watch told me it was about an hour before my ceremony was due to start. I glanced around the crowded diner, at all the happy people milling about. How many of them could tell I’d been cheated on? Was it written on my forehead in flashing neon letters? Even the comfort of the doughnuts couldn’t wash away the fear of being judged.
I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts anymore. I pulled out my cell phone and turned it on. I ignored the influx of voicemails and text messages and pulled up Caroline’s contact info to call her.
“I was just getting ready to head out to your wedding.”
“You shouldn’t bother.”
There was a long pause.
“Aubrey, I shouldn’t have to ask you for more details.”
“Can you come meet me?”
“Where are you?”
I gave her the address and she told me she would get there as soon as she could.
By the time Caroline arrived, I was on my second Bloody Mary and finishing off the fried dough Margie had brought for me.
Caroline strolled in, the picture of everything my mother hated. We’d met in college, but on two totally different paths. Caroline was an art student and she wanted to own her own tattoo parlor. She had a sleeve of tattoos on her left arm and a ton all over the rest of her body. Her normally black hair was purple, blue, and gray. Which was different from the orange I’d seen her in a couple of weeks ago. Caroline was all curves, an hourglass figure, and she wore tight clothes because that’s what she liked. My mother called her trash. But she wasn’t a bit trashy. She was exactly who she wanted to be. I envied Caroline most of the time. She was a free spirit and rarely gave a shit about what anyone thought.
“Girl, you better start talking.”
“Well, hello to you too.”
Caroline stared me down, waiting for some explanation.
I let out a heavy sigh. I didn’t want to say it out loud. It wasn’t only horrifying, it was humiliating. “I walked in on Greg going down on Mindi last night.”
Caroline blinked at me. “That son of a bitch.”
My gaze flickered around. Caroline was anything but quiet. “I left the hotel last night. And now I don’t know what to do. It’s only a matter of time before my mother tracks me down. Or Greg. And then I’m going to have to say why.”
“How about you get out of town and I’ll tell your mother why?” Caroline suggested.
Margie approached us. “What can I get you?”
While Caroline talked with Margie, I kept picturing the look of disappointment on my mother’s face. The hurt look in Greg’s eyes because I wasn’t there for our wedding. Why did it all saddle me with so much guilt? I wasn’t the one sucking off Greg’s best friend.
“Aubrey, hello.” Caroline waved her hand in front of my face.
I snapped out of my downward spiraling. “Care, what am I going to do?”
She leaned back her in chair. “You need to get away from here. Away from your mother. I don’t want her convincing you to take that asshole back.”
My face twisted in disgust. “I would never…”
Caroline cocked an eyebrow.
Oh my god. She was right. My mother had been manipulating me to do everything she wanted. I covered my face with my hands. “How did I get here?”
“Not to sound like a bitch, but I don’t think you’ve ever known what you wanted, except to be an architect. And you’re great at that. But now you need to figure out the rest. You’ve been settling ever since you graduated from college.”
Tears burned my eyes. Now I wanted to cry?
Caroline reached across the table and took my hands in hers, squeezing it tenderly. “Girl, you are amazing. And how you ended up so kind and thoughtful coming out of that evil bitch monster’s va-jay-jay, I will never know. But don’t let her drag you down to her level.”
Caroline gave me a long hug and told me if I wanted her to tell my mother to “fuck off,” she was more than willing. Having her support made me feel stronger. I headed back home, hoping I would still have some time to myself.
But no such luck.
The foreboding black SUV indicated my mother was already in my house, since she insisted on having her own key. Why did I let her into so much of my life without any sort of boundaries?
I resigned myself to the firing squad waiting inside and walked in through the door.
I hung up my coat in the foyer and decided to keep my shoes on. I headed through the hallways into the main room where I knew she’d be poised on the edge of the sofa. And sure enough, there she was, her hands clasped in front of her. Her lips pursed in a sour expression. Deborah Jones didn’t have a hair out of place. She kept her hair platinum blonde, with a blowout once a week. For the wedding, she’d gone all-out. She wasn’t wearing her wedding outfit yet, which meant she found me missing first. “Hi, Mother.”
“Aubrey Briana Jones!” Her shrill voice filled the quiet house as she bounced up, ready for a fight. “Where have you been? You are supposed to be getting married!” She crossed her arms over her chest and pursed her lips in her signature “I’m so disappointed” pose.
“Yeah, well, I’m not.” I moved around the island of the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, needing space and objects between us. “What can I do for you?”
