by Maggie Way
“Y-you’re leaving?”
He shoved a hand through his brown-blond hair. “Yeah, I gotta go. We’re all set for next month?”
She nodded. “November second.”
“Great.” He moved past her.
She retreated down the steps behind him, but he’d reached the front door before she achieved the bottom step.
His hand on the doorknob, he twisted toward her. “Uh, thanks.”
“Sure,” she muttered as he disappeared into a ray of sunlight.
Suddenly alone, again, in the cavernous estate, the quiet menaced. In the living room, the antique clock’s pendulum swing resonated with thunderous noise. She plopped down hard on a step and stared at the tray of food in her lap. With a heavy sigh, she picked up a slice of toast and bit into it.
She was wondering if Luke was okay and how her world had flipped on end so quickly, when an odd scent tickled her nose.
The eggs!
The screech of the smoke alarm punctured the air.
Labor Day came and went, marking the official end of summer and, along with it, tourist season. It also concluded Emily’s first full month living on the island. Two weeks had passed since Luke walked out on her, and the image of his face, twisted with agony, haunted her still.
The front window had been replaced, only days before a cool north wind swept across the island. With the change in weather, an ominous scratchiness irritated the back of her throat.
She was still snuggled beneath the covers in bed when, on the nightstand, her cell phone jingled with an incoming text. She opened the message from Mina.
Meet you out front in an hour?
Emily suppressed a groan. Over a week ago, she and Mina arranged to go to the bridal shop in town and pick out dresses for Mina’s wedding next month. It was the last thing Emily wanted to do at that moment, but according to her Internet research, it was her job to make sure the bride was happy, even if that meant she must lie, cheat, or kill to achieve the feat.
An hour later, she met Mina in the driveway, a smile plastered on her face.
Tucked among the row of brick and mortar buildings lining Main Street, the bridal store boasted turn-of-the-century charm and connected to the chic clothing boutique next door.
A tinkling bell sounded when they passed through the entry and a pretty, dark-haired woman Mina appeared to know showed them to a cream-colored room at the back of the store decorated with plush carpeting and brocade satin wallpaper.
The woman, Isobel, had smooth mocha skin, wide gray eyes, and a soft smile that put Emily at ease.
“I’ve pulled some gowns for you both to take a look at. Let me know what you like and what you don’t like.” She motioned to the white and ivory gowns on a rollaway rack.
Mina went in the other direction, to the rack with a rainbow array of dresses.
“I love this color.” She held up the skirts of an emerald gown that reminded Emily of Luke’s eyes. “What do you think?”
Emily offered her cousin a weak smile and nodded.
Mina selected several colored gowns and Isobel herded Emily behind the dressing curtain.
The first dress, a navy taffeta sheath, wouldn’t fit over Emily’s ample hips, and the second, in a deep burgundy silk, clashed with her bright hair. Isobel helped her into the emerald gown, a strapless A-line, and threw back the curtain.
In front of the mirrors, beneath the store’s harsh lighting, Emily’s skin appeared pale, pasty even, and dark shadows settled under her eyes. The dress, made of a soft crepe fabric, seemed to cling to her imperfections, and even brought to light a few she didn’t know she had.
Just then, a petite brunette with a straight nose and catlike eyes swept into their private room.
The air squeezed from Emily’s lungs while she gaped at her aunt, Vivian. Her resemblance to Audrey was so strong that for just the briefest moment, Emily thought her mom had walked into that bridal shop.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Mina spoke through clenched teeth.
Vivian blinked at her daughter. “When you told me you were coming, I had to be here. This is the biggest decision of your life.”
“It’s really not,” Mina said. “Not even close.”
Vivian’s gaze turned to Emily.
“Mom, you remember Emily, don’t you? We started with her dress.”
Vivian’s green-gold gaze lingered over Emily’s face a moment, and then traveled lower. Her nose wrinkled. “That dress does nothing for you, dear.”
