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

by Marilyn Cruise

  This is a man who is very private, who wears an iron mask to the world, and who would do anything to protect what’s on the inside. And what exactly is on the inside? Has he ever let anyone in? Certainly not me. But I wonder if the way he’s holding onto me as if his life depends on it is a small glimpse into who he really is—a man who needs someone, but is too afraid to rely on anyone or to fully show it. If it’s true what he said, the lies run in his family generations back, trusting anyone would be a completely foreign concept. Trusting someone would be foolish and would mean one is gullible. Weak. And will get hurt.

  A stab shoots though my heart when I remember he said to me that he trusted me. Oh, God. He actually trusted me, and I was the one who couldn’t be trusted. He gave us all he had and l screwed it up with my lies. Of course he would be heartbroken. Of course he would never want to see me again.

  Is that what’s going on? Fuck!

  That’s why this is so screwed up. I don’t know what is real anymore. I can’t trust anything he does, and it’s only a testament to me that the sooner I move on the better.

  Walking back to the church, I clutch his arm and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “Your mother was an amazing woman, Michael,” I say.

  “Crazy, but amazing,” he says.

  “Aren’t we all to some degree?” I inhale the freezing air, taking in the last few moments of our time together, savoring every moment of my soon-to-be formerly insane life with my soon-to-be ex-husband.

  “Thank you for being here to support me through this. It helps to have someone who…understands what I’m going through,” he says.

  “I think one day I’ll be glad we met,” I say.

  “Not today?”

  “No, not today.” Especially since we’re literally heading toward our divorce.

  “Well, I’m sure you want to get this over with. I have the annulment papers ready in the Reverend Summerlin’s office. Are you ready?” he asks.

  “I am,” I say, tears threatening to emerge. Liar! I’m so not ready, but the longer I drag this out, the worse it will be. Come what may, is all I can think. This is what I signed up for. This is where the contract ended. I knew it from day one so I must find the strength to follow through. And it’s foolish of me to hope that there could be anything real between Michael and me when our entire relationship was based on a lie. Well, two lies.

  Once back in the office, Michael’s lawyer is waiting for us. Michael opens an envelope and pulls out the papers.

  “He’s here to witness,” Michael says. “You only need to sign a few places if you agree.”

  Was there a quiver in his voice when he said it? Hesitation? It doesn’t matter. I nod. “I agree,” I say. Oh, no, this is really it. We’re getting an annulment, and I’ll probably never see Michael again. Though I tell my eyes not to produce tears, the refuse to listen.

  When Michael sees my tears, he steps closer to me, and I feel that pull toward him like I always do when he’s around. Even here at this moment, I still want to be with him. Even after all he has put me through, even after all I have put him through, I still want this man. I still love this man. Our lives and actions may be dishonest, but our love is honest and pure and true. How can it be?

  “Will you excuse us for a moment?” Michael says to the lawyer. The lawyer nods and leaves. Suddenly the atmosphere in the room changes and he looks me in the eyes. There, I see caring. There, I see kindness. Longing. Regret. Oh, tons of regret.

  “I want to let you know that I’m sorry for the trust that was broken between us,” he says, easing his arms around me. His body is firm and warm, and it makes me feel unbelievably safe.

  I never want him to let go.

  “Yeah, me, too,” I say, my voice thick with grief as tears tumble on my black dress like heavy drops of rain.

  I feel myself letting my guard down. “Michael—”

  “Oh, Scarlett, if we could only start over,” he says, squeezing me tightly.

  I want that, too—even after I’ve realized we’re not good for each other. My body is screaming for his, and all the determination I had to start over, to figure a new way is being threatened.

  He leans down and looks into my eyes, and before I know it, his lips are on mine, hungry, passionate, filled to the brim with desperation.

  For a moment, I kiss him back, being overcome with emotion, as longing floods every particle of my being. I cradle his face in my hands, kissing him passionately, impatiently, with everything I have. Reaching behind my head, he pulls me in deeper, and I taste the saltiness of our tears mingles with the wetness of the kiss.

