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

by Marilyn Cruise

  “Someone captured the entire thing last night on their phone and posted it online. And it’s everywhere now, all over Twitter, and…”

  “When did you see this?” I ask, feeling my stomach churn.

  “Right after you called.” She looks at me sympathetically and hands me my wine. “I would have called you back, but the stewardess nearly ripped the phone out of my hands, yelling at me to shut the damn thing off or she’d dispose of my phone. Whatever that means.”

  “Why would anyone post that online?” I slump down by the kitchen table and take a big gulp of my wine.

  “Because even though no one knows the whole of it, they think that your love story is so amazing. I mean, come on. How romantic is that? You fulfilled your fiancés secret fantasy on Christmas Day. In a fucking strip club. What guy wouldn’t absolutely love that? I even saw that now it’s being dubbed as the most romantic Christmas present of the year.”

  “Really?” I say, laughing macabrely.

  “Well, not everyone agrees. Some say it’s a waste of money, because it must have cost an arm and a leg to rent The Black Chapel, and others are saying—”

  “I really don’t think I want to hear anymore,” I say. Sometimes Anne doesn’t know when to stop talking.

  “It’s trending all over Portland, Scarlett. You can’t hide from it. You just have to let it run its course.” She blinks.

  Trending? Oh hell. She’s right. I can’t control anything about the situation now that it’s out. I just wish it wasn’t the fake story that was circulating out there. On second thought, I don’t want the real story out there either.

  “Then what the hell do I do?” I say. “I’ve lost the one man I ever loved, and now I have to marry him for show!”

  “Honey, you have to look at the bright side. He still wants to go through with the deal, right?”

  “Yes, but—” I say.

  “And now you can save your parents’ house, save your dad, and live happily ever after as a single woman. You don’t need a man to make you happy, especially one who wants to cheat on you with a stripper.”

  “He came clean about it,” I whisper.

  Anne huffs. “So that makes it alright?” She wipes a tear rolling down my cheek and wraps her arms around me. I cry for several minutes in her arms.

  Finally, I’m able to speak again. “At the ball, he made it look like—”

  “Yeah, I know. He did the gentlemanly thing. You screwed up and now you’re in pain,” she says, her eyes unapologetic.

  “Thanks for rubbing it in,” I say sarcastically.

  “What are friends for?” She smiles and sits down across the table from me before taking a sip of her wine.

  I take a sip from my glass, too. “I did some pretty shady stuff,” I say.

  “Hell, Scarlett, you’re not perfect. And if he can’t handle a less than perfect Scarlett, then he doesn’t deserve you. I mean, it’s not like you did something worse than him, right? And you forgave him, need I remind you?”

  I did forgive him.

  “Honey, you’re my best friend. I just want to see you happy. Michael seems like a great guy, but he has been doing some pretty shitty shit. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes.” I huff. “We’re one messed up couple.”

  “Well, I suppose you’re still a couple in a way. And, Oh. My. God.” She lifts my finger and shows me my ring. Her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “He is filthy stinking rich. Is that like fifty carats?”

  “Seriously?” I say, withdrawing my hand as a bad aftertaste spreads through my mouth.

  “Just asking, you know. Anyway, what I’d say is that if he doesn’t find it in his heart to forgive you, he doesn’t love you as much as you had thought. And sweetie, you deserve a man to treat you like the queen of the universe.”

  I don’t want to hear that, but Anne is right. He must not love me as much as I love him. And in the end, I don’t want to be in that kind of a lopsided relationship.

  * * *

  An hour later I’m at my father’s. Before I go into his room, the nurse pulls me aside. She’s back to her grumpier than ten angry hippos mode. But it’s more than that. She has a serious look on her face, even more so than normal, and my chest tightens when I approach her.

  “The doctor visited your father earlier, and the news isn’t good,” she says. “Your father has taken a turn for the worse. His cancer has reached stage three.”

