“Don’t pay them any mind,” Derrick replied, breaking her chain of thoughts.
“Is that how it was growing up?” she asked curiously.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
Olivia bit her lip as she contemplated her next words. “You know, we aren’t going to be able to avoid them indefinitely. Rachel told me they’ve been smothering her. If we talk about what happened,” she started nervously. “We could help each other get through this better. I know it’s bothering you.”
Derrick stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to talk about it. And we won’t see them again. I promise.”
“So we’re just going to avoid Rachel? Because I think she needs us right now,” Olivia stated, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I’m sure they’re doing other things, too. They can’t spend every waking moment with Rachel,” Derrick argued.
“Maybe. But I do know they’re taking her to lunch again tomorrow. Then going shopping for the baby, and she’s making dinner at Marc’s for everyone,” Olivia countered.
“Why are you making such a big deal about this?” Derrick asked annoyed.
Olivia scoffed as she shot up from the couch and stalked toward him. “Because I care. Clearly it bothers you. Instead of keeping it bottled up inside, talk about it. There’s tension between us and I don’t like it. I want to be here for you, but if you keep me at arms length, I can’t be.”
“Maybe there are just some things I don’t want you to know,” Derrick yelled as red tinged his cheeks.
“I’m the woman you love, supposedly. Why wouldn’t you want to tell me?” Olivia wondered. Why shouldn’t she know everything about him? If they were ever to have a life together, she should know his past. And if he’d spent time in jail she had a right to know. They were practically living together—they were very involved. He should be able to tell her things.
“You’re taking it out of context,” Derrick murmured. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, it’s been a long day. Let’s just order in and we’ll finish watching your movie.”
Olivia threw her arms up in the air in exasperation. He wasn’t going to tell her. “You do that. I’m going home.” She stomped to the front door and grabbed her purse. Would he stop her? Was she being rash? No. If he couldn’t talk to her now, what would it be like when they were even more involved?
Grasping the doorknob in her hand, she turned back to look at Derrick. He didn’t say anything. Olivia swallowed and opened the door and walked out.
Chapter Seventeen
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Chapter Eighteen
***
“Well, we’re all together now, for the most part, we should make the most of it while we wait. I don’t know about everyone else, but I don’t think I can just sit around and wait,” Arnold exclaimed. “Are there any good restaurants around here, Olivia? We could do a late lunch—early dinner.”
Derrick’s head snapped up at the mention of Olivia’s name. He was not going to let his father drag her into something.
Olivia gave him a look, the hand on his thigh tensing. “This café has some really nice sandwiches,” she suggested.
“Sandwiches?” Patrice asked. “We were thinking something a little more upscale and filling. We could have a long night ahead of us.”
“Doors right there,” Derrick said, motioning to the entrance.
“You will speak to your mother with respect,” Arnold insisted with a snarl.
“It’s hard to show respect to someone who shows you none,” Derrick retorted.
His mother and father blanched at his comment. But they cared too much about their image to make a scene, even if the café was below their standards.
“You know, I think we can find a place on our own,” Patrice replied as she rose to her feet. She put an arm around her husband and all but hauled him up, too.
Derrick sighed, watching as his parents and Brandy gathered their things. Elliott massaged his temples for a moment before he too stood. They left without a word. How many more encounters was he going to have with his parents before things escalated again? He just had to remember to breathe. They weren’t going to get the better of him this time.
***
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Chapter Nineteen
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Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-Two
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The right of Maggie Way to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part maybe reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Maggie Way
Editing by: Tracy Vincent
Cover design by: Shea Chevarie @ Addendum Cover Design
To everyone who helped me create this book,
especially chocolate and caffeine.
God I love you two.
This was fun.
PROLOGUE
Have you ever had a kiss that breathed life into your soul? That ignited a fire inside you? That sends you into the most beautiful free fall?
Because that happened to me on my wedding day.
Except it wasn’t with the man I was meant to marry.
♦
Gabe taps my shoulder, his expressive honey-coloured eyes looking at me. “Sweetie, stop touching your lips. They are as dry as the Sahara Desert.”
I really should drink more water, the Xanax makes them dry, not to mention I have a bad habit of stroking them when I’m trying to concentrate. I look up from my laptop and turn to him. We’ve been on this plane for ten hours, and yet his platinum blonde hair is still perfectly coiffed. His trademark white silk scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck, his nails perfectly manicured.
Only he can still be continually suave and chic twenty-four seven. I, on the other hand, have a thin layer of sweat, and I do not feel attractive in the slightest even with my trusty eyeliner enhancing my wide almond eyes. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m trying to get some work done.
“It’s the dryness up in here.” I feel them. Damn they are parched, like sandpaper.
“You’re half Asian, aren’t you always supposed to have perfectly moisturised lips?” he asks.