  But I can’t.

  I have to move on.

  The longer I drag this out, the more painful it will be for the both of us.

  “Michael,” I say, lowering my head, a sob rising from my chest and leaping out of my mouth. “Please stop.” I collapse to the chair next to the desk and look at the floor.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He steps back. “I just wanted us to be real. At least one thing…just us.”

  “Me too,” I say. “Me too.” But right now, nothing is real, except for the future I have in front of me. My new, honest future. And though it looks as bleak as hell, at least it’s an honest one.

  “I’m sorry, Scarlett.” He stands in front of me for a moment before he leaves the office and returns with the lawyer.

  As soon as the lawyer gives the go ahead, I grab the pen from off the table and lean over the document. My hand shakes as I lower it to the paper, and as I press the tip of the ballpoint to the line. I want to look up at Michael to read his expression, but I know if I do, I’ll only break down even more, and neither of us needs that right now. Without thinking, acting only, I sign my name. The lawyer keeps flipping pages, explaining to me what they all mean. I don’t listen. I don’t care.

  When I’m finally finished, it’s Michael’s turn, and I watch as he, with a trembling hand, with a cold expression, signs his name over and over.

  As soon as he’s done, I remove the wickedly gorgeous rings from my ring finger, and place it next to the signed document. Michael’s expression is emotionless, but the muscles in his neck tense.

  After I shake the lawyers hand I dart out of the church as fast as my legs can carry me and run all the way back to my car.

  I break down completely, crying uncontrollably, my entire body shuddering as if I’m at the end of my life.

  17

  After I have calmed myself, I call Anne up and tell her the news. She’s heartbroken on my behalf, but reminds me again of what a bright future I have, and how everything happens for a reason.

  I head on over to visit my father and tell him that his surgery is scheduled for tomorrow. For some reason he has had a change of heart, and says he’ll agree to go through with the surgery and the treatments. I think it is because he’s looking forward to my wedding. He doesn’t know that I already married Michael and divorced him.

  I don’t want to give him false hope, so I take a deep breath and tell him with as solid a voice as I can manage that Michael and I broke it off. When he asks me why, I say, although I still care deeply about Michael, I just didn’t feel one hundred percent sure about him, and I felt it was all moving too fast.

  Maybe one day I’ll come clean about everything, but I don’t think my father needs extra stress at the moment with everything else going on. I also tell him that I will be moving in with Anne, and that I’ll be selling the house. Fortunately, my father takes everything surprisingly well. He almost seems relieved on my behalf, saying he could tell something wasn’t right between Michael and me. Marriage should not be taken lightly, he reminds me again, and if one isn’t one hundred percent sure, it’s better to remain single. His advice comes at a time I desperately need it, and it again affirms to me that I made the right decision.

  He also tells me that yes, he loves our home, but what’s more important is that I live my life to the fullest. He never wanted a house that he built to cause
me this kind of anguish or financial problems in any way. Sometimes, he says, moving on is a good thing. That’s when we leave in the past what belongs there, and have room to embrace a better tomorrow, and when tomorrow comes, we look back and ask ourselves why in the world we held onto the pain for so long.

  I leave the assisted living facility, feeling a whole lot better. When I arrive home, I check my laptop and see that I have three employers requesting job interviews with me. One is from the Portland Museum of Art, one is from a local coffee shop, and one is from a local high-end restaurant called Ophelia’s. None of them are high-paying jobs, but they’ll cover the bills and keep me going until I find out what I really want to do.

  I head for an interview on Saturday morning, and by that evening, I accept the job at the Portland Museum of Art as their bookstore manager at nineteen dollars an hour. I am to start January 7th.

  I spend the next few days at the hospital by my father’s side as he recovers from surgery. New Year’s Day is no different than any other day, just waiting, watching, and hoping he’ll make it through so we can start chemo in the next few weeks.

