Diary of an Engaged Wedding Planner (Tales Behind the Veils Book 3)

by Howe, Violet

  I took the boxes I’d packed over to Cabe’s tonight, and after we unloaded them, we sat down to eat dinner. It started out as a normal, ordinary dinner. I’d just finished my salad and was savoring my first bite of Cabe’s famous chicken fricassee.

  “By the way, Monica called today,” Cabe said, just as casually as he might have said I bought ice cream for dessert.

  The chicken lost all its flavor and became a rubbery mass in my mouth. I attempted to swallow it, but it refused to go down. I coughed and tried to drown it down with water, but the lump in my throat remained.

  “You okay?” Cabe asked, reaching over to pat me on the back.

  I nodded, draining my water glass and staring at his back as he went to get me more.

  “What did she want?” I hoped my voice sounded normal. Little tremors danced across my skin and flittered through my stomach. Monica. The woman he left me for. Yeah, I know. I told him to go, but that was because I thought it would make him happy. It was before I knew he was in love with me. Or that I was in love with him.

  Cabe filled my water glass and sat back down. Was I imagining it, or was he avoiding eye contact with me?

  “She’s going to be in town next week. She wants to get the rest of her stuff.”

  Her stuff. The boxes of pictures, letters, and mementos the landlord sent to Cabe from Seattle when she couldn’t find an address for Monica. The boxes I packed up to keep Cabe from slipping further into his depression. The night I held him as he cried himself to sleep under the weight of failure.

  “So is she just going to go by your mom’s and pick them up?” Please say yes. Please say yes. Please say yes. Please don’t tell me you’re going to see her.

  “She wants to meet for dinner.” Still no eye contact. I wasn’t imagining it at all.

  “What? Why?”

  He shrugged.

  “She wants to clear the air. Talk about what happened. We left things on pretty bad terms. I think maybe she wants to get some closure.”

  “Really. Maybe she should have thought about that before she walked out and left you for Kristen or whatever her name was.” He looked away, and I realized even though it was directed at her, the comment struck him, which I hadn’t intended.

  Anger tightened my throat, making it hard to swallow. How dare she just call him up and ask him to dinner. Contact him out of the blue and expect anything from him after all this time. It wasn’t fair to him.

  Yeah, okay. Perhaps my feelings leaned a little more toward me feeling threatened and outraged than being concerned for him, but I didn’t want to admit that at the time. Easier to think of myself as noble and caring. Putting him first.

  “Babe, I think there’s a lot that was left unsaid.” He finally made eye contact as he spoke. “It would probably be a good idea to put it all on the table. I know I didn’t do a great job at taking responsibility for my part in the marriage failing. I wasn’t willing to admit what was really going on.”

  I was well aware he meant the part about him being in love with me the whole time he was with her, but somehow, that didn’t make me feel any better about her dinner offer.

  Cabe reached and took my hand. “I won’t go if it bothers you. I’ll tell her no, and I’ll have her go by Mom’s and get her stuff without me being there. All you have to do is say the word. But if you’re okay with it, I do have a few things I’d like to say to her.”

  I stared back at him and fought the tears that tickled and burned at the back of my eyes. I blinked a couple of times, hoping they wouldn’t fall and betray my turmoil.

  On some level, I felt like it was petty and insecure on my part to tell him not to go. After all, not only had he already told me the marriage ended in part because he was in love with me and not her, but there was the little matter of the engagement ring on my finger that clearly said we were together now.

  So why on earth should I feel threatened in any way by him having dinner with his ex-wife? (Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever written that title for her before. It just went all over me as I wrote it. I don’t want to think of Monica as his wife in any way whatsoever, not even ex. I know she was. That can’t be changed. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it. Or ever write it again.)

  I guess my reaction was rooted in the knowledge that Monica was the only woman he ever felt strongly enough about to even consider leaving me. He had dated other girls over the years, but he never got serious. Not even close. Monica was different. Something in her appealed to him like no one else had. So even though he said their marriage failed because he was in love with me, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he had severed all ties with me for her. He married her. Add to that the fact that in the end, she left him. He didn’t leave her.

