I choked on my drink.
“I knew you’d react like that,” Tiffany beamed.
Was she trying to kill me?
I cleared my throat, stalling for time to figure out how to respond.
“Don’t try saying no. I’ve already ordered your dress. I guessed at your size, but I think you’ll find I’m good at guessing. Plus, you’ll have a final fitting a week before the wedding.” She shook her head and her blond hair fell perfectly into place. “I’m so glad we have it all worked out.”
“Have you told Peter this plan?” I was finally able to speak.
“Peter?” She quirked her eyebrows. “Why would he care about the wedding plans?”
I couldn’t determine whether his apathy bothered her or whether that was how she wanted it. I had a feeling this ditz was used to getting her way, no matter what. And I wasn’t entirely sure she was a ditz.
“Sarah won’t mind, will she?” Tiffany did her best to look concerned.
“About what?” I asked, flummoxed by the turn the conversation was taking. Shit, I was already a bridesmaid in a wedding I didn’t want to attend. Now what?
“Well, you’ll have to walk down the aisle with a man.” Tiffany gave a strange little smile.
Was that guilt or triumph? Was she trying to cure my lesbianism as well?
It took a lot of effort for me to not laugh in her face. I dug my nails into my left palm under the table, to keep myself from cracking up. “Oh, that. Sarah won’t care at all.”
“Good. I didn’t want to step on any toes.”
I was pretty certain she didn’t care about anyone’s toes.
“Trust me, that’s something Sarah never has to worry about.”
“You cheating, or you cheating with a man?” Her eyes narrowed until she resembled a lioness about to lunge at its prey.
Her question floored me. And her nonchalance was a good indicator that she knew everything about Peter and my father. Just great. Would she watch me too, to see if I was a cheater? I seriously doubted she would make any effort to protect Sarah. She seemed like the type to gather intel for her own personal benefit.
It struck me that perhaps I had seriously underestimated this woman from the beginning. I had thought Peter was playing her, but maybe she had been playing him. I wished I could call Peter to see how he was handling the situation. Then again, why bother. I didn’t even like him. Maybe this wedding would be more entertaining than I thought.
“Also, I hope you can give a toast during the dinner,” Tiffany said, before devouring a crouton, crunching loudly.
Fuck!
* * *
“A bridesmaid! You said no, right?” Sarah leveled her gaze at me.
“How do I say no to that request from my future sister-in-law?” I stared back at her, feeling helpless.
“You just say no.” Sarah studied me. “Oh, God, you agreed?” She started laughing. “Wait till Maddie hears this.”
Before I could respond, Sarah left the room, dialing her cell. Not long after, she returned to the kitchen. She’d already told Maddie, and I hadn’t even finished making my tea. How in the world did those two gossip so much so quickly? I wished I could be as efficient, but with my research, not my gossiping. I would be three times as productive if I were as quick as they were. I would be on my fourth book, instead of my second.
“Maddie wants me to film it all. She’s taking bets that you’ll fall walking down the aisle, or freeze and say something completely inappropriate during your toast.”
“That second accusation doesn’t seem fair. She can’t give two different scenarios and count it as one.” I bit into a scone.
“Is there more hot water?” Sarah gestured to my tea. I nodded.
“Fix me a cup, will ya?”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else, ma’am?” I tried to mimic a slave’s voice, but failed miserably.
“Yeah, don’t talk like that.” She swiveled around on a barstool, smiling.
Was it just me, or did Sarah have a certain glow about her?
Chapter Seventeen
A string of giggles issued from the kitchen. I sat at my desk in the office, wondering if I wanted to know what Sarah and Maddie were up to. Something told me their merriment had something to do with me, so I chose to remain hidden.
I should have known it wouldn’t work. I also should have installed a lock as soon as we moved in.
“I have a gift for you.” Maddie burst through the office door like she owned the place, waving a garment bag at me.
Sarah waltzed in after her, looking full of herself.
“I told you to say no…” Sarah said, her words disappearing into a gale of laughter.
I stared at the garment bag, unable to think of anything to say.
Maddie shook it. “Aren’t you curious to see what’s inside?”
I shook my head.
“Too bad.” She ripped the zipper open to reveal a hideous red and green dress, so disgustingly ugly that no woman in her right mind would ever wear it.
“What the fuck is that? Your prom dress from 1999?”
“Ha, you wish. I wouldn’t ever put this thing on, not even then.” Maddie’s grin made me squirm in my chair.
“Three guesses? What do you think it is?” Sarah chimed in.
“You mean besides a hideous dress?” I needed clarification.
Sarah nodded.
“Uh, something that should be burned,” was all I could think of to say.
“Oh, just tell her, Sarah. I’ve never met a more clueless person.” Maddie was doubled over with laughter.
