by Groovy Lee
“Gracie,” Heather called to her again. “I was waiting for you to bring this up. But, since you haven’t, I will.”
“What?”
“What about the stipulation in old man Farrell’s will?”
“What stipulation?”
Heather looked at Bitsy before continuing. “Gracie,” she reached over and laid one hand on top of hers.
“Heather,” Gracie looked down at her hand. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry, but you should know this. I hope Mr. Farrell was forthcoming with everything.”
“He was. What could he have left out?”
“Gracie,” Heather’s hands enclosed around hers and brought it up against her chest to console her. “There’s an old rumor that’s been circling around the office ever since old-man Farrell died.”
“What?” Bitsy leaned in eager to hear.
“Well—You know what an overly conservative family Mr. Farrell comes from, right? I mean family values, morals, etc., etc.”
“Everybody knows that,” Bitsy agreed.
“Word is, that when his father died, he included more in his will than you were led to believe. Not only is Mr. Farrell, our boss, to marry before he can claim any of his father’s estate, and we’re talking hundreds of millions, but, and this is the mother of all mothers, he also has to produce an heir to keep the family name going.”
Gracie waited for Heather to all of a sudden start laughing and cry out that she’s just kidding, but the serious look in her eyes didn’t waver. “Heather,” she took her hand away. “Stop it, this is not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny. And, it’s obvious Mr. Farrell didn’t disclose that part to you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Bitsy huffed. “How do you know this for sure?”
“Sharonda in the Research and Development department, you know who I’m talking about, Bitsy. Well, she once dated someone from legal who showed her a copy of the will because he was trying to impress her. When he was dating Felicia, she said that the only way that would happen was if they hired a surrogate because, well, you know Felicia’s type—a baby couldn’t grow in there.”
“I’m sure that’s correct. But—but the conditions of the marriage is all settled,” Gracie shrugged her off. “Mr. Farrell said nothing about producing an heir. Don’t you think he would have bothered to mention something so important? He assured me this will be a marriage in name only. At the end of two months—two months,” she held two fingers up, “He’ll get his money and it’s over—done. You can’t produce a baby in two months.”
Heather shrugged her shoulders and reclined back in a more relaxed position. “Well, if that’s what he said. Of course, you can ask your future Mr. himself since you would be the one to have to carry the Farrell heir. But then again, maybe he’s waiting until the ‘I do’s’ are over to drop the bomb. You know, you’re alone in your room for the night, suddenly he comes bursting in with intentions of exercising the will to the full, whether you like it or not.” Suddenly, she threw her head back and roared with laughter.
“For heaven’s sakes,” Gracie pushed at her as a brutal chill surged through her entire body. “You make him sound so ruthless.”
“I agree,” Bitsy said, shocked that Heather would even say something so—so deliciously wicked. “If Mr. Farrell said that’s all she has to do, then that’s all she has to do. There’s no hidden motive.”
Heather sat up and gave Gracie’s shoulder a kindly rub. “If he had told you everything, especially the part about an heir, would you still have agreed to marry him?”
“Noooo,” she shook her head firmly. “Most definitely not.”
“So, of course he’s not going to ruin it by letting everything out of the bag at once. He may have been a straightforward, honest person to work for, but you know what they say don’t you?”
“No, Heather, I don’t.” Gracie couldn’t believe her friend’s overactive imagination.
“That the dark side of a person always comes out after the wedding.”
“Well,” Bitsy sat up, threw her hands toward the ceiling, then crossed them against her chest. “Now that you’ve thoroughly frightened the poor woman, I’m surprise she doesn’t call this whole thing off and run for the hills.”
“Are you going to call it off, Gracie?” Heather asked, her tone held a small urge of hope that she would.
Gracie switched from her lotus position to a more comfortable one. “I can’t. Besides, I don’t believe a word you’re saying. As far as either of us is concerned, this is a job, nothing else. For his inheritance sake, and that of Farrell Enterprises, this marriage is out of necessity, made legal by a piece of paper; No other conditions were made. Certainly nothing about me having a baby for crying out loud. To Mr. Farrell, I’ll be nothing more than his secretary, and he’ll continue to be my boss. As long as we keep everything professional and above board, no one will be hurt in the end.”
It seemed her two roommates were satisfied with her sermon—to a certain degree.
Heather leaned over and put her arm around her. “You’re one brave soul. And if this is what you want, then I’ll stand behind you one-hundred percent.”
“So will I,” Bitsy nodded an affirmative.
Gracie hugged each friend. “You don’t know how much I need to hear that. Thanks.”
Indeed she’s thankful for their support, and doubted if she could face this alone, with no one to confide in; She certainly can’t tell her grandmother. And although she put up a strong, confident façade in front of them, it was only later when she was alone in her bed that her real fears began to surface. (A baby?) She made a restless turn to her other side. That can’t be true. Mr. Farrell would have mentioned something as important as that to her. Isn’t this pending marriage based on enough lies? Maybe he felt as did Heather—that if he had been truthful with her, she would have turned him down. He’s desperate, there’s no doubt about that. And desperate situations calls for desperate measures. Maybe she can’t back out, but she’ll make sure that when the opportunity presents itself, she’ll confront him about it. After all, he involved her in this and she has a right to know.