  “Aw, Ty, you look like you’re gonna cry. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I don’t want you upset by this. Not at all. There is absolutely nothing for you to worry about. You have me, Ty. Heart and soul. Body and blood. I’m yours.”

  I nodded and attempted a smile. I think I managed a weak one of sorts. He returned the smile and continued to talk.

  “I just feel like I wasn’t fair to her, you know? It was easy for me to blame her for leaving, but she checked out because I wasn’t checked in. I know I really struggled with the whole divorce thing. The sense of failure and what caused it, and I’m sure she did, too. I wasn’t the only one affected. It was her life. Her marriage. Her marriage failed because of me. I didn’t fulfill the vows I made to her. I feel like I owe her an admission at least. An apology, I guess.”

  “What am I supposed to say to that, Cabe? Obviously I don’t want to tell you no. To keep you from doing what you feel like you should. How petty would that be? I know you love me. It’s not like I think you’re going to go to dinner and suddenly call off our engagement and go back to her.” I’d been looking at our hands intertwined, but I looked up to meet his eyes then. “You’re not, are you?”

  A soft chuckle rumbled under his breath. “No, baby. I’m not. Not a chance.” He lifted my hand and kissed it.

  “I just don’t like it, Cabe. I don’t want her back in town. I don’t want her anywhere near you. I don’t want to even think about you being married to her, much less know that you’re out to dinner with her discussing it all. I know I should be supportive and mature enough to say, ‘Yeah, sure, no problem.’ But I’m a little freaked out right now.”

  “Come ‘ere.” He scooted his chair back and pulled me up and into his lap, putting both arms around me. I laid my cheek against his curls as he nestled his face into my neck.

  “Tyler, how do you think I felt when you drove three hours to see Dweeb Dwayne? Your freshly-divorced, on-the-prowl ex-boyfriend who I’d watched you grieve over for years when we met. Years! I didn’t have a promise of anything from you. Not even a hope of any kind of admission of your feelings for me. But I’m here telling you that I love you with everything in me, far beyond what I’ve ever felt for anyone else. You have absolutely nothing to fear.”

  I kissed the top of his head and sighed. “I know, and I appreciate you saying that. I know it wasn’t easy for you when Dwayne and I were talking again, and I can see the similarities with getting closure. I just…well, I just don’t like it.”

  He leaned back to look at me. “Then I won’t go. Done. End of discussion. If it bothers you, I won’t do it.” He gently cradled the back of my head and pulled me toward him. Our lips met and held together, a quiet strength behind the physical connection.

  I didn’t want him to go.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t trust him or that I thought he’d go back to her. I just didn’t want him to go. But I also didn’t want to be that girl. I didn’t want to be the reason he didn’t go. I wanted to be the reason he came back home, for sure. But not the reason he couldn’t go. I pulled away from his kiss, but only far enough to speak, our noses and foreheads still touching.

  “Why dinner? Couldn’t you guys just meet up at your mom’s and talk while she’s packing her stuff in the car?”
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  “If that’s what you want me to do, I will. I think she feels uncomfortable going to Mom’s. Embarrassed, maybe. I don’t know. But your feelings matter far more than hers.”

  I rolled my eyes and swallowed again to try and dislodge the stubborn lump in my throat.

  “Okay, fine. Whatever. Go to dinner with your ex-wife.”

  “No. You’re upset.”

  “No, I mean it. I want you to go and say what you need to say. I’ll be fine. Just come home to me, Cable.” I kissed him then, using every tool in my kissing arsenal to remind him of our passion, our connection, our love. I wanted to burn an impression on him to leave no doubt in his mind where he belonged.

  He responded wholeheartedly. It didn’t take long at all for me to forget who was leaving an impression on whom. Our meal had long since turned cold before we detached from each other long enough to clear the dishes and resume the physical part of our conversation in his bedroom.

