The White Chapel: Book 2 in the Steamy New Adult Contemporary Romance Series (The Chapel Series)

by Marilyn Cruise

  “It’s okay, breathe,” he whispers, offering me an easy smile.

  I inhale and exhale slowly, but my heart rate is still through the roof.

  “I’d like to announce the engagement of my only son, Michael, to his lovely girlfriend, Scarlett. Don’t they make a beautiful couple?” Diane says.

  I relax a little at her words, but I still get the distinct feeling more is coming.

  Applause follows, and lights are flashing. It looks like even the press made it out to this party. Great.

  “Tell me, Michael, where did you say you met again?” Diane hands the microphone to him.

  “We met at church, Mother. The Portland Episcopal Church.” He smiles and hands the microphone back.

  “And tell me, Scarlett. What did you think when you first met my very wealthy, very handsome son?” she asks.

  Why is she saying it like that? Something is definitely not right. I think back to the strip club where I had seen him in the audience. Does that qualify as meeting him the first time, or in the church? I pick the church. Best be consistent in my story.

  “I thought he was very kind and sweet. And a little forward,” I say with a tremble in my voice and hand the microphone back to her.

  The guests laugh.

  “Yes, Michael can be a little pushy, can’t he?” Diane says.

  I shrug my shoulders and squeeze Michael’s arm tight.

  “And tell me, Scarlett. When did you start working at The Black Chapel exactly?” Diane asks.

  7

  Diane hands me the microphone and I freeze. My stomach sinks into the floor, and for a moment, I can’t breathe or think.

  “I…I…uh, don’t know what you mean,” I say. The room is suddenly spinning. I connect with a few eyes in the audience. Some, it seems, have no idea what The Black Chapel is, although a few, I can tell from their wide eyes that they definitely know that it’s a strip club. They’ve probably even frequented it.

  Diane laughs and snags the microphone out of my hands, shooting me a very satisfied glare.

  Bitch!

  “Well of course you do,” she says. “It’s the strip club called The Black Chapel. You know, where you work? One of my friends saw you entering there just earlier today.”

  Friends? Yeah, right. She means one of her dirty, rotten, spies followed me. Why in the world is she doing this? Didn’t she just change her entire will so I would get all the money? I knew I hadn’t been careful this morning when I went to meet Michael at The Black Chapel, but I thought she trusted me. I hadn’t thought that I needed to take all the precautionary measures I had been taking this last week.

  Dammit!

  I finally spit out, “What do you mean?” I look at Michael, and I don’t know if he has connected the dots yet. He’s not stupid, but at the moment he looks just as shocked as I feel.

  Maybe he’s embarrassed at the mention of the strip club. Maybe he feels guilty because he was there and didn’t tell me the girl he was pursuing was a stripper. And oh, shit. He definitely doesn’t want his dirty laundry aired out so openly in front of his family, business acquaintances, and the Portland socialites. What is his mother thinking? Is she trying to completely destroy her son’s reputation? She really is evil.

  I squeeze his hand harder, knowing it will only be seconds before he won’t allow me to hold it anymore.

  Then he looks at me, and the eyes that just moments ago were filled with love and devotion toward me have turned distant and callous.

  Shit. Fuck. Moses. Mary.

  I should have told him when I had the chance. I thought the backfire then would be bad, but this is a thousand times worse. Not to mention mortifying for the both of us.

  He doesn’t release my hand. I’m sure he’s thinking it would give too much away. Instead, he snatches the microphone from me.

  “Thank you, Mother, for bringing that up.” He flashes her a murderous glare. “Forgive my mother. She doesn’t understand privacy or personal boundaries. Scarlett doesn’t work there. I have actually had a fantasy for a while in where I made love to an angel. And since my beloved fiancé is my real angel here on earth, I wanted to see if she’d indulge me this one thing on Christmas Day. Of course being the wonderful woman she is, she immediately said yes.”

