by Lyssa Layne
Cherie dropped her arms to rest around Jason’s waist. “Well, since you put it like that, I guess so. Yes, I’ll marry you.” Then she jumped into his arms and kissed him, “Of course, I love you too.”
With their arms around one another, Jason turned to Olivia. “May I have your granddaughter’s hand in marriage?”
“It would be my pleasure, most definitely.” Olivia sighed.
Jason had come full circle, and the woman in his arms was responsible for making it happen. With her at his side, there was nothing he couldn’t do.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cherie had just poured a second cup of coffee, finishing her breakfast, when Martha came to the table to tell Olivia that there was a phone call.
Olivia excused herself.
Martha was clearing the table when Olivia returned. “We need to go to the hospital.”
“What’s wrong?” Cherie rose from her chair, she met Olivia who was holding onto one of the chairs for balance.
“That was Desiree, she sounded funny. She wants you, me, and Jason to come see her as soon as we can.”
“Do you think we should call Dr. Andrews? Maybe he knows what’s going on.”
Olivia squeezed that back of the chair, her knuckles turned white. “He was with her. She handed him the phone, and the doctor said, we needed to come, that this was it. He didn’t elaborate further. I said we’d be there immediately.”
“I’ll call Jason and have him come get us. I don’t trust myself to drive. I’m scared.” She picked up her phone from the table and dialed his number.
“She didn’t sound hysterical, but I’m scared too.”
“I’m going to go get ready, you too. Jason’s phone went to voicemail, but he also sent a text that he’s on the way.” Cherie helped Olivia up the stairs then raced to her room to chance. She threw on a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. It rained the night before and was still damp and cold outside. She looked out the window of Desiree’s room, and the foggy mist hovering over the grounds was ominous as if it were setting the mood for the day. She shivered, grabbed her purse and stopped by Olivia’s room.
Together they made their way down the stairs in the foyer. “Are you as scared as I am?” Cherie said.
“Yes, I’m more afraid now than I was when they told me Desiree woke up. I don’t know why I feel that way, but it was something in her voice.”
Jason picked them up and drove them to the hospital. Cherie sat in the back seat of his car, next to Olivia holding her hands the entire way there.
Once at the hospital, Cherie was torn between running in and taking her time. Like Olivia, her fears had never been stronger.
Hesitantly the threesome stepped into Desiree’s room.
Desiree was sitting up in bed, finishing a cup of tea.
Dr. Andrews was beside her, a cup in his hand as well. “There’s been a breakthrough, a bit on the miraculous side.”
“Meaning,” Cherie was quick to ask. Jason held one hand, and Cherie held Olivia’s in the other.
The doctor began. “When Desiree—”
“Destiny—” Desiree corrected.
He nodded, “—Destiny woke up this morning—well she’s aware of how old she is. I told her she’d been very sick and that I would leave it to you, to fill her in as she saw fit.”
Cherie and Olivia clutched one another then rushed to Destiny’s side.
They took turns hugging Destiny.
“Hello mother,” she said to Olivia then turned to Cherie. “And look at my beautiful daughter.” She reached up and stroked Cherie’s cheek.
There were tears all around, including Jason and Dr. Andrews.
Destiny wiped her eyes, and said, “Mother I’m so sorry for what happened.” Then said to Cherie, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from my father.”
“Speaking of Daddy, where is he? I have a few things I’d like to say to him.”
Cherie and Olivia shared a looked of capitulation.
“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this, but your father died, almost three months ago.”
Destiny’s eye flew open, she gasped. “No!” She began to cry.
Cherie and Olivia sat on the bed, hugging and crying. Even Cherie had to admit that the man who was her grandfather must have had redeeming qualities about him in the past if Olivia and Destiny could have loved him. As hard as it would be, she would keep trying to find out what they were, because feeling as she did about him at this moment in time didn’t feel good. It wasn’t right or proper to hate her own grandfather
When the tears subsided, Destiny looked up and squinted at Jason. Her eye flew open wide. “Is that my precious little Jason?” She held her arms open for him.
Cherie held her breath as Jason went into Destiny’s arms. She and Olivia clung to one another watching the tender scene unfold.
Olivia put her hand on Jason shoulder. “If you’re happy to see Jason and meet your daughter, you’ll be ecstatic to find out that your daughter and Jason are getting married.”
Destiny blubbered. “You guys are killing me.” She sniffed then chuckled. “I’m not sure how much more I can take.”
“We aren’t going anywhere, Mom,” Cherie emphasized. “We’ve got all the time in the world to get acquainted and get you up to date.”
Olivia used a tissue to blot her eyes and blow her nose.
“Jumping ahead a bit, I would like my mother and grandmother to give me away. Think your two can do that?”
Olivia clasped Destiny’s hand.
Both women smiled.
Destiny winked. “I think we can manage that, don’t you mom?”
Olivia said, “Have you thought about when you’d like to have the wedding or where?”
Cherie blushed, “I have.”
Jason tucked his chin. “Oh really, what did you decide?”
