My Ex-Boyfriend's Wedding

by T. Sue VerSteeg

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  MY EX-BOYFRIEND'S WEDDING

  by

  T. SUE VERSTEEG

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  Copyright © 2014 by T. Sue VerSteeg

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahalliday.com/Halliday_Publishing/

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  To Cindi Kopel.

  Thanks for always being there and your tireless efforts over the years to make the sibling rivalry more realistic in this book. ;)

  Love you, sis!

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Jemma Keith let the heavy box she'd lugged up the stairs slam to the floor with a loud thump. Flopping onto her couch, she nestled into the overstuffed cushions and took what comfort she could from her familiar surroundings. Dust clung to the things she'd left behind in the tiny apartment after being closed up for a few months.

  She made the mistake of closing her eyes in the hopes of escaping to her happy place. You know, sprawled on a beach chair, palm trees rustling in the soft breeze, gentle ocean waves sweeping the sand, scantily clad Johnny Depp manning the margarita blender, Tom Hiddleston and Bradley Cooper, one on each side, fighting over who gets to put on her sunscreen.

  Instead, she ended up replaying the morning's events just as clearly as when they'd happened. Curiosity had nagged her to follow her boyfriend, Dalton Blackwell, after he cancelled their lunch plans at the last minute, yet again. Common sense attempted to side with her stomach, pleading to drive through for a burger instead.

  Curiosity won.

  She kept her car at a safe distance, following from his office along the familiar route to the home of his secretary, Stacy.

  Jemma parked a block away, feeling guilty as she walked toward the two-story Victorian she'd visited for many office parties. She brushed her finger along the silver striping of Dalton's car at the curb as she passed it. A beautiful afternoon, the late fall breeze briskly whipped the fallen leaves across the lawn as she walked up the front steps. The bright sun warmed the air of the Indian-Summer's day, making her tug at the collar of her heavy wool sweater.

  This is ridiculous; he's only visiting her since she called in sick, just like he said.

  But, curiosity prodded her across the porch to the front door. As she hovered a finger over the doorbell, fluttering curtains at an open window caught her attention. The garish, blood red fabric billowed inward, framing Stacy on her knees in the living room. Dalton stood in front of her, pants undone, his fingers tangled in her dirty blond hair, guiding her movement. Jemma sucked in a harsh gasp, fighting a myriad of emotions and one hell of a gag reflex.

  Curiosity: one. Common Sense: zero.

  "Jemma Rae Keith!" Her father's booming voice snapped her from her self-induced nightmare and back to the present task at hand.

  "Yes, Daddy?"

  "Am I to assume that you plan to lie there while I cart the rest of these boxes up three flights of stairs?"

  Jemma flashed her dad a lopsided, half-hearted smile, as he walked through the door and joined her on the couch. Her father was a large man, with salt and pepper hair, brown eyes, an infamous bad temper, and a rumored connection with the Mob. Anyone with any sense would move heaven and earth to stay on the man's good side.

  "Sorry, Daddy, I'm…" Jemma paused, tossed a frantic look around her box-infested apartment for any excuse, and flipped her hands in the air. "I've got nothing. I guess I just needed a break."

  "Don't give that asshole one more second of your time. I tried to tell you from the beginning he was a waste of pretty much everything, including air." Michael Keith crossed his arms over his massive chest.

  "That's probably part of the reason I convinced myself I loved him."

  Jemma and her father exchanged accusatory glares before he scooped her into his embrace, a snort of derision punctuating his hug.

  "There is undoubtedly more truth in that statement than I care to admit. However, I will take great pride in asking if you're glad I insisted on keeping your apartment after you moved in with the waste of skin," he said, his words a statement more than a question.

  "Okay, you win on that one." Jemma dropped her head back against the couch, breaking from his grasp in an overstated act of defeat. The tears had stopped after the shock, but the longer she sat still, the closer they bubbled to the surface. Bounding to her feet, she added, "I'll try to listen, if there's ever a next time."

  Her father broke out in a long belly laugh, drawing out until he gasped for breath. "I highly doubt it," he sputtered between gulps of air.

  Jemma walked to the door, muttering, "I didn't say it would happen. I just said I'd try."

  They spent the remainder of the afternoon carting boxes up to her apartment, ignoring the melody coming from Jemma's cell phone. Dalton had tried calling all afternoon, like he always did, evidently oblivious to what Jemma had witnessed. Getting her stuff out of his place was the only thing that'd kept her from interrupting them. Dalton never did fight fair, and this instance would, more than likely, be no different.

  Jemma made the final trip down for the last of her clothes.

  Her mother pulled up, hastily parking with two wheels on the curb.

  "Sweetheart," her mother bellowed as she sprang from her vehicle and dashed toward her. Though small in stature, she was strong, in both body and spirit. She had to be to keep up with Jemma's father. The silver streaks in her mother's fire red hair glistened in the sun as she closed the gap between them. "I came as soon as I got out of my meeting." Her mom wrapped her in a warm bear hug, and Jemma returned it twofold. She breathed in the familiar, comforting combination of her mom's perfume and hairspray.