  The doctors are hopeful, saying his body is still strong, but it is hard seeing him lie in a hospital bed looking so pale and helpless, like his life could be stolen away at any second. He’s extremely fatigued and sleeps most of the day, and I’m sure there are side effects he’s not telling me about.

  New Year’s Eve, however, Anne surprises me by bringing champagne, beer, Chinese take-out, balloons, New Year’s hats, and brownies.

  “Happy New Year!’ she announces as she sprouts through the door.

  “Anne.” I rise from my seat and give her a big hug. “What are you doing here?”

  “The only place I want to be is right here with you,” she says. “I don’t want to end up making out with some loser who wants nothing but to get his hands on my ass and fuck me for a one-night stand.”

  I chuckle. “Well, you certainly won’t be getting any of that here.”

  “How’s he doing?” She glances over at my father who is sleeping in the hospital bed.

  “He’s doing better now. A few more days and he’ll be out of danger.”

  “Scarlett, you look like shit. When was the last time you took a shower?” she asks.

  “Uh…”

  “Exactly. You have to take care of yourself. Here, let me watch him and you go take a shower.” She hands me a bag with some toiletries and make-up.

  “I…”

  “Just do it, okay? I promise I’ll sit right here the whole time.”

  I give her a smile and take a quick shower in the attached bathroom. God, it feels good to get cleaned up. I almost feel like a human being again. I even apply a little mascara and some lip gloss and brush my hair.

  When I return to the room, I see a doctor standing in front of my father’s bed. Immediately tears spring to my eyes.

  “Is he okay? Did something happen? What…?’

  Anne stands up, grabs my arms and shakes me gently. “Everything is fine. The doctor is just checking up on his vitals.”

  “So…he’s okay?” I ask, glaring at the doctor.

  He gives me a nod. “I’m Dr. Jamison, and everything is fine Ms. Hansen. Your father is actually doing remarkably well.”

  It isn’t until he smiles that I notice how young he is. And how handsome. Blond, wavy hair, intense green eyes, a perfect straight nose and a deep cleft in his chin.

  “I’m sorry…I,” I say, my heart still settling down after the scare.

  “No need to apologize,” he says, staring at me impassively. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No, I…no.”

  “The nurses tell me that you’ve not left his side since he was admitted. Let me just assure you that he is doing very well, and that you can go home and get some things done if you need to. You must be exhausted. Isn’t there anyone else who can help?”

  “No, I’m alone. But it’s okay, really. I…I’m kind of between jobs right now, and…” I almost say I just broke off my engagement, but stop. Not that I want to hide it from him, I just don’t want to start airing out all my dirty laundry. Besides, talking about that phase of my life will do me no good.

  “Alright, but if you do leave, know that everything will be okay. I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on him.” He gives me that knee-weakening smile again, and then he’s off.

  “He was flirting with you, Scarlett. A doctor…” Anne trills.

  “He was not. He was just being attentive and doing his job. Besides, if he were, it’s completely inappropriate considering my father has just been through surgery.” I am so over guys right now, and I can’t ignore the fact that I’m still trying to figure out what to do with Michael.

  “Yeah. Like a doctor like him smiles like that at everyone,” she says.

  “I’m sure he does,” I say, genuinely not interested in continuing this conversation or in conjecturing whether or not the sexy doctor was flirting with me.

  She nudges me. “If you aren’t interested at all, you should just have a fling. I guarantee it will help you get over Michael.”

  I gasp, outraged that she’s even suggesting that. “Anne…”

  “Alright, alright. Just trying to give you something to smile about.”

  We spend the rest of the evening drinking beer and talking about old times at The Black Chapel. Anne tells me that she has decided to go back to school and will be moving home again to attend the University of Florida. She’s not quite sure what she’ll be majoring in, but she’s always had a passion for dancing, having taken ballet lessons for ten years.