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The next day slipped by so quickly and it was already noon. Gracie stood over the suitcases on her bed to swap out the clothes for her London trip for ones she needed for her Canadian trip. So, instead of the nightlife dresses, she threw in yoga pants and tops since she’d be typing most of the time. And in case she does get to tour a part of Montreal, she kept the dressier pants and blouses. Heather and Bitsy, who had decided to postpone their trip by one day to be her witnesses and moral support, volunteered to go to the office and clear out her desk. Mr. Farrell had arranged with their supervisor to give them an extra week of vacation so they could spend some time on Eden’s Cove. Gracie wondered how long the news about her sudden marriage to the president of Farrell Enterprises would take to leak out; And if everyone at the company knew about the will and was speculating the real reason Mr. Farrell married so fast. She was only too glad she didn’t have to see the stares and hear the whisperings behind her back.
She paused, her eyes drifting ahead. “Indigo,” she called out over and over again in an effort to get used to it. It wasn’t going to be easy calling him by his first name. It’s always been Mr. Farrell since the day she started working for him. She shrugged the thought away for a while and continued to pack. Pleased with the changes she had made, she went into her closet and rummaged around for a suitable dress to wear on her wedding day. As she flipped each hanger to the side, her eyes clung to the perfect thing on the next one. She pulled out the cream-colored, chiffon number with tiny pink roses, turning it from front to back with the dry-cleaning ticket still pinned to the laced bodice.
That night the three of them went over her belongings once more to make sure she had everything. Afterwards, they sat on her bed and went over the plans of their meeting up with her in Canada. Grac
ie couldn’t help the loneliness of having to part with them, her moral support. After all, Mr. Farrell would have his sister and mother. Where could she run when things became overwhelming at times?
The hours separating the big day tomorrow grew slimmer and slimmer much to her anxiety. It was a night filled with endless tossing and turning from the haunting image of the man that will forever change her life.
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She was wide awake when the orange glow of dawn heralded the beginning of a new day. Heather and Bitsy swarmed around her like nurse maids, slipping her into her clothes from her pantyhose, to her dress, then working their creation on her hair and makeup. Gracie slumped on the bed while they went to dress themselves before the car arrived, staring through the small bridal bouquet Bitsy shoved in her hands. The closer the moment got, the bigger the knot in her stomach grew (Was it too late to back out? Would she really be able to pull this off in front of his family for two whole months?) She looked up and met the helplessness looking back at her from the dresser mirror. She exhaled a sharp sigh and looked away in disgust. (It was way too late) This entire situation was like a runaway freight train no one could stop. Too many people were depending on her; The people at work, her friends, and Indigo Farrell himself, who’s probably standing at the courthouse at this very moment waiting for her to keep her end of the bargain. On God, would everyone think any less of her if she just ran away?
“Gracie,” Heather came hopping into her room on one foot trying to get her black high-heel on to the other. “Did you hear me? The driver’s here. It’s time.”
“I’m coming,” she said, but made no effort to move.
Heather saw the dismal look drawn across her face and scurried to her side. “It’s going to be all right,” she put an arm around her. “Before you know it, you’ll be sitting right here in this very spot, glad that this whole thing is finally over, and you just got a big order for three wedding cakes, a dozen red-velvet cupcakes, and a couple of Bear Claws.” They couldn’t help laughing at that. “You can do this, I know you can.”
She patted the hand draped around her shoulder. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m so worried about. It’s not like I’m having major heart surgery where my odds of making it are slim to none. I’m going to do a job. That’s all it is—a job.” She tried to smile for reassurance, but couldn’t hold it.
“You better believe it,” Heather cupped her face in her hand and smiled for her.
“Come on,” Bitsy stuck her head in the room. “The driver’s waiting.”
Gracie stood, her bouquet hanging sadly at her side and took one last look around her cozy, friend-of-a-bedroom. It felt like a final good-bye. She couldn’t explain the feeling, but knew that when she returned to this friend, her life will no longer be as simple as these quaint four walls, and the quaint bed with the soft, frilly quilt.
She sat tight and composed in the back of the company car as they rode through the streets for the courthouse. Every curb they turned reminded her that her nerves were bundled in one, big, fat ball. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but the beautiful, sunny day seemed extra bright for her special occasion. Those four words Heather said to her before they left echoed in her mind all the way to their destination. (You can do this, you can do this).
When they arrived, a court official promptly escorted them to the judge’s chamber where the ceremony was to be held. He knocked, threw the door open, then stood back for the three women to enter the spacious office with its dark, cherry wood borders; One wall was lined from ceiling to floor with rows upon rows of leather-bound books. Their shoes clicked across the hard wood floor as they entered. Indigo, standing behind the desk talking to a rather distinguished looking, older man, looked over and smiled. He excused himself to go and greet them.