  Shit, he’s covering for me. Does this mean he isn’t mad? No, if he weren’t mad, he wouldn’t have that icy glare in his once tender eyes.

  Diane looks like she’s about to have a stroke or a heart attack, or quite possibly both. It makes me feel a little bit better, knowing Michael can be just as cunning, though I’m just as afraid of where my lack of truthfulness will lead us.

  Michael doesn’t miss a beat, but I can see fury in his blue eyes, toward us both, I believe.

  “I rented The Black Chapel from the owner, Laila. She told me the place would be closed on Christmas Day, and that it was the perfect time to have the facility all to ourselves. Then we lived out my fantasy. It was beautiful, wasn’t it, Scarlett?” He turns and looks at me, his lips smiling softly, but his eyes angry as sin.

  I nod, but I can’t get a word out, my mouth is so dry.

  The guests are very happy for us and they applaud generously. Some of them laugh at the “misunderstanding.”

  “So, it’s all a misinterpretation, I’m sure,” Michael says.

  Diane takes the microphone back. Michael grabs my hand, drags me off the stage, and out of the ballroom. He doesn’t say a word, not even when he helps me put my jacket on or when we get into the car.

  “I was going to tell you everything right after tonight,” I say. But now it all sounds like empty promises, a way to try and save my skin.

  He starts the car, revving it up several times, the powerful engine roaring over my voice. He glares at me for a moment, a cold, unforgiving stare, and then he speeds out of the driveway.

  “Let’s just talk about this like adults,” I say. “I know I should have told you, but…”

  “Stop talking. I don’t want to hear another word,” he says.

  “Please, Michael, just listen.”

  He turns the radio on, the song Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree blaring from the speakers.

  Driving in silence, I feel like my dream world is now coming to an end, unraveling into black ashes, being scattered in the wind. My subconscious is whipping me. You had it coming. You don’t deserve this kind of happiness. You could never hold on to a man like Michael. Who do you think you are? Liar. Slut. You’re no one, and especially now, you’ve messed up your life again.

  Tears stream down my cheeks onto my lap as I look out the window at the raging blizzard. One after another the Christmas tunes play, and for every minute of silence, I die a little more.

  It seems like forever, but we finally arrive at my house.

  Once the car stops, Michael says, “Get out.”

  “Michael, please let me explain,” I beg.

  “Not now. You need to go home. The next time I want to see you is at the wedding.” He huffs loudly and closes his eyes for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “I’m sorry my mother is such a fucking bitch.”

  I try to laugh, but the laughter gets stuck in my parched throat. “Me too. I’m sorry she aired your…our dirty laundry.”

  “I should have seen it coming. But then again, I didn’t know you…screw that! I’m even sorrier that you lied to me. I thought—” He stops. “We are through….this…” he points back and forth between us. “…this is over. The deal is still on, and I expect you at the wedding.”

  It feels like a claw is clutching around my heart, squeezing it, cutting it to shreds. “But don’t you see that she’s trying to drive us apart? She’s been spying on me and now she found one little reason why you shouldn’t marry me.” Which still doesn’t make any sense because she rewrote the will. Does that mean she’s changed it yet again? Probably. Definitely.

  “Broken trust is not a little reason,” he hisses through his teeth. His brow furrows deep and he closes his
eyes. When he opens them again, there’s resolve. “I thought I’d found the one person I could trust completely, that I could give my heart to without hesitation. But obviously, you aren’t that person. You’re about as different from that person as they come. Hell, you’re worse than any of the women I’ve dated.”

  His words puncture that small bubble of hope I was still clinging onto. “Can’t you see that this is all a stupid detail? I was going to tell you after the party—I had promised myself. I didn’t want to tell you before because I was afraid you’d act this way and that you’d pull the deal on me. Fuck! This isn’t even about the deal for me anymore. This is about us. I love you, Michael. Please, don’t do this.”