“What? You come up with the funniest crap sometimes,” I tease as I reach into my bag to grab my strawberry chap stick, applying a thick layer.
“Okay, maybe it’s because you’re a female then,” he jokes and I grin back.
My best friend, Gabe Sasse, always cracks me up with his dirty and off kilter one-liners and he is the best buddy to accompany me on this plane ride from hell. Not only are we towards the back of coach, the screaming toddler behind me is really not helping my headache and I rub my increasingly aching temples. The seat underneath me is stiff and even though I am reclined back, it does nothing for my comfort.
I hate flying, but especially in economy class. The Xanax is helping me focus on the laptop instead of the fact that I am thirty thousand feet in the air. To think I’m so high up…stop thinking about it, Lay. We’re only two hours away from landing, back onto normal flat land. I turn back to my laptop and continue typing away.
“Hun, you’ve been buried in that laptop all day.”
“I just have to double check the run sheets; just finishing up the one in case we run into wet weather.”
Gabe sighs loudly. Even after all this time, he can’t believe how much I over-plan everything. My backup plans have their own backups, I always plan
out my projects with track-able milestones and I update and recalibrate my schedule at least once a day.
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming me! Come on, we’re on our way to Italy for god’s sake,” he says.
Enthusiastic? That is not a word that describes my current state of mind. Jilted, irritated, cheesed off more like. Hmm, cheese and crackers would be nice right now.
“I am excited, but I’m still a bit—”
“Under the weather? I guess I can forgive you, it’s only been a few days since…” he stops himself but we both know what he’s talking about. So much has happened in the last few days that I should be excited to get away.
He’s right though, I should try and enjoy this. Why should I keep feeling sorry for myself? It’s not every day I get invited to stay at one of the lushest and most historic hotels in the world for free, and in one of the most beautiful countries in the world. I suppose I could do with a break.
I reach for my bag again and take out my half-finished block of dark chocolate infused with kaffir lime, laying it out in front of Gabe with a grin. Chocolate is my vice. I love chocolate so much that I always have at least one block with me at all times. “I bought this from that shop on Kent Street, try some!”
“I’m getting merlot!” He presses the service button immediately before taking two little squares out of my block and popping it in his mouth. “Mmm, this is good.”
I take one square and moan quietly at the sensation of the cocoa melting in my mouth. Just a square at a time is all I need and I feel better already. “I’ve also packed a block of milk honeycomb crunch, dark coffee crunch, hazelnut milk, dark raspberry—”
“Whoa! We’re only going to be there ten days, you chocolate whore!”
I laugh quietly, eating another square. I need this chocolate, more than he realises.
I have a reason to bury myself in work and chocolate, a damned good reason. No, I’m not feeling a lot of pressure, as this is my first big international wedding. No, I’m not feeling sad about leaving home; that is, Sydney, Australia. No, my one damned good reason is I’m using work as a diversion. I’m resentful and frankly, I’m pissed off.
This is supposed to be a plane ride of joy and happily ever after. This is supposed to be my honeymoon trip, instead I’m planning someone else’s wedding as a means to divert my attention from going off the deep end. Instead of flying to Italy on another assignment, I should be lying on a deck chair sipping a fruity cocktail in the Boracay Islands.
The biggest day of my life didn’t happen. I was supposed to marry the man of my dreams, ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after, but somehow it all unravelled like a ball of yarn. I just don’t know who pulled the thread.
CHAPTER ONE
Three days ago.
It’s finally happening, the moment I’ve been planning.
My special day has arrived, almost.
“Are you ready, Lacey?” Dad’s question is a soft whisper in my ear.
I definitely look ready; in fact, I look amazing if I don’t say so myself. Gabe is incredible - aside from being my source for all things gossip and fun, he also happens to be a hair extraordinaire. My shoulder length ebony hair has been transformed into soft tendrils to frame my heart shaped face. Somehow it has managed to make my eyes appear bigger than they already are. My almond eyes have been given a smoky makeover and it serves as a dramatic contrast to my rosy complexion.
“You are going to be beautiful tomorrow.”
I better look good tomorrow; it’s only the most important day of my life!
“I’m so….” I can see a trace of water in his kind, green eyes as he offers his arm to me. “I can’t believe my little girl is all grown up and getting married. It only felt like yesterday when I was putting the Band-Aid over that gash on your knee, or teaching you to drive.”
“Well I still have the scar on my knee, and I will never look at reverse parking the same way. So don’t worry about it, Pops. It’s just a piece of paper,” I dismiss dryly as I flick my hair back behind my shoulders. “But thanks, Daddy, I couldn’t do this without you.”
Dad should be getting emotional tomorrow, at the wedding. It’s only the rehearsal tonight, so there’s no time for anything emotional. I just need tonight to go according to plan, like all the other weddings I have coordinated.