  "I thought Dad told you we had it covered?" Jemma mumbled into her shoulder, not wanting to let go of her happy place.

  Pushing her back to arms length, her mother tucked her hair behind her ear, and Jemma leaned into her palm. "He did. But, when have I ever listened to your father?"

  "True." Jemma nodded. "I'm actually glad you're here. Dad's good for the manual labor. Arranging things? Not so much."

  Alexis Keith grabbed her daughter's hand and exchanged a knowing glance with her, expressing much the same sentiments her father had earlier, only without words. Kind of an 'I-told-you-so-but-I-knew-you-had-to-learn-for-yourself-before-you-would-listen-to-me,' complete with pursed lips, cocked head, and high, crinkled brow.

  Jemma rolled her eyes. "Thanks for not saying it, at least."

  "I'd never do that." Sarcasm dripped from each word. "That's why I keep your father around." The girls giggled as they walked arm in arm, sharing the load of clothes on the trip back up.

  "I was beginning to think you'd left me to do all the unpacking," her dad grumbled as he dumped a box of framed pictures haphazardly onto the rug.

&nbs
p; Jemma's stomach clenched at the sight of her precious cargo scattered on the floor. She lunged to the pile, arranging them into neat stacks, while checking for cracks in the glass.

  Her father walked over and greeted his wife with a kiss that would make even newlyweds blush. To the best of her recollection, her parents had always enjoyed a marriage made in heaven. Sure, they fought, and yes, there were hard times, but it was always obvious they loved one another. They'd set the relationship bar so high, Jemma sometimes wondered if she'd ever even come close to pole vaulting high enough to clear it.

  Her parents' miniature love fest ended, and her mother walked over to her. She smoothed Jemma's bangs from her face. "You realize your brother is going to bust something when he finds out what happened. We can only pray the something he busts isn't attached to a person."

  "Unless it's attached to Dalton," her father seethed.

  The man was doomed if those two showed up on his doorstep, not that part of her wasn't on board with it. She grabbed her father's hand. "Please, let me handle this. I'm not a little girl anymore. You and Mikey don't need to fight my battles."

  He scowled, a huge vein popping at his temple. "I'm your father. That's what I do."

  "Daddy, we weren't married, there aren't any kids involved, he didn't beat me, and I'm leaving with everything I went in with." She paused, looking down, pretending to admire the old, wooden trim before turning her big doe eyes back toward him and continuing, "Minus my pride, of course."

  Her mother rubbed her dad's shoulders. "She's right, Michael. Let her at least try to handle it herself."

  Jemma rode the self-confidence roller-coaster up with her mother's first words, the last half flinging her back down. Flashing an evil eye at her mom, a wide-eyed stare of innocence was promptly returned.

  Focusing on the more pressing matter, she returned her attention to her father's pending meltdown. "If you want to go to Duke's Club at the corner, I'll call you if I have any problems. You'll be less than a block away. Deal?"

  Her father's jaw set, his face flushing red, deep in thought. Softening into a teddy bear demeanor, he said, "Anything for my little girl."

  Jemma raised a skeptical brow. "Promise?"

  Releasing a deep sigh, he conceded, "Promise."

  Mikey shoved the apartment door open. The door handle slammed into the wall, the resounding whomp echoing off her high ceilings. "What's the Jemma emergency?"

  Her mom quickly reached Jemma's side, grabbing her arm before she could protest or strangle someone. "I'd already called him, honey. I didn't tell him all the details on the phone, though. He has the same temper as your father, and I knew he would be dangerous without someone talking sense into him first."

  Jemma bobbed her head in agreement then switched to fervently shaking it. Mikey and sense weren't a likely combination no matter how much you talked to him.

  Collapsing onto the couch again, her apartment walls seemed to close in on her. Though, she could be standing in the Grand Canyon at that particular moment and still feel confined. Her family meant well, but they were making the whole situation worse. She wanted to fast forward through time, through the mess, to regain some semblance of a normal life. Starting over alone would be a challenge, but it was one she could handle. Her heart may have been broken, but seeing Dalton and Stacy firsthand had helped, leaving no room in her mind for lies or excuses. And then there was the intense anger, which always did assist the healing process.

  "That bastard! I'll kill him with my bare hands." Mikey's thunderous voice rattled her from her thoughts.

  Jemma turned to her parents. "I take it you told him the whole story, then?" Sighing in frustrated resignation, she slouched farther down within the cushions of her couch. "Did you also tell him what you promised me, Dad?"

  "Yes, dear, we're heading to Duke's now. I've called Guido, Freddy, and Axel, too. They're meeting us there."

  She groaned aloud, unafraid to share her increasing discontent with the growing situation.