Vivian turned to the rack of dresses and in one brutal sweep, rejected half the gowns outright. She sent Emily to the dressing room with three different dresses to try on, the first of which she declared gaudy and the second too tawdry. Emily wasn’t sure what the difference was between gaudy and tawdry, and in her opinion, both gowns were pretty.
When she stepped behind the curtain to change into the next dress, the tension building between her temples all morning started to throb, and by the time she stood in front of the trio of women in a dusty-purple ball gown with a fitted bodice, her entire face ached from the pressure in her sinuses.
Vivian tipped her head to one side and studied her. “The color is flattering to your skin tone, but you look like a cupcake. I’m afraid this one won’t work either.”
Indeed, the puffy tulle skirt overwhelmed Emily’s short frame. Disappointment twisted her face into a frown. She’d hoped this one might meet Vivian’s approval, as the boning in the bodice pushed her boobs high and made her adequate cleavage appear downright abundant.
Isobel chewed her lip and pondered Emily’s reflection in the mirror. “I wonder, if we remove some of the layers of tulle, maybe you won’t look so much like a cupcake.”
She stuck her hands beneath Emily’s skirts and started to pull fabric toward the back of the gown. As Emily watched in the mirror, Isobel changed the shape of the dress from a bulbous ball gown to an elegant A-line.
“Oh, that’s pretty.” Mina fingered the tulle. “Do you like it?”
Emily considered her reflection. “I do.”
Three pairs of eyes swiveled to Vivian.
With a firm nod, she approved the selection. “Now, let’s make sure she doesn’t overshadow the bride.”
Mina paled while Emily darted toward the curtain wall and out from under her aunt’s critical gaze.
Vivian’s directives to Isobel carried through the curtain.
“No mermaids and no ball gowns,” Vivian pronounced. “They’ll only make her look wider than she is. Lace or beading in small doses only, and under no circumstances should she wear anything strapless. She needs more support for her large chest, and a sleeve will help conceal that little extra here on her arms.”
“This one’s pretty, don’t you think?” But dread filled Mina’s voice.
“Oh, darling, no. You’ll look like one of Rose’s doilies in that. Besides, that shade of white washes you out.”
When Emily emerged from behind the curtain, the trio was clustered around the rack, discussing the merits and drawbacks of each gown. Her limbs heavy with exhaustion, she sank into an armchair.
She found her gaze drawn repeatedly to Vivian, so similar to her mom in appearance and yet so unlike her in personality. Sorrow squeezed like a painful knot inside her chest when it struck her that she and her mom would never share the experience of shopping for Emily’s wedding dress together.
Only two gowns passed Vivian’s inspection and Isobel quickly herded an increasingly dejected-looking Mina behind the curtain.
Vivian perched on the edge of an armchair next to Emily. “I’m not sure about this plan of yours to have dinner at the house,” she called to Mina. “Shouldn’t we find some place nicer?”
“Noah and I are together because of the house.” Mina’s voice carried through the curtain. “We want to celebrate there.”
Vivian heaved a martyred sigh into the air. “Maybe I’d better have a look. See if I can make it work.”
A sneeze tickled the b
ack of Emily’s nose and erupted.
“Emily’s taking care of everything,” Mina called. “She planned the grand opening, and it was perfect.”
Vivian’s hypercritical gaze swung to Emily.
Amidst a honking blow into a Kleenex, Emily froze.
Vivian turned her head back in the direction of the curtain. “What are you doing about flowers?”
“Emily’s already picked them out.” Mina’s words sounded strained, as though she held her breath. “What are they called again, Em?”
“Ranunculus.” Emily folded the tissue and tucked it into the pocket of her sweatshirt. “Wi-with brunia and seeded eucalyptus.”
Vivian frowned.
“And wh-white lilies,” Emily added.
The lines eased from Vivian’s face. “Well, you have to let me do something.”
With a whoosh, Isobel swept back the curtain and Mina appeared before them in a corseted A-line with delicate off-the-shoulder sleeves.
Vivian took one look at her and said, simply, “No.”
