by Rachel Cross
“Then why did you yell stop?” Malcolm said, scowling.
Jared turned back to Tasha. “Tasha, don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.”
She looked around the church. Everyone looked eagerly between her and Jared. It was too much. The entire day had been too much. Seeing him at the altar, feeling his gaze on her so keenly it could’ve been a caress. The pain of knowing it would never be them at the altar was worse than she could imagine.
“No, you stop, Jared. This is your brother’s wedding. Please stop the games.” She turned to leave.
“No more games. Tasha, I love you. Do you hear me? I love you and I don’t care if everyone hears it.”
She turned back. He moved away and came to the front of the aisle. “You were right. I wanted our relationship on my terms. I was uncomfortable with people knowing how I felt, so I only shared my feelings with you. I was ashamed to let people know that I love you more than anything. I didn’t know how to trust what I felt. I didn’t know how to trust in general, and because of that, I hurt you. I am sorry, and I’ll show you that I’m sorry for the rest of my life.”
“But it’s not enough,” she said. “I want more than that.”
He walked toward her. “I want more than that too. Marry me, Tasha.” She staggered and he rushed forward. “Marry me today. Be my wife, let me take care of you, our child . . . our children. Please, Tasha, please marry me.”
Warmth spread from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair. Tears welled in her eyes and for the first time she didn’t care who saw her crying. Jared Patterson had proposed to her in the most dramatic fashion possible, and she was ecstatic.
He reached for her, but she hesitated. “But you said marriage doesn’t matter.”
“It matters when you realize you’ve waited forever for your soul mate.”
Unwilling to fight her feelings, Tasha flung herself into his arms. His lips came down on hers and she clung tighter. He kissed his way to her ear and repeating over and over that he loved her. She didn’t know how long they stood there, before the sound of people clapping broke through her haze.
Jared pulled away but held her hand. He rushed back down the aisle and pulled her along with him. He turned to Kenyatta. “I’m sorry.”
Kenyatta grinned and shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”
He pulled Tasha to his side and joy fluttered through her.
Jared looked at her dad. “Reverend Smith, I know we’ll need a license later, but will you marry us after you marry them?”
Tasha reluctantly met her father’s gaze and was surprised to see satisfaction in his eyes. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, but apparently the tidy ending to her pregnancy pleased him. It hurt a little to know that’s what it took for him to accept her, but her happiness was too great to make room for pain.
Her dad smiled. “If you promise no more outbursts.” There was laughter from the pews and her dad’s smile broadened.
Jared looked back at her. “Is this okay? I know you probably had your perfect wedding planned out.”
Tasha looked at her sister, standing as a bridesmaid, smiling at her. Her mom sitting in the front pew with tears in her eyes. Her dad at the pulpit with a self-satisfied look. Then she looked at Jared, smiling at her with love and affection.
“This is the perfect wedding.”
Acknowledgments
Thanks to T.J. Proofs for helping me find my writing flow over virtual mugs of coffee. Big thanks to my trainer, Kelley Blashka for taking the time to provide insight in the life of a personal trainer. Finally, once again, thanks to my wonderful husband for supporting me and my writing career.
About the Author
Synithia Williams has loved romance novels since reading her first one at the age of 13. It was only natural that she would begin penning her own romances soon after. It wasn’t until 2010 that she began to actively pursue her publishing dreams. Her first novel, You Can’t Plan Love was published by Crimson Romance in 2012. When she isn’t writing, this Green Queen, as dubbed by South Carolina’s State Newspaper, works to improve air and water quality, while balancing the needs of her husband and two sons. You can keep up with Synithia by visiting her website, www.synithiawilliams.com, where she blogs about writing, life and relationships, on Facebook (www.facebook.com/synithiarwilliams) or on Twitter @synithiaw.
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
57 Littlefield Street
Avon, MA 02322
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2012 by Synithia Williams
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6183-4
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6183-2
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6184-2
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6184-9
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover © iStockPhoto.com/anouchka, 123rf.com
The Bargain
Christine S. Feldman, author of Coming Home
Avon, Massachusetts
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
To my wonderful, one-of-a-kind husband; my family; and my friends:
Thanks for your support!
And Mom, Melanie, and Jill . . . thanks for being my beta readers!
Chapter One
It was like living in the story of Beauty and the Beast, Shannon decided, something many women probably would think had great potential for romance and happy-ever-after love. Too bad she was cast in the role of the beast.
Sitting cross-legged on the faded floral quilt her grandmother made many years ago, Shannon turned another well-worn page in her high school yearbook and took a cautious sip of her morning coffee, wincing at the heat of it and then blowing on the rest in an effort to spare her mouth from third-degree burns. Somewhere downstairs in her living room was an invitation for her ten-year high school reunion that had recently come in the mail. Its arrival brought a lot of memories to mind, most of which she would rather forget, but there were a few highlights that had driven her to dig out her old yearbooks. The one on her lap was from her senior year.