  “What?” I feel all the blood leave my face. “But just a few weeks ago, he was stage two!”

  “These things can progress really quickly sometimes. We just can’t predict how fast,” she says with far too little sympathy.

  “What does all this mean?” I think about the necklace I have at home. I need to sell it so my father can live. Screw my pride about not wanting to take anything from Michael. This is about my father’s life!

  “The cancer may have metastasized,” she says.

  A jolt of fear shoots through me. “Metastasized?”

  “It may have spread beyond the liver into other areas of his body,” the nurse says.

  No. This can’t be happening. It can’t! “Is he in a lot of pain?” I ask.

  “He was, but we put him on morphine so he’s not feeling it now,” she says.

  “How…long…?” I can’t say the words: until he dies.

  “If he has surgery, and receives treatment, the five-year survival for this type of cancer in this stage is less than 20 percent.”

  I wince. “And if he doesn’t receive treatment?”

  “Weeks, maybe months if he’s strong. If you can find the money, there are numerous treatment options available, and you could at least extend his life some. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up, Scarlett.”

  “Yes, you’ve explained it to me before. How much will it cost now that the cancer has advanced?” I ask.

  “After the surgery, he’ll need treatment for at least six months, and maybe even up to a year. I don’t know what the surgery costs, but thirty days of treatments runs you roughly 8,000 to 10,000 dollars, all depending on how many treatments his body can take each month. Is there anyone you can ask, a family member perhaps?”

  “I’ve come up with the money. So just schedule everything right away,” I say.

  She nods and picks up the phone to call the doctor.

  I shuffle down the hallway, afraid of what I’ll see when I enter his room. It all feels so sudden even though he’s been ill for many months, and I knew full well this day would come. It’s just I’m not ready for it. Nor will I ever be.

  When I arrive in his room, he’s sound asleep. I stand by the bed and take his hand in mine, holding it gently so not to wake him. His mouth is open, his breathing labored, and his hair messy.

  Last time I saw him, I didn’t think he could lose any more weight, but the way his cheeks are concave, I can tell he’s disintegrated even more. The painting I brought him of my mother hangs on the wall across from the bed, and when I see it, I can’t help but let out a whimper as the tears flood my eyes.

  If he dies, I won’t have a single parent left. No one will be there when, or if I ever marry, and no one will be there to see my children. They won’t see how I turned out in the end, that I finally did put things straight and became a daughter they could be proud of. And although he doesn’t know the half of it, he definitely knows something is different with me. And he doesn’t like it.

  I bring his hand to my chest, right above my heart and bend forward into a sob.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I failed you. I couldn’t come up with the money you needed sooner than today. It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.” I continue to cry, the weight on my shoulders pummeling down on me like a never-ending nightmare, like a hovering demon that keeps growing bigger and bigger and is determined to destroy me. When will this end? Why does life have to be so hard? Why does my father have to suffer so?

  I feel the same way I did after I had just put my father in here, when I dec
ided to become a stripper. The day I lost my innocence. The day I lost my self respect. I will do whatever it takes to survive, whatever it takes to ensure my father gets the treatment he needs. I’ll sell my soul if I have to, to whomever will buy it.

  After crying for a while longer, I slowly find my center. I let go of his hand and wipe the tears off my cheeks. I bend over and press my lips to his wrinkled forehead ever so lightly, sealing the deal with my kiss.

  Standing up, I square my shoulders and take a deep, cleansing breath. I’m not broken yet. As long as there is life, there is hope. I’m going to sell the necklace and then he’ll have the treatment he needs. I just hope it isn’t too late.

  * * *

  When I get back home, there’s a black limousine parked outside my house. I pull my car into the driveway and right as I step out, a beefy chauffeur exits the limousine.

  “Miss Hansen?” he says.

  “Yes?” I give him the evil eye. I’m not going anywhere.

  “Mrs. Manning would like to have a word with you.” He gestures toward the limousine.