  But now I’m lying here while he sleeps and little tiny words of doubt and resentment keep burrowing into my brain. Why on earth did I tell my Cabe he could go to dinner with his ex-wife?

  Wednesday, July 30th

  Tonight was the night. My fiancé’s closure dinner with his ex-wife.

  I felt sick all day. Nauseated and anxious. Angry and insecure. Irritable and jealous. A bundle of nerves ready to explode.

  He called three times today. I sent him to voice mail every time and then as soon as the notification buzzed I’d grab that phone and play his message like I’d been holding my breath and his voice was oxygen.

  The first two messages were just “Hey, call me.”

  His last call conveyed some frustration in his tone and a bit more urgency.

  “I have a strange suspicion you’re not picking up the phone because you’re upset with me. If so, you need to tell me what’s going on. We’re supposed to be honest with each other, remember? So if there’s a problem, you need to tell me. Call me back.”

  I didn’t call him back. There was a problem all right, and the fact that it was a problem was a problem. I wanted to be confident and carefree. I wanted to be perfectly fine with it. I wanted him to get whatever closure he needed so we could move on with our life together without any lingering guilt or remorse skulking in the recesses of his mind.

  But I wasn’t fine with it. I didn’t want my fiancé going to dinner with his ex-wife. I didn’t want my fiancé going to dinner with any woman, much less some woman he’d slept with, pledged his life to, and given his last name. By four o’clock, I was useless at work, so I left. I went through a drive-thru for fries and a milkshake, and then I picked up a pint of cookie dough ice cream from the convenience store by my place. After all, it was a small milkshake and I’d almost drunk the entire thing by the time I reached home. I needed a larger supply.

  I turned my phone off and sank into a hot bubble bath, dripping tears into the ice cream container as I scraped it clean. I had cranked the music up loud before running my bath, but not even Adele’s powerful pipes could drown out the chatter in my head. My mind churned through an angry diatribe as my stomach rebelled against the onslaught of dairy and greasy fries in an already hostile environment.

  Damn him and his closure. Damn his ex-wife for showing up to rain on my parade. He should have just thrown all that stuff away when the landlord sent it to him. It would serve Monica right for leaving without a forwarding address. Who does she think she is, waltzing back into his life a year later and asking him to dinner? She has no business being here. No business going to dinner with him.

  And what about him? What is he thinking? He’s engaged. You don’t go out with other women when you’re engaged. Especially not other women you were married to. Other women you slept with.

  Images of Monica popped into my head. Skinny little Monica. Size zero Monica. Monica with the dancer’s legs and the perky little breasts. I don’t think she even owned a bra. God knows she never wore one if she did. And her high-pitched, obnoxious little laugh. The way she looked up at him when she laughed. God! It pissed me off just to remember the two of them together. Funny how it didn’t make me mad at the time it was happening, but to look back on it now that everything had changed was infuriating.

  Against my will, my mind conjured pictures of the two of them together. Cabe kissing Monica. Caressing her. Going down on her. My stomach lurched. I chucked the ice cream container in the trash can by the toilet and sank lower in the water, shaking my head to dispel the sickening movie reel in my mind. The sound of her laughter morphed into a seductive mating rumble, a triumphant chuckle at my expense as their naked bodies intertwined in passion. I slapped the water with my hands and shouted No!, but my brain refused to stop the train from racing down the track. I couldn’t unsee the thoughts as they continued to assault me.

  The two of them having sex. Consummating their relationship in the most intimate of ways. Sharing an act so personal. Going beyond what the two of us had even shared.

  I held my breath and slid beneath the water in an effort to change my mental scenery. This was ridiculous. It was the past. I was his present. His future. He was having dinner with her. Nothing more. The sordid scenes in my head were of my own creation. My own fears. Based in the reality of their past relationship, but not something I needed to worry about or torture myself with.