  “I can’t be with someone I don’t trust!” he yells. “It’s what drove my parents apart. All the games, the lies, the secrets. I can’t and I won’t live that way, you hear? And when I confessed to you what I had done, you had the opportunity to do it too, but you chose not to.”

  “I was going to…”

  “Now we’ll never know.” He shakes his head and his hand hits his temple. “I can’t talk to you right now. I need to cool off before I lose it.” He reaches over me and opens my door, the freezing air immediately clamping hold of me. “Please leave.”

  “Well, it’s not like you were completely honest with me either,” I say. “You went to see a stripper! You forgot about that detail, didn’t you? You sent her emails and told her you wanted to be with her when you were fucking me!”

  “You are so messed up, Scarlett. Just leave or I’ll pull the entire deal, too!” he shouts.

  The tears are coming like a flood now. I can’t hold them back. I take my diamond necklace off and give it to him.

  “Keep it,” he says. “For your father’s chemo treatments. I won’t be getting involved anymore, but fortunately for you, I’m not a heartless snake.”

  I get out of the car, but before I close the door, I say, “Thanks for taking the blow for me. I know I didn’t deserve your protection up there on the stage tonight.” I drop the necklace onto the car seat and close the door.

  Michael drives off in a hurry, tires screeching, and my shoulders start to roll with the sobs as I watch the only man I’ve ever truly loved drive off into the cold and snowy night.

  I squeeze my eyes together, the tears running down my face, the unforgiving air burning the wetness into my skin.

  Michael. Oh, Michael. Why did I screw this up?

  8

  I toss and turn all night, listening to the wind howling outside, and the sound of the shutters as they beat against the house. Damn Michael. He’s so two-faced. What makes him think what he did was any better than what I did? Who is he to judge me? And what’s worse, he won’t even talk about it or let me explain myself.

  I am trying to avoid admitting to myself that it is indeed only my fault. I have failed miserably at life—again. I don’t want to face the fact that, due to my duplicity, all the dreams I had such high hopes for over the past few weeks have dissipated into nothingness.

  No, it’s even worse than nothingness.

  Because I have the wonderful memories of Michael and me, and that’s far worse than nothing. If I had nothing, I wouldn’t have anything to mourn.

  I have no one else to blame but me.

  The woman. The liar. The stripper.

  I’ve been up since 5:00 a.m., sitting and crying on my cold kitchen floor.

  At 8:01 a.m., there’s a knock at the door. Could it be Anne? No, she wouldn’t be home yet, although I would love to see her. For a second my stomach clenches. It couldn’t be Michael, could it?

  I wipe my tears, open the door, and there stands a UPS guy in his brown uniform.

  He does a double take on me, probably seeing how my eyes are red and how I have mascara stains running down my cheeks.

  “Are you…” He reads the label on a white box. “…Scarlett Samantha Hansen?”

  Immediately, I know it’s from Michael, that jackass. I nod.

  “I have a package for you. Please sign here, Miss,” he says, handing me a rectangular electronic device.

  I sign the brown whatever the hell that thing is and he hands me the box. I shut the door behind him. Strange, there’s no return address on it, but only Michael would deliver something to a Scarlett Samantha. I roll my eyes. I open the box and inside it there’s a card and then another small, flat, white box. I open the card and read it.

  Dear Scarlett Samantha,

  I wanted you to have this necklace. Please do with it as you please. I suggest you sell it and use the money to pay for your father’s chemotherapy treatments.

  Sincerely, Michael Manning

  I plop down in a chair by the kitchen table. That’s the absolute last thing I want to do: take the man’s charity. Make him think I need him. Especially since he dumped me. Especially since he’s being so fucking petty. I have to talk to someone about this. I pull out my phone and text Anne, hoping she is available and not already on her flight or going through airport security.

  Hey, got a minute to talk? I need some advice, and I am humbly seeking your counsel and wisdom, Scarlett.