  She’s here? But, yeah, right. Hell-no. “Well, tell Mrs. Manning that I don’t want to have a word with her. Whatever it is she wishes to say, she can say to Michael.” Who does this woman think she is to show up at my house in her fancy ride expecting to speak with me after completely humiliating me in front of our entire community? I refuse to speak to that she-devil.

  He leans in. “Mrs. Manning asked me to say please.” He cocks his head to the side and tries to grin.

  I roll my eyes. “No, thank you.”

  “She says it’s really important,” the chauffer says. “And when Mrs. Manning says that, it really is.”

  “I don’t care what she thinks is important anymore. She screwed up my life, so she can die for all I care.” I gasp as the words jump out of my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that! I don’t mean it at all, of course, although I am livid with her. The woman really is an insanely wicked person—the monster mother-in-law that not even the devil would admit into hell. She is someone I do not want to associate with in this life or the next.

  I scurry toward my house, quickly unlock the door, slam it shut, and close the blinds. I hope they leave. I hope they leave now. I pace across the floor a couple dozen times, nervously wringing my hands together. I want to see if they’ve left.

  No.

  Yes.

  No.

  Shit!

  Why can’t I just leave it alone? My curiosity gets the best of me. I separate the blinds just enough so I can peek outside.

  What the…? Unbelievable. Mrs. Manning is now climbing out of the limo with the help of her brawly chauffeur. Shit! I feel really guilty all of a sudden. I know she’s wheel chair ridden, and practically on her deathbed, so this can’t be easy for her, and I figure that what she has to say to me must be important.

  Annoyed, I fling my front door open and yell, “Don’t bother getting out. I’ll be right there!” I head to the limousine and get in.

  Mrs. Manning is wearing a white fur coat, pearls around her neck and her hair is impeccable. Hell, the woman looks better than I do on any given day.

  “Thank you for coming, dear. I needed to speak with you.” She coughs for about a minute, and I have to resist calling 911—she sounds so bad.

  “I apologize. I’m dying, dear, so at least with one of my last breaths I can set things straight.”

  “You can’t set things straight,” I say. I am still angry as hell. But why is she really here?

  “Well, I can try. I know I caused an argument between you and my son. He won’t tell me much about it, but I can only assume it’s because of me and what I did last night. The sad thing is that it’s caused a rift between you two. Michael says he might break off your engagement.”

  No! He’s actually considering pulling the deal? He must really hate me if that’s the case.

  “First, I want to apologize for my behavior last night. It was completely inappropriate,” Diane says.

  “You think?” Her apology is not very impressive, and I don’t accept it at all. No, Not. At. All. In fact, it just makes me even more pissed off at her. Does she think words can change what has happened?

  “I really thought that by revealing where I assumed you worked, I was protecting my son and my family’s good name,” she sighs.

  “By airing out your son’s sexual fantasies? How stupid could you be?” I blurt out. No filters here. And I’m not telling her the truth after what she pulled last night. I won’t give her the satisfaction of being right.

  “Yes, I was indeed, stupid. I shouldn’t have been so rash to broadcast it so publicly before I was 100 percent certain. I thought you were leading him on, posing as a respectable girl, nothing but another whore after his money.” She laughs.

  “You’re laughing at this? Do you know what you’ve done?” I say.

  Diane keeps talking, rationalizing why she did what she did, but I zone out. I feel a tinge of guilt for still holding onto my lie, but I can’t get myself to tell her the truth. Not yet. There may still be hope for the deal if Michael and I can keep it all under her radar. And right now that deal is all I have left.

  “Whatever the truth is, the only thing I need to know is, do you love my son, Scarlett?” she asks.

  I’m taken aback by her question. “Why the hell do you think I would ever tell you?”

  “Listen, I know I’ve been rash in my behavior, but I need to know. So now spit it out,” she says.