There weren’t very many pictures of her in this particular book beyond the requisite senior picture, which was probably not such a bad thing. She frowned down at the image taken nearly ten years ago. The smile was tight-lipped, hiding the braces from the unforgiving camera.
Ah, well. At least in black and white it wasn’t so obvious that her hair looked like an exploding fireball of color. She wasn’t interested in her own picture anyway.
Turning the page quickly, she found the face she wanted.
Andrew Kingston.
She traced her fingers over his features. He went by Drew now. Either way suited him, but he thought Drew made him more approachable to his constituents somehow, more boy-next-door. Maybe he was right. What did she really know about politics anyway?
Drew had been class president. Politics was in his blood, and he was good at it, too. The kind of politician who would get things done and keep his promises. She brought the cup to her mouth for another sip of coffee as she contemplated his classically handsome features. And who knew, maybe one day—“Ow!”
Coffee was still too hot. Shannon fanned her open mouth and said a bad word.
Her shaggy mongrel, Bo, cocked an ear at her and gave her a disapproving look.
“Wel
l, it’s hot!”
He gave her another look as if to say duh before yawning hugely and rolling over on the bed to allow her better access to his belly.
“Subtle,” Shannon said, but she obliged him and scratched his stomach with one hand while turning her attention back to Drew’s picture. She didn’t know why she tortured herself like this. He barely noticed her then, and he barely noticed her now. About the only thing that had changed was now her teeth were straighter, thanks to the hateful braces.
She flipped a few pages back to a place she had turned to so many times before that the pages naturally fell open to it now. A candid picture, students lolling around a grassy knoll of picnic tables at lunchtime, arms around each other’s shoulders in a pose for the camera. And right in the center? Drew, of course. Close-cropped hair, broad shoulders, and an even broader grin. A couple of girls on either side smiled adoringly at him instead of at the camera.
There were lots of pictures with Drew in them. And in every picture, he was surrounded by friends—and usually girls. There were plenty of girls carrying a torch for him in high school, and Shannon had been one of them.
“Still am,” she murmured ruefully, closing the yearbook. It would have been so much easier to get over him and move on if he were a jerk, but unfortunately he was not. He was kind, intelligent, and as handsome as ever. And so she was basically screwed, because in ten years, give or take, he had never seen her as anything more than “good old Shannon,” and it was doubtful he ever would. She could probably show up to work naked, and he would still hand her papers to file without so much as batting an eye. For a moment Shannon let herself indulge in a fantasy in which she showed up to Drew’s office wearing something red, revealing, and highly inappropriate for work. A smile played on her lips.
Then she glanced at the clock on her nightstand and scrambled off the bed to pull a pair of sensible slacks out from her closet.
Minutes later, she sprinted down the stairs with coffee cup in hand, neatly sidestepping an assortment of tools she neglected to put away last night before dragging her tired body to bed. No matter. She’d need them again tonight to finish the tiling in the kitchen, so really she was just saving herself time this way.
Shannon finished the coffee, fed Bo, and pulled her hair back into its usual braid without needing to look in the mirror to check her handiwork. Grabbing a stack of folders and a breakfast bar, she swung her purse over her shoulder and hurried out the front door.
It was coming along despite what the naysayers told her in the beginning, she thought with some satisfaction as she paused by the side of her truck long enough to give the old house a quick appraisal. Most of the work she had done on the place so far was on the inside to make it more habitable, but the porch was no longer falling apart and the crumbling front steps were no longer a safety hazard. She was better with tools than she was with plants, but maybe she would venture to add a couple baskets of flowers for some color.
It was nothing fancy, but it was hers.
And it was secluded, she thought, starting up the engine and pulling out of the long, graveled driveway. Peaceful. Granted, the extra minutes it took to drive back inside the city limits were a pain—especially when she was on the verge of running late like today—but she loved the quiet solitude that surrounded her place.
Her place. She still had trouble believing it sometimes. Shannon Mahoney, homeowner. Sure, Drew Kingston was still virtually oblivious to her as a woman, but she had come a long way since high school. Now if only she could get him to see it.
Spring weather was turning nicely into summer, and the drive into the city was pleasant. Or it would have been if she took the time to notice it. Her speedometer edged past the posted speed limit when she glanced at her watch, and she forced herself to slow down. Better late than ticketed for speeding, she reminded herself through gritted teeth. With the money she poured into the house lately, she could barely afford gas let alone a ticket. Still, it was with great relief that she turned into the parking lot and saw Drew’s sedan was not yet in its spot. Right, she told herself with an inward eye roll, because men are so turned on by punctuality.
Oh, well.
She had not, however, beaten Clarissa into work. The woman was twice Shannon’s age and still perky enough for both of them. “Morning, Shan!” she said with a cheery wave as she glanced up from her desk in the main office.