Mom softened a little, putting her hands out in an open gesture. “It’s just cold feet. Come on, we’re holding the ceremony. Everyone’s waiting for you.” She looked me up and down. “Of course, I’m going to have to try to work some magic on your hair and makeup, since Jacques left ages ago, but I’m sure you’ll still look presentable.”
“What part of ‘I’m not’ did you not understand, Mother? I’m not marrying Greg.”
She scowled and stomped into the kitchen. “Aubrey, you have to get back to that church. I can’t believe you turned your cell phone off. We’ve been calling all morning. Greg’s a wreck. He thinks you’re jilting him. Honey, this is a good match. You n
eed Greg. You love Greg. Greg’s perfect for you.”
“Oh my god, Mom! If he’s so perfect, why don’t you marry him?” I threw my hands up and went to the Keurig to start a cup of hot chocolate. “I’m not changing my mind.”
“Okay, fine, we won’t get you married today. We’ll reschedule.” She looked derisively around my kitchen—the perfect kitchen I’d painstakingly designed to my specifications—and then perched on the edge of one of the tall chairs at the island. “I’m sure people will understand. Cold feet happen.”
“This isn’t cold feet, Mom. This is my choice. This is what I want.” Had she ever listened to me?
She shook her head and put her palms down on the island. “Greg is what you want. You’re not thinking clearly.”
I ignored the beeping of the Keurig announcing my beverage was done as I slammed my hands down on the island across from her. “Greg fucked another woman. Last night. Right before our wedding. Why in god’s name would I want to marry him after that?”
Mom looked taken aback, but only for a second before she regained her composure. “Oh, Aubrey, I’m sure it’s not what you think.”
I blinked several times, and my mouth fell open. Not what I think? “Oh? So, what, he just happened to trip and fall, and his face landed between her naked thighs? And I suppose the used condom I saw was just, what? A snake that got loose and shed its skin right next to my naked fiancé and my maid of honor?” My volume rose with each question until I was nearly shouting at her.
She pursed her lips, sitting silently as her dark green eyes, the same eyes I inherited, stared at me with an icy coldness. “Aubrey, I’m going to let you in on a secret that I hoped you’d never have to hear.”
I picked up my cocoa and held the steaming cup in my hands, waiting expectantly.
“All men cheat. Your father did. Your uncles all did. It’s part of their biology. They can’t help it. At least he had the decency to choose someone who understands discretion. Mindi won’t spread it around. She won’t flaunt it. It could be a lot worse. This is just the price you have to pay to be with a powerful man like Greg, honey.” Her voice was even and matter of fact.
She really believed what she was saying.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I set my mug on the counter and said through clenched teeth, “Get the hell out of my house. Go make excuses or say whatever shit you want to Greg and the guests. But get the hell out. And don’t come back until you’re ready to accept my decision. I’m not marrying that bastard, and nothing you say is going to change that.”
My mother’s hand went to her chest, as if she couldn’t believe the horrible things I was saying to her. And for once, I didn’t give a shit what she thought.
She pointed at me like she was casting a curse. “You’re going to regret this, Aubrey. And when you realize the huge mistake you’ve made, you’d better pray that Greg is magnanimous enough to take you back.” She stormed out of my house, her black Manolos clicking across the hardwood floor with every step.
Frustrated, I dumped my cocoa down the kitchen drain, then grabbed a wine glass and a bottle of my favorite red blend from the wine rack.
After a few calming sips, I settled on the sofa and called Caroline. She was the only one who seemed to understand where I was coming from.
“Aubrey? Is everything okay?”
“I’m disgusted, and sick to my stomach. My mother just left.”
“What’s going on? Do I need to come to you?”
“I’m home. No, you don’t need to come to me. I just needed to talk to you. I just told my mom I’m not getting married.”
“What happened? Have you talked to anyone else?”
I rehashed the conversation with my mother. Even just repeating her bullshit about all men being cheaters made my stomach turn.
“Oh, Aubrey. I’m so sorry. Your mother really is being a heartless cow.”
I smiled softly. “Care, how the hell did I get here?” I sighed and took another sip of wine. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do now. Am I making a mistake?”
“Sweetie, I can’t answer that for you.” She paused before asking, “Did you ever truly love him? If you walk away now, are you going to really miss waking up next to him?”
I thought about it. I’d said it to him plenty of times, but did I? If I did, wouldn’t I feel much worse about everything going on now? “I don’t know. Marrying him was what everyone expected. We’ve been together for so long. But I’m not sad that I’m not walking down the aisle with him today. I’m not disappointed that I’m not about to be Mrs. Greg Simmons. That’s got to say something, right?”
“I’d say so. Besides, I’ve always been pretty partial to Ms. Aubrey Jones.” She paused a second, and then said, “So what do you want to do now?”