Mina accepted the rejection without flinching. “You’re helping me with my dress.” She yanked the curtain closed. “You don’t need to do anything more than that.”
“I could use y-your help w-with the menu.”
Vivian’s injured expression turned calculating, and then, inspired. “Stuffed baby artichokes and Tuscan salad. For the main course, smoked salmon with lemon, seasonal vegetables, and golden potato croquette. Either Pinot Grigio or Sauvignon Blanc for the wine.” She flicked her wrist at Emily. “You can choose.”
The curtain rustled and Mina stepped out from behind it.
Emily gasped while, for the first time since she entered the store, Vivian fell silent.
The dress conformed to Mina’s curves with a standing shoulder collar and an elegant flare at the bottom. It contained no adornments, but was made of a buttery-smooth satin with a wide sash around her small waist. It reminded Emily of the simple but elegant styles worn in the forties, but with a sexier silhouette.
Vivian’s head started to bob and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s perfect.”
Mina’s eyes widened. “It is?” Her head bent as she tried to look at her body. “You don’t think it’s too tight? Or old-fashioned?”
Unable to speak, Vivian went to Mina and wrapped her in her arms.
A spasm of grief struck Emily near her heart. She told herself if she were fortunate to find a man she loved enough to marry, she wouldn’t begrudge her fate, but her mom’s absence from her life was like a big, gaping hole blown through the middle of her chest. It might callus over one day, but she wondered if she’d ever be whole again.
Vivian sniffed and regained some of her cold composure. “It’s timeless, and it shows off your curves. That’s something every woman should do on her wedding day.”
With Mina changed, the quartet made their way to the front of the store. Exhaustion clawed at Emily and while Mina and Isobel finalized the details of Mina’s dress order, she plopped onto a raised platform by the entrance next to a silently posed mannequin.
Emily leaned back to gaze up at the faceless dummy, outfitted in a taupe patterned blouse and a cream-colored corduroy blazer with dark-wash blue jeans and leopard-print ballet flats. She fingered the teardrop pearl earrings lying next to a chocolate-brown leather tote at the mannequin’s feet.
It was a great outfit. The kind of outfit a smart, professional businesswoman might wear. Or a woman with a lover.
Vivian appeared at Emily’s elbow, an unsettling expression on her attractive face. “I wish I’d known your mother was sick.” Her voice wavered. “I’d liked to have helped or… visited her.”
Emily recoiled and her heart kicked painfully in her chest.
Vivian’s gaze found Emily’s. “Did she suffer?”
Emily’s throat closed and it took her many long moments to force out the words. “Y-yes, she did. Very much.”
She knew it wasn’t what Vivian wanted to hear, and maybe she should’ve censored her response for her aunt, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t downplay the hell Audrey had suffered.
Mina turned away from the sales counter and Emily took her place. She barely listened while Isobel verified the size and color of her dress.
This month marked one year Emily’s mom had been dead, and in that time, she’d inherited a huge sum of money she didn’t want, moved across the country, opened her own business, and had regretful sex with a gorgeous man.
Isobel confirmed the total price, and Emily slid her credit card from her wallet, but she didn’t hand it over.
Instead, she pointed to the mannequin in the front window. “I’d like to b-b-buy that outfit as well.”
Chapter Twelve
Sleep hadn’t eased the exhaustion pulling at Emily’s limbs, and by late afternoon the next day, she crawled to her bed and pulled the covers over her head. When she awoke near dinnertime, her eyes burned and her head still throbbed with the pressure in her stuffed sinus passages.
In the bathroom, she rummaged through the cupboard in search of anything with enough strength to knock her out again, but her search turned up only a couple of allergy tablets and a bottle of multivitamins. Also, she discovered the nearly empty box of tissues on her nightstand was the only box in the house and that the number of toilet paper rolls counted too few to make up the shortfall.
She swallowed and her throat screamed with raw aching. Her weak, sore muscles complained when she yanked a brush through her hair, so she gave up on grooming and pulled on her sneakers.