  At the stroke of midnight, we pop open the champagne and ring in the New Year, and shortly after, Anne says good-bye.

  I turn the TV on, and while watching the New Year’s performances, my phone rings. I rummage through my bag, and see that Michael is calling. Immediately, my heart stops, and then when it starts to beat again, it’s going a hundred miles a minute. I answer and step into the hallway so I won’t wake my father.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Hi, Scarlett. It’s me, Michael. Are you still awake?”

  Damn, it’s good to hear his voice again. Too good. I inhale a deep breath and sit down on one of the chairs in the otherwise empty corridor. “Hi, yeah. It is New Year’s after all.”

  “Good. I’m actually calling because I wanted to see how your father is doing. Has he…?” He lets his voice trail off.

  “He had surgery a couple of days ago and is recovering,” I say.

  “Okay, everything went well, then?”

  “So far so good,” I say.

  “And how are you?”

  “I’m…fine.” Liar.

  “You sound…exhausted.”

  Why do you care? “Well, you know how it is.” I really meant having a parent suffering from cancer, but he probably thinks I’m talking about us.

  He pauses. “All too well.” His voice is low and full of emotion.

  “How are you?” I ask. I’m waiting for him to bring up the deal or something else because he wouldn’t just be calling me to see how I’m doing, or how my father is doing, would he?

  “God, I…I miss you, Scar.”

  No. No, no, no. No. “Listen, I appreciate the call and everything, and I know you must be going through hell losing your mother and all, but I have to get back to my father now. Thanks for calling.”

  “Scarlett…”

  “Good-bye, Michael.” I hang up before he can say anything else that might make me change my mind. Because I know he could all-too easily, and that’s not what I really want, is it?

  No. It isn’t. I want to move on, and if I am to move on, I have to cut ties. All ties. I glance at Dr. Jamison, standing and talking to one of the nurses in front of a chart. Maybe Anne’s suggestion about a fling isn’t too outrageous after all.

  18

  A few days later, my father is finally on the rebound and I feel comfortable enough to go home for a whil
e. I’ll need to figure out a few things before I start work, and work out my new schedule.

  They offered me an evening job at Ophelia’s restaurant, too, and it works perfectly with my schedule at the Portland Museum of Art bookstore. I’ll be busy, but I’ll be bringing in quite a bit of money. Enough to cover my bills, get into a new place, and save up some cash.

  Not a minute after I arrive home, there’s a knock on the door. When I open up, there’s a cute FedEx guy smiling at me.

  “Please sign,” he says. After I sign, he hands me an envelope.

  “Mrs. Manning?” I say aloud, reading whom it’s from.

  The FedEx guy smiles at me and narrows his eyes. “Hey, I don’t usually do this, but would you have a cup of coffee with me?”

  I look at him with the meanest glower I can muster. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” he says and winks.

  I roll my eyes. “Absolutely no fucking way.” I slam the door in his face. I’m not usually this mean. Just lately. I reopen the door, seeing him walking off. “You’re lucky I don’t call your boss and file a complaint against you for sexual harassment!”

  He starts to apologize, but I slam the door shut again. Something about being a bitch feels so good sometimes. Well, as long as I ignore the tinges of guilt that follow.

  I open the envelope and pull another large white envelope out. Inside that envelope is a letter and yet another three smaller envelopes. One has my name in it, one has Michael’s name, and one has a PO Box address on it with a stamp. How many freakin’ envelopes does there need to be? I start reading.

  Dear Scarlett,

  I am writing this letter to you from the hospital. I just spoke with you and had a lengthy heart-to-heart conversation with Michael. You’re probably wondering why you are getting this letter after my funeral and all. If you are reading this that means I have died. There, I said it. I’m dead. I told my lawyer to mail it out about a week after I kicked the can.

  I trust you came to my funeral. I hope it was worth going. Sometimes these funerals can be so, oh what’s the phrase? So boring you want to kill yourself? I trust mine wasn’t one of those.