“If grandmother doesn’t mind, I’d like to have a small ceremony at her house at Thanksgiving. I’ve got so much to be thankful for it just seems right.”
“I like that,” Jason nodded. “Olivia?”
“I’d like nothing better.”
Destiny nodded. “Me either.”
Cherie and Jason shared a kiss. “Thanksgiving it is.”
EPILOGUE
Cherie and Jason picked up Trish at the airport.
Trish was to spend her vacation with Cherie to help get ready for the wedding. It wasn’t that it was a big wedding, it wasn’t. In fact, it was small, only twenty-five guests. But it was the emotion and tenderness in which they wished to say their vows in front of only their family and closest friends.
Trish, as her Maid-of-Honor did everything in her power to help, and in the process tried to pick up on Mark.
He wasn’t interested.
Mark spent the last six months trying to piece together the timeline that led to the birth and the adoption of Cherie, he still wasn’t satisfied. He continued to harangue the police to keep searching for George Benson.
As for Mrs. Benson, she was in a coma but only the past month had been showing any signs of brain activity.
Destiny was now home for good. In the past six months, they slowly revealed all that had happened to her over the past, ever since she got the letter telling her of Jeff’s death. During her therapy, her past came back. They worked on her emotions and what happened to her so that she’d be stronger going forward.
As the big day grew closer, Olivia’s house was filled with excitement.
Jason moved from his apartment to Cherie’s house where they would live when they returned from their honeymoon, in Tahiti.
The morning of the wedding Destiny gave Cherie her old diary. She explained that was how she had come to know her mother and in turn, love her mother and father.
Jason stood in the ballroom of the Alexander home.
A string quartet played “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” as Olivia and Destiny walked Cherie down the aisle. She felt positively euphoric wearing Olivia’s wedding dress. The
empire waistline and princess neckline of white satin and lace were hand-beaded with seed pearls. Her vision wasn’t hampered at all by the Brussels lace veil. It was like Cherie walked in the most wonderful powdery cloud to the man she loved.
Jason’s mouth dropped as he caught sight of her.
Reverend Hathaway stood near the grand piano and began their vows
“Dear beloved, we are gathered here today, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony. Nothing about these two could be called conventional, as such they’ve asked to speak their own vows.” The minister turned to Jason.
Jason and Cherie faced each other. He began by kissing her hand. “I, Jason, take you, Cherie, to be my wife, to be grateful when you smack me upside the head when I fail to listen properly, to tear me a new one when I piss you off, and to stand beside you no matter what.”
The small gathering chuckled.
It was Cherie’s turn, “I, Cherie, take you, Jason, to be my husband, to teach you to have fun, to make you smile, and yes, to ride you until you become the man I know is hiding from me inside you.”
The tittering grew to flat out laughter.
They exchanged rings, and then the reverend said, “By the virtue of the authority vest in me, under the laws of the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may not kiss your bride.”
Jason gazed into her eyes tenderly. “I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment.” He lifted her veil and kissed her.”
Cherie kissed him back then turned, tossed her bouquet to Trish then said to Jason, “To the next fifty years of happiness.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
While some say truth is stranger than fiction, Deb Julienne’s experience runs more along the lines of a slapstick comedy; when life tosses you lemons the only thing to do is to turn it into Limoncello. Deb’s dream of being published came true with the release of her first book, SEX, LIES, AND BEAUTY AIDS, a romantic comedy, published by Kensington Books in March of 2014.
As a longtime member of both Romance Writers of America (RWA) and her local RWA Chapter, the Sacramento Valley Roses, she fills the hours she’s not writing romantic comedy and romantic suspense with her day job at a Silicon Valley Corporation and playing in the kitchen concocting her award-winning jams, jellies, preserves, and sauces (with alcohol of course). She resides in her own little bit of heaven in the Sierra Tahoe National Forest Basin, with her husband of 35 years, their three sons and one daughter, and five very precious grandkids and another on the way.
Find Deb at:
Website: www.debjulienne.com
Facebook:www.facebook.com/pages/Deb-Julienne/752399544824095?ref=hl
Twitter: @debjulienne
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/debjulienne
Nine
A Pink Novel, #1
K.S. Thomas
Other Books by K.S. Thomas
I Call Him Brady
Save The Date
It’s Kinda My Thing
Bittersweet
Last Girl
I Think About You
Tin
One More Chapter
With Whom We Spend Our Lives
Until It’s Not (A Short Story)
Salty
Country Girls
Blood Bound
Drive
This Christmas
Lucky In Love
Getting Lucky (A Lucky Novella)
Series ~
Lost Avalon (A Finding Nolan Novel, #1)
Secret Hudson (A Finding Nolan Novel, #2)
Fallen Angel (A Finding Nolan Novel, #3)
&
Ten (A pINK Novelette)
Nine (A pINK Novel, #1)
Nine
Copyright © 2016 KS Thomas
All rights reserved.
Dedicated to badass chicks everywhere….
CHAPTER ONE
Heartbreaker
I’m three feet from the door when I see it. Blood. Splattered all across the pavement. I cringe involuntarily. I hate the sight of blood, not generally, but in the parking lot behind my shop, I definitely hate the sight of blood. It’s bad for business, and frankly, it’s disgusting.