Outside, clouds hovered overhead and blocked out any warmth from the setting sun. She didn’t know if the temperature had dipped or if her body, with its weakened immune system, overestimated the chill, but she burrowed her nose in her sweatshirt and darted to her sedan.
At the store, she skipped the carts and searched out the health aisle. Her head as cloudy as the darkening sky, she loaded her arms with cough syrup and drops, throat spray, mentholated rub, and two boxes of ultra-soft tissue. En route to the checkout lanes, she added a jug of orange juice and a gallon of ice cream to her heap.
She tucked the ice cream under her chin and turned toward the front of the store, but as she came around the end of the aisle, she crashed into someone. She registered only blonde hair and jiggly warmth before a box of Kleenex popped out from under her arm and landed on the ground with a crack of noise.
The pile in her arms shifted and started to slide. She bobbled the orange juice and a squeak leaked from her when the ice cream toppled toward the floor.
At the last second, two hands shot out and plucked the gallon from its freefall.
His bright green eyes glinted up at her. A bevy of butterflies took flight in her stomach.
Emily gulped, and winced with the sting of her inflamed throat. “Nice catch.”
Luke’s dimples popped, and he straightened. “Cookie dough? Somehow I pegged you for a rocky road kind of girl.”
If the cold hadn’t destroyed her sense of smell, she’d probably have learned he smelled as good as he looked. A neat black suit hugged his lean frame and turned his bright eyes brilliant.
At his side, the blonde stunner wore a gold shrink-wrapped dress and held a bottle of wine nestled in the crook of her arm.
The butterflies banging around in Emily’s stomach crash-landed somewhere around her naval.
He was on a date. They were on a date. Together.
“I’m allergic to n-nuts.” Her nose clogged with snot, she’d become a mouth breather.
His gaze raked over her and his smile fell. “Are you sick?”
The blonde’s perfect button nose crinkled and she drew back.
“It’s just a cold.” A menacing tickle built in her nose and erupted as a sneeze.
The other box of tissue hit the floor. She stooped, just as Luke bent over, and her forehead bashed into his shoulder.
“You should get a shopping cart,” the blonde said.
When Emily stoo
d, the mucus clogging her sinuses shifted and the world tipped with a dizzying slant.
Luke frowned and reached for the jug of orange juice. “Let me help you.”
Emily twisted away. “No, I’ve got it.” Her gaze slipped to the woman found so often on his arm.
He seemed to startle. “Emily, this is Kate. Kate, Emily.”
The women exchanged muttered hellos.
“Emily bought the old Winslow house and opened a bed-and-breakfast.” The slide of his deep voice tried to pull her in, but she resisted its seductive lure.
Kate’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Isn’t it weird sleeping with strangers in your house?”
Emily preferred it to being by herself.
“N-Not really.” In the awkward silence that followed her profound input, she eased back. “Uh, I’m g-gonna go.”
She spotted an empty checkout lane and dumped her armload onto the belt with extreme relief. Moments later, relief turned to dreadfulness when she approached the storefront to find he had waited for her.
He plucked the grocery sacks from her hands and fell into step alongside her. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m good.” She attempted a cheeky grin. “I’ve got drugs now.”
He didn’t laugh, but only frowned down at her.
At her car, she opened the trunk and he set the groceries inside the dark interior.
“Let me give you my number. In case you need me—”
“All I need is sleep.” She slammed the trunk closed. “Enjoy your date.”
With Kate.
Emily didn’t give Luke a chance to make excuses, think up a lie, or worse, not bother to do either, but went around to the driver-side door and ducked inside the car. She punched the accelerator, heedless of her speed.
In the rearview mirror, he scowled after her.
He ignored the voice inside his head screaming at him to stay the hell away from her and pounded his fist on the back door at Emily’s house.
This time, he had a plan to keep his control in place. If he focused on her shortcomings, he’d forget about how pretty she was when she smiled, and how he desperately wanted to suckle her porn-star mouth again, and her pink nipples, and—