“Morning.”
The older blonde gave Shannon a once-over and clucked disapprovingly. “Beige, beige, and more beige. Don’t you own anything else, honey?”
“Sure. Tan.”
“Not funny. There’s a nice figure lurking somewhere under those boring old clothes of yours. You only get to be young once, Shannon. You ought to be making the most of it.”
“I’m doing just fine.”
Clarissa raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
She thought her cheeks might be turning pink, not a good color combination with her hair. “You know what? I think I hear Drew’s phone ringing.”
“Liar.”
Shrugging unapologetically, Shannon beat a hasty retreat and unlocked the door that led to her desk and to Drew’s office. It was only a temporary reprieve, she knew. Clarissa’s youngest child had gone off to college last fall, and apparently she thought Shannon was as good a means as any to combat empty nest syndrome. It did no good to remind her that Shannon already had parents, thank you very much. They were off enjoying what they liked to call early retirement in Florida—it sounded better than “sitting around unemployed”—and Clarissa clearly felt that such long-distance parenting didn’t count. She might be right.
Shannon flipped the lights on and dropped her armload of files on her desk, careful not to let any of their papers spill out. There was a week’s worth of work invested in the top one alone, and time was too scarce around here to risk having to redo any of it unnecessarily. Not that she minded the work. She began humming under her breath as she opened the door to Drew’s small office and positioned the window blinds to let in the morning sun the way she knew he liked it. She was good at organizing things and being efficient, and she appreciated the steady paycheck. Winding up as assistant to councilman Drew Kingston had been an unexpected bonus.
Bonus? Delight would be a better word.
Drew had not actually been the one to hire her; that honor went to his predecessor. The day newly elected Drew Kingston walked through the door in his perfect suit and matching tie, Shannon decided maybe, just maybe, miracles did occasionally happen to ordinary folks like her.
Sunlight splayed through the blinds and landed on a thin sheaf of official papers on Drew’s desktop. She glanced at them in passing. The youth center. Shannon knew those papers backward and forward by now. Drew probably did, too. Was he having second thoughts? She pictured him sitting alone in his office the night before, reviewing everything and wondering if he was really ready to do this. It was his brainchild, but maybe the cost was too personal not to reconsider it at least a little bit. He might be her dream man, but he was still only human, after all.
Returning to her own desk, Shannon tore open the wrapper of her breakfast bar as she glanced at the clock. Budget meeting at ten o’clock, she thought as she took a bite and then opened up the calendar on her computer. The upcoming charity auction . . . Then there was that zoning issue for him to look at before next Thursday. Anticipating his request, she had already begun to delve into that for him.
The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought. She choked down the bite of dried fruit and granola mixture, trying not to make a face. She really ought to start eating a real breakfast. “Drew Kingston’s office,” she said with a voice raspy from granola that hadn’t quite made it down her throat yet. “How may I help—”
“I want to talk to Drew. Now.”
Great, she thought sourly. One of those. Nothing like beginning the day with a surly citizen. “Mr. Kingston is not available at the moment. I could take a message, if you like.”
&
nbsp; There was a humorless laugh on the other end. “Right. What is that, code for ‘he’s screening calls’?”
“It means he’s not available.” Her tone was cool. Even a city councilman got his share of angry callers, and Shannon had no qualms about keeping them at bay.
“Bull. He’s hiding in his office, isn’t he?”
Her voice got even cooler. “Mr. Kingston doesn’t hide.”
“No? Because it seems like he went out of his way to keep a low profile on this one, sweetheart.”
What was this loon talking about?
Forget it. She heard the front door open then and Clarissa greet Drew. He didn’t need to start his day out on a sour note like this. “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Kingston naturally wants to listen to the concerns of constituents, and he values their feedback, but he’s very busy at this time. Why don’t you call back later and schedule an appointment? Have a very nice day.”
“Don’t you dare hang—”
She let the phone fall back on the receiver, feeling just a little bit wicked and not the least bit sorry.
“Good morning, Shannon.”
As it always did when she saw Drew, her heart tightened a little inside her chest. “Good morning.”
Trim and polished, he was what every politician wished they looked like. The suit was expensive but worth every penny since it fit him so well. His shoulders were just as broad as they had been in high school and his body just as lean. Nowadays he had an air of maturity about him that he hadn’t quite earned back then, but his smile was still boyish in its charm. “Everything all set for the budget meeting?”
She nodded and held out a file for him.
“Wonderful,” he said, looking through it. “Eleven o’clock?”
“Ten.”
“Oh, that’s right. Thanks. What would I do without you?” Drew smiled again, but it was with less energy than usual.
For the first time, Shannon noticed dark circles under his eyes. “You look tired. Can I get you anything? Some coffee?”