I pursed my lips, thinking about it. I had a week off from work for the honeymoon. The plane tickets were already booked. The beautiful chalet I’d found online was just waiting for me. But could I go on a honeymoon meant for two by myself?
“Aubrey, I can hear you overthinking. What do you want to do?”
“I think I want to go to Aspen.”
Caroline laughed. “Then, girl, pack your bags, get down to the airport, and go on a fucking vacation. I’ll do damage control here. Enjoy yourself. And whatever you do, don’t let yourself feel bad about anything going on here. Greg’s a dick, and I’m going to make sure everyone knows.”
I finished the last swig of wine in my glass and smiled. “Thanks, Care. You’re a really good friend. I wanted you to be my maid of honor.”
“Next time.” She paused again, and then said, “Hey, while you’re in Aspen, do me a favor.”
“Okay…”
“Find something to take your mind off everything. Learn to ski. Take up some bizarre Colorado mountain hobby like, I don’t know, whittling. Or find yourself a new man to get under. Someone who can rock your world like Greg couldn’t.”
I laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. But I’m telling you right now, whittling is way more likely than a new man.”
“We’ll see. Now get off the phone with me and go pack. And see if the airline will trade your two coach seats for first class. I know you’d never have bought the upgrade with Greg, but you deserve it. And his penny-pinching ass can suck it.”
I laughed, said my goodbyes, then hung up.
One more call had my flight arrangements adjusted, and even though I had to pay a small fee, the luxury would be worth it. I was going to Aspen.
3
Chuck
The steady drip, drip, drip of the leaky pipe into the bucket sitting next to me would drive me insane. I’d been under this bathroom counter for over an hour, and no matter how much I tried to fix the leak, nothing worked. If I were a superstitious man, I’d think the damn chalet was cursed.
I popped out from under the sink and wiped off my damp face with an even wetter rag. “Why did we want to buy this place again? Leaky pipes. Broken appliances. Flooring that all needs replacing. Including the hardwood. That fucking hardwood we thought could just be sanded and refinished.”
My business partner, Luke Branson, sat on the edge of the tub, his laptop balanced precariously on the closed toilet seat. “Because you’re Chuck fucking Wright, and you don’t let little things like rotted wood and leaky pipes distract you from the good bones of a place?” He bent over and typed on his laptop a second. “Why don’t we put them in the log cabin? Its next renters aren’t due for another week. The Simmonses can have their little ski vacation from there.”
“Because we rented them this place, Luke. This is where they’re staying. Or did you not see the same comments on the reservation sheet? The wife thinks this chalet is so charming. She’s not going to be happy in the rustic log cabin. She’s probably one of those yuppy New York socialites who can’t go a day without her Starbucks and has her hair and nails done every week. I don’t know about you, but I’m not pissing off Little Miss Perfect and getting sued for screwin
g up her control freak vacation plans.”
The truth was, I was more concerned about what our silent partner, my father, would think about us upheaving someone’s reservation at the last moment. He’d been wary about me getting into this venture from the beginning, and this would just give him more ammunition to hold against me. He’d been pissed when I dropped out of college and burned through my savings, trying to figure out who I wanted to be in this world, and he’d been less than thrilled when I told him I wanted to renovate rental properties. Every misstep was just one more thing he could hold over me.
“Then you’d better get that pipe fixed. You think she’s going to let it slide that we have a dripping pipe in the second bath? She’ll probably end up locked in the psych ward from the incessant dripping a floor above the master bedroom.” Luke smirked and nudged my foot with his own. “I’m starving. How about I order some pizza, and we take a break? We’ve still got fourteen hours before the happy couple arrive, I’m sure you can beat the pipe into submission before then. Or we’ll head to the hardware store and replace it. Unless you think Mr. and Mrs. Yuppy will inspect the fixtures for a new pipe.”
I put on my best fake incredulous face. “You don’t think they will, do you? We’ll have to antique it all before it gets installed.”
“Har har. You’re so funny.” He rolled his eyes and stood, shutting his laptop before scooping it up in his arms. “I’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll holler when the food arrives.”
“I’ve got a six-pack of Zane’s latest in the Jeep. I think it’s a wheat beer this time.” I ducked back under the sink, intent on getting the leak plugged before food showed up.
After almost half an hour of tinkering and cursing, the pipe seemed secure, not even a slow drip left. Leaning against the wall, I stared at my hard work, waiting for it to betray me again. But the longer I watched the spot that had been leaking, the more confident I grew that the problem really was fixed.
Seducing the Runaway Bride (The Wrights Book 1) Page 2