Still hovering undecidedly on my way to the door, I glance across the empty lot to the warehouse so annoyingly located behind my place. I have half a mind to march straight in there and have it out with Marcus. Again. But what’s the use?
I’m contemplating the words I’d like to rant at my asshole of a brother right now, and wondering which ones might actually make a difference, when I hear the grinding of rocks under thick rubber soles. Combat boots. I’ve heard the sound a million times over the last fifteen years, I don’t even have to turn around to know it’s her.
“Ugh! Why do those fuckers always have to spit right in our walkway?” Sketch stops right beside me, her face matching my expression.
“I’m starting to think Marcus tells them to. Like, this is the designated busted mouth corner of the lot.”
Sketch starts to smirk when it’s evident another thought crosses her mind and she scowls even more deeply than she did before. “Ew. I just had a really horrible visual.”
That’s enough to finally get me moving again. “Well, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” I jump over the bloody graffiti on my way to the door and I can hear Sketch moving right behind me, hot on my tail. She’s going to tell me. Going to scar my brain with whatever disgusting horrors her dark twisty mind conjured up.
“It just occurred to me that spitting isn’t the only possible explanation for this kind of pattern.”
“I don’t want to know!” I shout, tempted to cover my ears but my hands are busy fumbling in my purse in search of keys so I don’t.
“What if this is actually the busted nose section and they’re just blowing bloody snot all over here? That would explain the texture.”
“Oh my Gawd, Sketch! You just made me throw up in my mouth.”
“Well, if it happens again, I’m pretty sure the designated spot for that is over by the dumpsters.” Her gleeful tone suggests she’s no longer as put off by this whole thing now that she’s found the entertainment value in it. Meanwhile, I’m feeling slightly traumatized by the last five minutes of my life.
I unlock the door and hurry inside to deactivate the alarm. I panic every damn morning, thinking I’m going to be the one to set it off. The stupid thing gives me more anxiety than it gives me peace of mind, but with Marcus running his new business right behind my shop, I really don’t have a choice. I’ve invested too much in this place to risk losing any of it to my shady big brother or any of the unsavory characters he’s been attracting ever since word got out about the smoker he’s running out of the old warehouse. Amateur MMA fights, technically legal in this state, except there’s nothing legal about the way Marcus is doing things. Which reminds me that a bit of blood outside my back door is the least of my worries, even if it is laced with snot.
“I think it’s time we talk about hiring a manager again.” Sketch throws her messenger bag onto the small desk at her station in passing while I walk around flipping on all the lights.
“You know we can’t do that. Not now.” I unlock the front door for the other girls who will start to trickle in here at some point during the next hour. As long as everyone is ready to work when the first client walks in, I don’t give a damn what time they show up.
“Well, you can’t keep doing this either. You’re here from open ‘til close six days a week. I can tell by the black slugs you’ve got chillin’ under your eyeballs you’re not sleeping. Your skinny jeans are fucking baggy and I’m pretty sure your niece’s seen me more in the last month than she’s seen you.”
I sigh, dropping myself into one of our extra cushy waiting chairs. “You’re right. Madi spending this much time with you is definitely a problem.”
“You’re a dick.”
“And you suck. See, we’re a perfect match.” I laugh at my stupid joke. I really am tired.
Sketch walks to
ward me. Without saying a word, she bends over and yanks off my left boot.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I try to kick free from the grip she has on my right ankle, but it’s no use. My other boot goes flying across the waiting area.
“There. Now curl up on that chair and take a nap. I’ll set up.”
I try to argue but she just flattens her palm against the side of my face and smushes me down into the cushions. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Dipshit is still out there somewhere. I’ll deal with his ass too if he comes around. Now sleep.”
I hate the idea of sleeping while Sketch does all the work, especially when that work includes my family messes. She shouldn’t have to clean up after me like this. But she does. Because she’s my best friend and that’s what best friends do.
“I said sleep, bitch.”
“Stop being so bossy!”
“Stop being three!”
“Hey, that’s my line!” But considering I’m tempted to ask for a snack and a blanket, I don’t pursue the argument any further. I do however pull my knees up to my chest and close my eyes. A little nap suddenly seems like the most grown up thing I could do right now.
After a little sleep, the day doesn’t seem half bad. Work is steady and the girls are all in good spirits despite the constant aggravation of having Marcus lurking around. Before I know it, Sketch is shoving me out the door, insisting on closing up on her own tonight.
I let her, if only because I haven’t had dinner with Madi in nearly two weeks. Hopefully I catch her before Pru shoves some healthy, homemade meal down her throat.
“If you got a hot new pool guy and didn’t tell me, you and I are no longer friends, Pru,” I yell the second I enter her house through the service door. Because it’s more like a mansion. And she actually has ‘service’ people. I’m not sure what the legit term is these days. I guess they’re maids? I don’t know. This house is so huge and their ways are so foreign, I actually do feel like I enter a different country every time I walk through the door.