Given my hectic schedule this whole year, my wedding will be like a holiday. Autumn season in Sydney means lots of church and garden weddings to plan for. There was the one at Eden Gardens three weeks ago, then the one at St Mary’s Church the week before that. Not to mention tonnes of beach weddings I did all throughout January, February and March. But a busy schedule doesn’t deter me from delivering top notch service – as expected, my reviews have been unanimous in praise. I might be tough and bitchy at times, but I need to in order to get things done perfectly. And I always do.
I don’t even want to think about my honeymoon because it is surreal to think I will actually have two weeks to sleep, eat and pamper myself. I’m surprised I’ve been able to do my full time job, let alone go through my wedding preparations. Because of the insanity that has been my life lately, I haven’t had any quality time with my fiancé, Adam.
The last few weeks we have been more like passing ships in the night - I’ll plop into bed in the middle of the night, and he’ll be out of the house for work by the time I’m up. All our conversations lately have been mostly through email and text. All of which, have been about the wedding.
The day is so close now. I link my arm through my dad’s and face the white double doors as they swing open. Gabe clicks his fingers to the DJ, who is standing at the end of the hall with the turntables to play the tunes. Immediately our song, “Endless Love” by Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross, starts playing loudly in the background. I think Gabe only hired Brad to play the decks because he’s tanned, built and blonde, but hey I’m not going to hold it against him to hire some eye candy.
Even though it’s going to be fully decorated tomorrow with lilies, tea lights and linen, it looks gorgeous tonight. I’m impressed - Gabe has transformed my vision into reality. Resplendently white with pangs of aquamarine dotted throughout the room, the large hall feels airy and bright, cheerful in nature. It’s just what I wanted – it’s not gaudy or over the top.
Most people might know me as Lacey Ryan, That Wedding Girl - as it is the name of my website - the wedding planner every engaged couple looks up to make their dreams come true, but tonight I’m just Lacey; a girl marrying the boy she loves.
For once, I want to be The Wedding Girl. On any other occasion Gabe is my assistant but for my wedding, he is my planner and he has not disappointed. I couldn’t trust anyone else with this.
My friends and family stand in front of me, in particular my older brother Hansley, who greets me first. Almost thirty and he still dresses like a teenager in his brown chinos and scruffy t-shirt. We look as opposite as siblings can be, him with his unruly spiky hair and tattoo sleeve and me always in form-fitting dresses and heels.
“So you’re really doing this, baby sis?” Hansley gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Guess so! When are you getting married? You’re almost thirty.”
“Pfffft, not for another year. You know my rule, Peanut, not until I hit the three-o,” he affirms.
“If you say so….” I’m sceptical he will get married before he hits another decade. How many more casual flings and hook-ups can he go through before he finally settles down?
“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” he grins at me, looking as proud as Dad. I’m just in my usual work attire - a tailored black dress that sits at my knees and emphasises my small waist. Wait till they see me in my wedding dress tomorrow!
“Come on, let’s keep walking.” Dad tugs my arm gently and we continue our descent down the carpeted aisle.
About damn time I got married. I’ve been planning weddings for years, so after seeing hundreds if not thousands of couples experience their happy
day, it’s only fitting I get to experience my own. True, I’m only twenty-five but I’ve been doing this for so long it feels like delayed gratification.
And no more than twenty feet down the aisle, there he stands. Adam, my university sweetheart who I’ve been with for six years, looks handsome in a fitted white shirt and tight navy trousers. His caramel coloured hair, usually tousled, is gelled back in a meticulous manner. Standing a head taller, he is the perfect height for me.
His twinkling blue eyes catch mine and at that moment I wish he was already mine in matrimony. Mrs Lacey Belmonte. It has an amazing ring to it, much better than Lacey Ryan. Adam is cute, sweet, and patient. I’m so thankful he is as understanding as he is, letting me be the self-obsessed planner that I am. He even rubs my feet when I desperately need him to. What more could I ask for?
“This is where I let you go.”
Dad winces at his words and kisses my cheek before finding his seat beside my mother, Elaine, who is sitting there looking passive, with quiet happiness in a long sleeve, plum dress. Dad has always been sweet and gentle, whereas I have a much tougher demeanour. If there is anyone I can account for the way I am, it’s mum.
She always emphasised the importance of maintaining an attractive appearance and said I had to always dress ‘like I was going to meet someone important’. Nowadays, I won’t step out of the house without perfect makeup.
She taught me that crying is not only ugly, but it is also a waste of mascara. The last time I cried was when my grandmother, Betty, died. I was wearing waterproof mascara, though.
She also said men need to be given lots of space as it keeps them happy. It must be true too, because Adam has never complained about me being clingy. And I intend to keep it that way.
I walk up to Adam and he scans my face; for a split second I can see a pang of anxiety flash across his eyes. He reaches out his hand to take mine, as I quickly dismiss the thought.
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