“It’s your bridesmaid dress for Peter’s wedding.” Sarah was enjoying herself—too much, I thought.
I snapped my mouth shut, shocked. “I’ll look like a deranged Christmas gift.”
“Yeah. It’s like something a ninety-year-old grandmother would wear.” Maddie flicked the fabric with a finger. “Not only is it ugly, it’s also scratchy. I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.”
“I’ll pay you one hundred bucks to wear it to dinner tonight,” I said, only half in jest.
“Nope. You’d have to pay me a lot more than that.”
“One thousand.”
“Where?”
“Old Town.”
Maddie scrunched up her face. “So lots of people would see me.” I could see her mulling it over.
“That is the point.”
“Nope. Not going to do it.” She folded the dress over the back of my chair, and brushed off her hands, as though she wanted to cleanse her fashion sense.
“Your loss.”
“What about two thousand?” Maddie bargained.
“No way!” Sarah waggled a finger at both of us to stop the madness. “Knowing you two, something would happen to the dress, and how would I explain that to Tiffany? She’s put me in charge of you, Lizzie.”
“Ah, Sarah, you’re no fun,” I pouted her accusation away.
“I wonder what type of shoes you’ll wear with a dress like this?” Maddie turned serious.
“Maybe we should raid Mrs. Claus’s closet,” I offered.
Maddie snorted, taken aback that I’d uttered a joke that was somewhat funny.
Sarah tried her best to maintain her I’m in control bravado, but it was slipping.
How in the world had I ended up in this situation?
* * *
I tapped the side of my champagne flute with my knife. No one in the room took any notice. Actually, I think the din increased, as if everyone was intentionally giving me the cold shoulder. Any pride and confidence I had seemed to ooze out of me. I glanced to my side and caught Tiffany’s attention. I had been shocked to discover that Sarah and I were to be seated at Peter’s table. I thought for sure he’d stick us in the back, right next to the kid’s table.
Tiffany stood and shouted, “Quiet, everyone. Lizzie wants to say something.”
Shit, she was annoying. A burning sensa
tion seemed to work its way up my neck to the top of my head. I was sure I looked ridiculous—almost as red as my dress.
I glanced over at Sarah for support. She flashed me her you can do it smile. At least my wife looked confident that I could get through my toast without making a total ass out of myself.
“Uh…” I cleared my throat. “Many of you don’t know me…or at least…” I stepped from side to side, fighting the urge to bolt from the room. “Or, at least, you didn’t know me before today, but I have a feeling many of you will remember me…or at least the dress.” I pulled out the hideous skirt to emphasize my point. Laughter floated out from the crowd, bolstering my courage.
Everyone laughed, except for Peter. Even the other bridesmaids nodded their understanding. We all looked ridiculous.
“I probably should mention that I’m Peter’s sister.”
Some lady uttered too loud, “I didn’t know he had a sister.”
I raised my glass. “Now you do. How’s this for making an impression?” I downed a third of my champagne.
Sarah covered her mouth. For a second, I thought she might pee herself.
The mood relaxed a little; Peter’s evil glare, did not. But to tell you the truth, I was enjoying it. The man was insufferable. He didn’t know how to relax, not even at his own wedding. He’d been strutting around with his chest puffed out all evening, like a conquering hero returning from war. Every time I heard his booming voice, I wanted to vomit.
“In all seriousness…” I paused not sure what to say. I glanced at Peter and Tiffany. She beamed. Peter looked his usual smug self. “I wish both of you the best.” I resisted the urge to add, You’ll need it.
My speech over, I sat down in my seat, completely relaxed. For days I’d been dreading my brother’s wedding, afraid I’d screw up my toast. And I had messed it up, big time, but at least it was over. One of Peter’s coworkers stood up to add his two cents. He talked about how Peter was the most astute businessman he’d ever met. Was this a board meeting? I sucked, but at least I wasn’t shameful enough to stick my nose up Peter’s ass.
The following day, Sarah and I joined my father, Peter, and Tiffany for brunch. Tiffany thought it’d be nice to have a family get together before the newlyweds took off for their honeymoon. Sarah had convinced me to go. I found it odd that Tiffany’s side of the family didn’t attend the meal.
“Sarah, I noticed you aren’t drinking your champagne. It’s the best they offer.” Peter’s haughty grin annoyed the hell out of me. Everything he ever ordered was the best—or so he said.
“I guess I’m just not in the mood for bubbly,” Sarah declared.
“Bubbly.” Peter looked aghast. “This is not the kind of champagne you find at your local wine shop.” He shot me a reproving glare. “I bet you’ve never ordered champagne this divine.” He took a careful sip, his expression reverent, as if he was kissing Jesus’ feet.
Divine. What drug was my brother on, anyway? Divine, my ass. It tasted like champagne. Good, champagne, yes, but I wasn’t having an out-of-body experience with each swig.