  The pressure in my lungs demanded attention, and I started to release the air a little at a time, focusing on the bubbles as they rose up through the water so I could redirect my haunted thoughts. When no air remained and my body was screaming for oxygen, I resurfaced, scattering bubbles across the tiles as I reached for the sides of the tub to pull myself up.

  “There you are!” Cabe’s voice in the bathroom scared the crap out of me, and I sloshed water all over the floor as I fought to wipe the soap from my eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” I coughed and sputtered as bubble bath suds slid down my face and into my mouth.

  Cabe knelt on the floor beside the tub and wiped my face with the towel I’d left on the toilet lid. “Why are you covered in suds? Are you swimming or bathing?” He grinned, and my heart leapt inside my chest at the sight of his blue eyes. His dark blonde curls hung softly against his cheeks and fell over his forehead in disarray. He’d ridden with the windows down and his unruly hair had suffered for it.

  “Why are you here? Why aren’t you there?” I asked again, hoping beyond all hopes he was here to stay and not just dropping by on his way to meet her for dinner. Whatever I’d convinced myself and him of earlier, I knew now how much I didn’t want him to go, and there was no way in hell I’d be able to pretend it was okay again.

  “Let me turn this music down so I can hear what you’re saying and the neighbors can hear their TV sets.” He kissed the top of my wet head as he stood, and I wanted to grab him and pull him into the tub with me rather than watch him walk away.

  Adele’s voice disappeared, and I listened for the sound of Cabe’s steps in the hallway.

  He stopped in the doorway and stood there, his elbows against the door frame as he leaned his weight forward. His gaze traveled slowly over my body, and I looked down to see that the once frothy bubbles had mostly melted away, leaving me pretty much on display. My nipples protruded up from the water, surrounded by little tufts of suds floating around them like cushioning pillows. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat up higher, the suds falling away from me as tiny bubbles swirled and popped.

  “So, why are you here?”

  “Because there is absolutely no place on earth I’d rather be right now,” Cabe said. ”Unless maybe it was in that tub with you, or across the hall on that bed with you.”

  He walked slowly toward me, the mischief in his eyes replaced by a darker, more sensual tone. He bent to kiss me as his fingers slid over my wet shoulders and along the tops of my crossed arms, his kiss and his hand working together in convincing me to drop my arms away from my chest and give him the full access he wanted. I obliged him and moved my
hands into his hair, moaning a bit as he slid one hand down to do some underwater exploration. He released me from our kiss to bend and take my nipple between his lips, and my fingernails raked across his scalp, his curls wet from my dripping hands.

  I lay my head back against the cold tile, and my seated angle placed the small pillow attached to the tub perfectly behind my upper back to lift my breasts to him. He traced a path with his tongue from one to the other, leaving a trail of gooseflesh across my skin despite the heat of the water. He bit down with the slightest of pressure, just enough to prick a tiny stab of pleasure-tinged pain that coursed directly from my nipple to the epicenter of sensations deep within me.

  Somewhere in my mind I knew I was supposed to be upset with him, but I couldn’t make myself care why. My hands were wild in his hair as he brought me to the brink of madness and blissfully over the edge.

  I sank back down into the water afterward and softened my grip in his curls, moaning his name softly before he closed his mouth over mine. My limbs trembled, every bit of tension gone from me as I came back down from the heightened state he’d taken me to.

  Cold air brushed across my skin in a swoosh as he moved away from me, and I struggled to open my eyes in the hazy fog of my dreamlike state, wanting nothing more than to sink further into the water’s warmth and melt into the trance he’d put me under.

  He sat on the side of the tub, watching me with an intense gaze heavily shrouded in desire. He smiled at me, a confident grin that conveyed an impish mixture of cockiness and sexuality. He knew what effect he had on me, and he reveled in the knowledge that he could leave me speechless and unable to move.

  “How you doin’?” He reached forward to push my hair back, and I thought about how frightful I must look after dunking myself under water. I lifted my hand to my hair, cringing at the tangled wet mess I felt. I moved to sit up, but swirls of lights danced before me and I lay back against the small pillow, woozy but content.