  Leaning down, her dad kissed her forehead. "I promised to play nice." He paused, his gaze narrowing. "As long as Dumb Ass Dalton plays nice, too."

  Jemma rolled her eyes again, this time at the old nickname he'd given Dalton when they'd first started dating. "Thank you, Daddy."

  The soft tinkling of Dalton's assigned ringtone shot panic through her, culminating in her gut. She swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.

  Her mom plucked the phone from the coffee table and handed it to her. "It's time to face him, honey." She placed a gentle kiss on Jemma's forehead, followed the guys out of the door, and quietly closed it behind them.

  Jemma inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Hello." The single word was curt, coarse, and dry.

  "Hey, baby doll. I've been trying to call all afternoon. You okay?" Sugary sweet, his words held the same tone they always did, but they didn't sit well with her this time. No hint of remorse for the oral Stacy invasion. No regret from the bastard for breaking her heart.

  "No, not really. I went for a drive today and saw some very disturbing sights."

  "Okay." He drew out the word, confusion clouding his voice. "Should I bring home supper for my love-muffin?"

  Jemma's stomach lurched again, this time at his baby talk. "No thanks. I feel sick, now."

  "I'll come home and give you one of my world famous massages. I'm on my way."

  He really did expect her to be at home waiting for him. "I've moved back into my apartment, Dalton. I know about you and Stacy."

  With a snort of contempt, he fumed, "There's nothing to know about her and me." He paused to heave an annoyed sigh directly into the phone. "I never took you for a jealous person, Jemma. I'm actually kind of disappointed. For the hundredth time, I assure you, there's nothing more than a working relationship between us."

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

  "Bring your necessities back to my place, and we'll get the rest later," he barked.

  A violent shudder raged through her body at his blatant lies and master/dog attitude. She desperately tried to regain her composure, but her instincts shoved her more toward screaming out every awful, nasty name she could think of. Unable to breathe, let alone speak, she clenched her fist tightly around her phone, desperately wishing it was his neck, and threw it across the room. It bounced against the kitchen wall, hit the floor, and splintered into several pieces. Tears trailed down her face, uncontrollable sobs echoing through her apartment.

  That was it. She was done.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Jemma, open up." Dalton's thunderous voice, along with the harsh pounding on the door, woke Jemma from a brief reprieve of heartache.

  Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see she'd been asleep for two hours. More importantly, he'd obviously sat at his house during that time, expecting her to snap to his whim. Grinding her sore, swollen eyes with her fists, she stood staring at the vibrating door, pondering what his next round of lies would be once she opened it. Flipping the lock and turning the handle took all of her strength, both physically and mentally. She stood tall, hand gripping the doorknob for several seconds, before she was finally able to pull it open.

  Dalton glared across the threshold. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he spat, hard and uncaring—a side of him she'd never seen. "I told you there was nothing between Stacy and me. I told you to come home." His hand shot out, finger shoved millimeters from her nose. "What part of those words didn't you understand?"

  Jemma stared into his cold, empty eyes. The sneer and overly arched brow matched the sarcastic scolding of his words. Dalton always got his way. Handsome and athletic, all he had to do was show his dimples for most women to do his bidding. Until the day from hell started, Jemma had counted herself as the luckiest woman in the world to have the tall, blond, blue-eyed god for her very own. He'd treated her with respect, challenged her intellect, and encouraged her to follow her passion in life, photography. He had seemed like the total package, and she'd be
en swept off her feet.

  This was her wake up call. And a hearty slap in the face to remove any doubt she was lost in a nightmare.

  "Answer me, damn it! I'm losing my patience with you—fast."

  "I followed you to Stacy's house today." Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke, her tone barely above a whisper. Anger, betrayal, hurt, and loss swirled in her gut.

  "I told you she called in sick. I took lunch to her. You're really a disappointment. This whole jealousy thing doesn't work for me." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "Get your things. Now!" He yelled.

  Anger steeled her spine, pushing her shoulders back. Visions of Stacy on her knees popped into her mind, fueling the burning rage. "So, getting a blow job was just payback for lunch?" she screamed, matching his tone.

  "What?" Dalton's eyes widened, his guilty gaze shifting to the floor.

  "I followed you to her house." Jemma fed on the fury consuming her sadness. A sarcastic giggle escaped her lips. It was her turn to point the finger, poking it into his chest a time or two. "I felt bad when I stopped, even thought about knocking on the door and seeing how Stacy was feeling. But, I saw you both through the window first. Good thing, too. I would've hated to interrupt such a touching moment."

  He stammered, "You, you must have been there when she was…she was crawling around looking for a lost earring. Jem, I love you."

  "Hmm, unless she lost it in your pants and tried to retrieve it with her mouth, I'm pretty sure I saw exactly what happened." She grew louder with each precisely annunciated syllable, paying no regard to what her neighbors might think.

  Dalton released a huge sigh of resignation, his shoulders sagging. "Can I come in so we can talk this over without the whole world knowing I screwed up?"