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The Right Wedding Gown

Page 16

by Shirley Hailstock


  She had to do something. He had pursued her, broken through her defenses, defied her attempts to stay away from him, and challenged her to fall in love.

  And he’d succeeded.

  All too well, she thought.

  Deep in places that couldn’t be viewed through the most powerful microscopes, embedded in her DNA was a love so strong that the thought of never seeing Justin again caused physical pain.

  Samara hoped it wasn’t too late, that she hadn’t killed the love Justin had for her. She had to know if there was still a chance. She had to swallow all the words she’d said and nakedly beg him to love her.

  She looked down at the postcard again, gauging its effectiveness and the distance to Justin’s front door. She hadn’t called. She didn’t know if he was home, but she had to try something. She had to take a chance. She believed in him, and she believed in herself. In them. As a couple. She believed in the fate that had brought them together and that she could take a leap of faith, that she could repair the rift she had torn in their relationship.

  Giving herself no time to change her mind, she walked directly to the door and punched the doorbell. It reverberated inside, but Justin didn’t immediately answer the door. Tapping her toe on the wooden porch and biting on her lower lip, she rang the bell a second time.

  The door opened. Justin stood there. Samara’s breath caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised.

  Justin’s eyes opened wider when he saw her. He wore only a pair of jeans and an open shirt that looked like he’d grabbed it on his way to the door. He hadn’t shaved in several days by the look of him and by the puffiness around his eyes he hadn’t slept in the same amount of time.

  Had she done this to him?

  “What do you want?” he asked. His voice was gruff. Samara was pushed back by it. She felt the wall of protection rise and she suppressed the need to turn and run.

  She wasn’t running this time. This time he had to turn her away.

  “Well, you obviously have something to say. Are you planning to say it or just stand there?”

  Her voice deserted her. But her heart told her she loved him. And love was worth sacrificing her pride for. Justin was worth it.

  He stood back, opening the door in a gesture of exaggerated welcome. Samara stepped back, extending her arm and offering him the postcard.

  He looked at her hand, at the photo that Diana had layered image upon image to create the effect of a single merged picture. It showed the way her love had grown, not by huge degrees, but by small layers that built one atop the other. It was how she knew their lives could be, building one day at a time. She had to have that chance.

  Justin took the card, staring at the photo. Bringing it closer to his face, he scrutinized the picture.

  “Turn it over,” Samara said, uttering the first words since Justin opened the door.

  He turned the card over and read the back. Looking up at her, he read aloud, “I’ll take the chance, but only with you. Will you marry me?”

  He stopped, staring at her, waiting for her to say something.

  “You have to say it out loud,” he said.

  She swallowed. “I—I love you,” she said. The words hadn’t stuck in her throat, although fear that he would reject her had made her stutter. “I love you. I want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you.”

  Justin didn’t seem to have heard her. She waited for what seemed like an eternity. He said nothing, didn’t move from his place inside the door. Fear grew inside her. She was too late. He didn’t believe her.

  Then he moved. She didn’t see it, his strike was as fast as lightning. He pulled her through the door, closed it, backed her against it and kissed her. His mouth devoured hers. The kiss felt like they had been separated for decades and only now discovered each other, discovered their love as shiny as a newly minted coin.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you.”

  “And you’ll marry me?”

  She smiled, feeling happiness rush through her. It shot through her bloodstream, a narcotic more powerful than any known drug. “Yes, yes,” she cried. “I’ll marry you, have your children, live in the suburbs, live in the city, go to parties, scream at you, fight with you, listen to your stories, laugh at your jokes, make up, make love.”

  “For all time?” he asked.

  “As long as day dawns and night falls.”

  “You are incredible,” he said. He took her hand and led her into the great room. He sat on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap.

  “I know this might seem like a surprise,” she said.

  “I’ve known all along,” he told her. “I was waiting for you to find out.” He kissed her neck. Spasms of love and need flooded inside her.

  “I’m so glad I did. I realized that living without you made me so miserable that I’d die without seeing you.”

  “I thought I was going to die, too. When I saw you that day and you tried to touch me, it was all I could do not to crush you against that fence. But you needed to find out for yourself. Samara, I love you. But love doesn’t come with guarantees.”

  “I know that now,” she told him. “But if we work at it, it can last a lifetime.” She kissed him tenderly. “I’m willing to work as hard as possible. You have my promise.”

  “You have more than that,” he said. “You have my love and I’ll never let you forget it.”

  He kissed her again. The postcard slipped to the floor, unseen by either of them, but reflecting the layers of their life and love, strong enough to defy all odds.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-3458-5

  THE RIGHT WEDDING GOWN

  Copyright © 2009 by Shirley Hailstock

  All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, Editorial Office, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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