  Not even a minute later Anne replies.

  Yeah, of course! I’m waiting at the airport for my flight. Call me.

  I call her right away, and it doesn’t even ring once before she answers.

  “Hey, you!” she says.

  Her tone of voice is chipper, and it makes me happy, knowing she had a good time with her parents.

  “Hi. How was your Christmas?” I ask.

  “It was amazing. My dad’s still a little distant, but I think my mom believes me one hundred percent that I was raped and wasn’t being all promiscuous and stuff.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I say.

  “We even talked about having them pay for my college education.”

  “Really? Oh, Anne. Just do it. You’re such a smart girl, and I know you would do great. Are you seriously considering it?”

  “Well…” she says.

  “Well what?” I say.

  “What would I do without you?” she pouts.

  “Anne, you are not going to put your life on hold just because of me, you hear?” I say as strictly as I can. “When you see an opportunity, you go for it.”

  “Like you did with Michael?” she asks.

  For just a split second I had forgotten about how much pain I’m in, but the mention of his name brings it back ruthless and hard, a jab to my chest.

  “Scarlett?” she says.

  My throat has clamped up so much that I can’t even speak, and I’m afraid if I try, I’ll just completely lose it and break down into a really ugly sob.

  “What happened, Scarlett?”

  “Oh, God!” I moan, clenching my fist.

  “Did you break up with him?” she asks.

  “I don’t want to talk about me right now. Tell me everything that happened on your trip. Please.”

  “As long as you promise to tell me everything the second I arrive back home.”

  “I promise,” I say.

  She tells me about how her dad had basically forced her mom to throw Anne out of the house when Anne had become pregnant, and how heartbroken her mom had been for years. Anne’s mom finally broke down and said if he wouldn’t agree to let Anne back into their lives she would leave Anne’s dad. Needless to say, he agreed, and now, if she moves back home and goes to school they will go to counseling and work on sorting out their differences.

  After I hang up with Anne, I hop into the shower and get ready for my day. Unfortunately, trying to keep a certain someone out of my head proves impossible. Everything about this house reminds me of Michael now. I mean, we had sex in my bed, in the living room, in the shower…ugh!

  I’ll have to compartmentalize those memories, wrap them up in a neat, air-proof little package and store it far, far away.

  I decide to make breakfast, but when I check the fridge, everything’s either expired or missing. When I open the front door to
go get groceries, I suddenly find that I’m unable to step across the threshold. I stand frozen as the snow flurries blow into the house, the cool air stinging the skin on my face. I’m acutely aware that I simply can’t do it. For some reason, I just can’t step outside and into my day, pretending everything is fine. I glance across to the neighbors’ houses, noting how normal and dull everything looks. Nothing has changed in all the years I’ve lived here, but here I am completely paralyzed by what has just transpired.

  The same thing happened when my mother died and it took me weeks just to be able to function as a human being again. I turn back into the house and close the door, locking it behind me.

  Exhausted from not having slept a wink last night, I decide that instead of going grocery shopping, I’ll take a nap. I pull off my coat and take off my boots, go upstairs, and collapse into bed.

  * * *

  I wake up to my phone ringing and someone banging on the door. Shit, how long did I sleep? I check the clock on my phone. Five hours? I rub my eyes, hop down the steps, and open the door.

  Anne has brought a bottle of wine with her and she hands it to me right away.

  “Hell, it looks like I had the right thing in mind,” she says, her big, blue baby doll eyes glaring at me. “You look awful!” She, of course, looks lovely in her black slinky pants and a tight-fitting, square-neck top. “Michael?”

  I look down. My friend knows me all too well. “How did you know?”

  “Well, I had a little heads up. I read about every minute detail on Facebook,” she says.

  My eyes widen in shock. “Facebook? What do you mean Facebook?”

  She walks by me, into the kitchen, and pours us each a glass of nearly frozen white wine. I close the door.