  “Spit it out? What…”

  She interrupts me. “I need to see if I can make this work again, and if I am to spend my last few days here in this world trying to make amends, it damn well better be worth it.” She takes a deep, slow breath and her eyes turn soft. “Please let me do this.”

  The atmosphere in the limousine has suddenly changed and I feel I have no other choice but to tell her. “He’s broken my heart.” I look down, feeling the stinging truth of my own words.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, girl, just answer the damn question!” She coughs again.

  I look down at my hands. They’re trembling. In fact, my entire body is trembling. “Yes. I love him. I love Michael with all my heart.”

  She offers me a satisfied smile. “All right. Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Actually…

  She gets a distant gaze in her eyes, and looks out the window. “Michael never visits me, you know. Ever since the divorce, it’s as if he has disowned me. That’s the real reason I didn’t want the inheritance to go to him. I resented him for excluding me from his life. I thought a woman would be able to set that straight. And when you came along, there was hope again. He…warmed up to me and I could see that joyful side of him that I hadn’t seen for years. You brought him back to himself. And to me.” Diane’s eyes tear up, but then she quickly composes herself. “I’m sorry you have to see a sick, old crone like me cry. What a pathetic sight.”

  I feel sorry for her. The woman is probably lonelier than I can imagine, though being such a control freak and a stalker, I think she almost deserves it.

  “I’m sure your life hasn’t been easy either,” I say.

  Offering me a knowing nod, she says, “Well, we can all learn from this, can’t we?” She looks at me and she has returned from wherever she was. She smiles, and for the first time since I met her, I see calmness in her eyes.

  “Thank you for coming out to visit, and thank you for the apology,” I say. Although I still have my doubts she’ll be able to fix anything.

  She rolls her eyes. “I had to. Michael is completely miserable.”

  A spark of hope ignites in my chest. “Really?”

  “He hasn’t called to talk to me, but his butler tells me everything,” she says.

  “You have a spy in his own house?” I ask, stunned. Of course I shouldn’t be too surprised.

  “Well, how could I not? I am his mother, and as such, I need to know how my only son is doing!” she exclaims defensively
.

  Now I know why Michael is such a sneaky son of a bitch. He had a great teacher. We say good-bye, and I watch as Mrs. Manning’s limousine drives off.

  But just then I remember. Dammit! I should have asked about whether or not she is keeping the amendment in the will, which states if Michael divorces me, he loses all his inheritance to me.

  I suppose only time will tell.

  9

  After Diane leaves, I head to the jeweler at the mall to see if I can’t sell my diamond necklace. Once I show the clerk my diamonds, he immediately gets the manager.

  A short man that looks like he has spent his entire morning grooming himself comes over.

  “Hello, I’m Mark. I’m a certified diamond dealer and can tell you what your necklace is worth in about thirty minutes. Do you mind waiting?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. While I’m waiting, I meander around the mall. There are almost as many shoppers here now as there were on Christmas Eve—it’s disturbing. Everyone’s probably trying to exchange all the gifts they didn’t really like. Once I get back to the jeweler’s, Mark comes over to me immediately.

  “Are you interested in selling?” he asks, his pearly whites glistening behind his smile.

  “Yes,” I say, pretending as if I know what I’m doing.

  Mark smiles, like he’s just found a secret goldmine. “I’d like to buy the piece. We rarely receive any as elegant as this one, and I’d love to add it to my collection.”

  “What are you willing to pay me for it?” I ask.

  “I can buy this piece for 32,000 dollars,” he says.

  Holy shit. It’s a lot of money, but I have no knowledge of what this piece is worth. Mark could be trying to rip me off for all I know. I rummage through my white leather purse so I can call Anne, but discover that I’ve left my phone at home. Instead, I decide to take the diamond necklace to a couple of other jewelry shops to get a couple more offers. Mark looks very disappointed as I leave.

  The second shop says they can get back to me in a week when their appraiser comes back. I can’t wait a week, so I go to the last jewelry shop in the mall. The offer comes back slightly higher.