Sarah and I hadn’t planned on breaking the news that she was six weeks pregnant. We both firmly believed we should wait at least another month. Actually, I didn’t ever plan on telling Peter, not if I could help it. My hope was that Tiffany would lose interest in family time once all the wedding hoopla settled down.
“What exotic adventures do you have planned?” I tried to steer the conversation to safer waters.
Peter puffed out his chest. “I plan on eating the finest food and drinking the finest wines.” He set his glass down firmly. “Elizabeth, I’m appalled that you don’t treat Sarah to the finer things in life. I’m confounded as to why she refuses to try this champagne. I know for a fact she’s never had anything this nice. Obviously, you two just aren’t used to a life of luxury.”
My father stared out the window. I couldn’t determine whether he was listening. He was probably lost in his own world.
“She doesn’t have to try your fucking champagne, okay,” I muttered through clenched teeth. I immediately regretted my word choice, but really, he’d pushed me into it with his elitism.
Sarah put a hand on my arm, rubbing it so Peter could see it. He rolled his eyes, which I suspected was her intention. I wanted to shout, “Homophobe!”
“Peter, I’m not trying to snub you or your champagne. I can’t drink,” Sarah explained.
“Can’t drink!” he jeered. “That’s absurd. You mean you don’t want to.”
Peter missed the meaning behind her words—and the twinkle in her eye. Sarah was positively radiant. I hadn’t ever seen her look more beautiful.
“Oh my God!” Tiffany squealed. “When are you due?” She grabbed both of Sarah’s hands and swung them about as if she was playing an accordion.
Women had a way of picking up on these things.
Peter frowned at his new bride, both exasperated and clueless.
“We didn’t plan on saying anything until you two got back.” Sarah took a deep breath. Tiffany let go of her hands, and Sarah flashed me her prepare yourself look. “We’re due in August.”
Tiffany clapped her hands. “I’m going to be an aunt.” She turned aunt into two syllables, and I tried to picture our child saying, “A-Unt Tie-fannie.”
Realization dawned on Peter’s face. It was priceless. I’m sure he never considered that we’d have a kid. And he’d probably never given two thoughts to the idea that we’d be the first to give our father a grandchild.
He scowled. He had been first with everything, yet I had beaten him to one of the biggest milestones in our father’s life. Peter wasn’t just miffed; he looked like he wanted to commit murder.
My father, on the other hand, turned slowly to face me and then turned to Sarah. His usual poker face carried a faint trace of glee. “Really?” he asked.
My grin answered him, and Sarah confirmed with a resounding, “Yes.”
“That’s wonderful.” He added, almost wistfully, “My first grandchild.”
His words floored me.
“August, though, so that means you’re only six weeks pregnant? Anything could happen. Isn’t it too early to tell people?” questioned Peter.
Everyone ignored him. I felt pity for him. He really just didn’t have a clue about life. Not surprising, really, considering who raised us. Part of me wanted to tell him it was all right not to be perfect. The other part said, “Don’t bother. He won’t get it.”
His bride raised her champagne flute. “To new beginnings, all around!”
Dedication
For Cindy. Everyone should have a friend like you.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading A Woman Ignored. If you enjoyed the novel, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon. No matter how long or short, I would very much appreciate your feedback.
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my editor, Karin Cox. I am extremely grateful for all the hours she spent hunting for my mistakes, and for her patience, insight, and guidance. Thank you to my beta readers, who assisted me in the early stages. Jeri Walker-Bickett, proofreader extraordinaire, it gives me much peace of mind to hit publish after you have combed through the manuscript. Erin Dameron-Hill designed a beautiful cover, for which I’m truly thankful. Guido Henkel did a fantastic job formatting this e-book. I marvel over his ability to make the final product look amazing on all devices. Lastly, my sincerest thanks go to all my blogging buddies who have cheered me on for the past four years. When I first h
eard of blogging I scoffed thinking I would never take to it. It wasn’t until I met so many wonderful people online who have been there for me through the best and worst times did I realize how wrong I was. I’m honored to call of you my friends and I’m so thankful I changed my tune about starting a blog.
About the Author
TB Markinson is an American writer living in England. When she isn’t writing, she’s traveling the world, watching sports on the telly, visiting pubs in England, or taking the dog for a walk—not necessarily in that order. She has also written A Woman Lost, Marionette, Confessions From A Coffee Shop, and Claudia Must Die. For a full listing of all her published works, please visit her author’s page.
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Feel free to visit TB’s blogs to say hello. On Making My Mark, she discusses her self-publishing journey and helps other authors promote their books. On her 50 Year Project, she chronicles her challenge to visit 192 countries, read 1001 books, and to watch the AFI’s top 100 movies.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Dedication
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
A Woman Ignored (A Woman Lost Book 2) Page 19