Gracie’s heart began pounding at the approaching figure dressed exquisitely in a tailored, gray suit with a tiny, white rose pinned on his lapel with his neat hair and clean-shaven face.
“Gracie,” his smile was unusually warm. “Heather, Bitsy,” he nodded to them. “If you’re ready, we can begin.”
So soon, she grimaced. What, no small talk? No words to put her at ease? How about a thank you for just showing up? It startled her when his hand engulfed hers in a soft hold; but she reigned her nerves back in quickly as he led her to their place in front of the judge’s desk. Heather and Bitsy took their places beside her and the ceremony began. Gracie had to will herself to listen to the judge’s words while fighting her nerves at the same time. Indigo was amused when she stumbled over her vows. But there was no stumbling when it came time for him to repeat his, those eyes never once leaving hers. And when he spoke the words, ‘I do’, his voice held such strong conviction, though Gracie wondered if she was just imagining the determined tone. Of course, she was. None of this held any real meaning for him. This was a formality for the sake of an inheritance. The tiny spurt of anger from that dose of reality gave her the needed strength to hold his gaze as the ceremony continued. After he slipped her wedding band on, she took his left hand in hers. The intimate touch sent a wave of fire through her arm causing her to fumble some before managing to get his ring on.
“By the powers vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you man and wife,” the judge concluded with a hearty laugh. “You may kiss the bride.”
Gracie held her breath as Indigo leaned in and claimed possession of his new bride with a soft, short kiss—their first kiss. When it ended, she met the smiling eyes of her new husband. The judge congratulated them and Indigo introduced the Honorable Judge Joe Brown to her and her friends.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” his two large hands covered the one she held out to him. “I wish you and Indigo all the best. Here,” he reached over his desk and lifted up a bottle of champagne. “For your more private celebration.”
She accepted the bottle and said a weak, “Thank-you.”
While Indigo said some last few words to the judge, Gracie turned to her friends who congratulated her with hugs and kisses.
Heather rubbed the bottle clutched tightly in Gracie’s embrace. “Boy, are you going to need that, later on.”
“Funny, Heather,” she turned her mouth up.
Indigo came up from behind and touched her waist. “Ready to go?” he asked.
They were escorted out of the court house into the car and driven a couple of blocks to the VandyMore Hotel where Indigo had booked a small room just for the four of them to enjoy a delicious brunch. As they ate of the delectable fruits, cheeses, ham, and freshly baked bread, he listened patiently as Heather and Bitsy talked excitedly of their trip. Gracie was glad that the choice of topic was London and not the ceremony or her new title—Mrs. Indigo Farrell.
Afterwards, she hugged her friends good-bye and was escorted by her new husband to the elevator up to the third floor where they could change in their separate rooms for their flight.
CHAPTER FOUR
They passed through customs then boarded their flight for Canada. Gracie sat in her seat half asleep from exhaustion of a restless night and an emotionally draining day. The layover in New York gave her time to relax. Normally, a night spent in a new city meant taking in as much of the sites as possible. Hers consisted of a meal she picked at where neither she nor Indigo felt in the mood to indulge in much conversation (Do you like your dinner? Are you sleepy? So am I) The silence would have continued in the elevator ride up were it not for a nice, older lady who talked to anyone with an ear about the wonderful time she was having celebrating her fortieth wedding anniversary in such an exciting city. When the doors slid open, Gracie’s steps took her a little faster that Indigo’s, and she was at her door in no time. Did she even bother to say good-night to him before hurrying inside? She couldn’t really say. She just wanted to get into her room and put the door between them.
She once again found herself seated on a plane as it sailed them toward their last stop, Canada. She glanced over at Ind
igo as he sat pondering over some business papers from his brief case, looking more like Mr. Farrell, her boss, instead of the man she just married.
They arrived at the Montreal-Pierre Elliott Trudeau International airport, much to her relief. She was glad that part of the trip was over so she could settle down and unwind in her own room, on top of what will be her own bed for the next two months. They claimed their luggage then emerged into the warm sunlight. She inhaled a deep breath of the foreign air. A beige tour bus with bright, green lettering on its side was unloading a group of senior citizens near the entranceway; Groups of college students chattered eagerly among themselves while waiting for their transportation to come and take them to their destination. She was fascinated by the fluency of French being spoken all around her. With the help of a porter, they went in search of Indigo’s rental. Once everything was loaded inside, he guided the black Lincoln Navigator toward downtown Montreal. As they neared it, Gracie’s brows lifted at the sight of the huge, wooded mountain protruding from the city.
“That’s Mount Royal,” he said when he noticed the look of wonderment on her face. “It practically dominates the city. The locals refer to it as ‘the mountain’. It’s not just a mountain, though, it bustles with activity. Besides providing a scenic view of Montreal, it has an art center that holds exhibitions, and a man-made beaver lake that becomes a skating rink in the winter. It’s a favorite of cross-country skiers, bikers, and joggers. If you notice there,” he pointed. “Those slopes in the mountain are extended by a series of natural terraces going down to a river. If you like, I’ll take you on a tour of it one day.”