by Anthology
“Camille, this moral responsibility to our family is not you. It never has been. And there’s a difference between loyalty and being coerced. Please, I’m begging you, don’t marry him.”
Before I can respond, the organ stops, and Claire’s hand tightens around mine. The panic that fills her flows over into me, and my heart starts racing as I think about her words. She thinks I’m being coerced? That’s the same as being bullied or threatened. Is that how other people see it? With our eyes locked on to each other, she parts her lips as if to say something, but the doors sweep open, and she drops my hand.
No!
My fingers instantly cool and my ears burn to hear her unspoken words. What was she going to say? I need to know!
Her chin trembles, but she pastes on a smile as she slowly turns and walks away.
“Please. Wait,” I whisper. She hears the pleading in my voice and glances back, but doesn’t say anything else. The muscles in her face relax, her eyes seem to warm, and for the first time ever, I’m unable to decipher her thoughts. Her expression has done a complete one-eighty, and she looks almost happy, content. Given the conversation we just had, I don’t understand. I’m confused.
What just happened?
Does she know something that I don’t?
With a wink and a small smile, she turns around and steps forward. I follow, stepping into a scene that’s brought my childhood dream to life.
The foyer is no longer drafty and dark. Golden light is pouring in through the stained glass windows that line the perimeter of the church, illuminating it and making it almost magical. The air is delicious with scents of honeysuckle, orange blossoms, and roses, and the classical melody of Mendelssohn slowly makes its way past the thrumming of my heart. The string quartet, the flowers, the candles . . . all of it is just so beautiful.
“Camille, it’s time.”
I tear my eyes away from the sight before me and see my father standing next to the last pew with his hand outstretched. The magic of the moment fades away as I realize the beauty is only surface level and this wedding isn’t what I’ve dreamt about. It’s for show, not for love. His face doesn’t shine with adoration and happiness for his daughter on her wedding day; it’s full of arrogance. He’s not smiling, but his lip is curled in a way that appears more like a sneer, and it’s this one tiny expression that reminds me I’m just a pawn for others to move as they please. My heart sinks.
Maybe Claire is right. Maybe my loyalties to my family are misguided. Being loyal implies there’s support, trustworthiness, and faithfulness. Not a single family member reciprocates those to me. Instead, they antagonize, lie, and boss me around.
Not wanting to waste anymore time, my father walks over to me, wraps his arm around mine, and pulls. As if on autopilot, I let him lead me down the aisle. I was at peace with my decision, and now, after one conversation, I feel like this might just be my death march.
The entire church is packed. Both sides of the sanctuary and the upper balcony. Along with the ghosts of my ancestors, I can feel every set of eyes on me. The weight of judgment falls upon my back and shoulders, and although some look happy for me and are probably thinking, “She looks so beautiful.” I know others are mocking me behind fictitious smiles.
From left to right, up, down, and all around, I’m assaulted by a stampede of emotions. Panic becoming the strongest, and then nausea sets in.
“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” my father says just loud enough for others to hear as he squeezes my trembling hand. Maybe he is, or maybe he isn’t, I don't know. I lost the ability to believe anything he really says five years ago. What I wouldn’t give right this moment to have the man in my memories and not the man walking me down the aisle.
Patrick moves into my line of sight, terror streaks through my body, and the crowd becomes a blur. He isn’t exactly smiling, more like smirking, and my legs begin to shake.
Feeling the change in my steps, my father wraps his arm around my waist to steady me, and my breathing picks up. The air won’t come in fast enough, and my lungs feel as if they’re on fire. Squeezing the bouquet, I pull it against my chest and press as hard as I can.
Can’t people see that there’s something wrong with me? Can’t they see this isn’t normal bride behavior? But then again, I’ve never been one for crowds, and they must think it’s nerves.
Sliding my eyes off Patrick, I find Ali, my best friend from New York, and Brittany, my cousin. Ali’s eyes are sad, but she’s smiling at me in a way that screams pity. Brittany isn’t smiling at all—she’s crying. It’s then I realize I’m crying, too.
Moving my gaze back to Patrick, he sees the tears, and his expression falls.
For months I've been telling myself I can do this. I know how to do it. I was born and raised in this life, and I really don’t know any other. It doesn’t mean I don’t secretly want more, the one thing every girl dreams about . . . true love. But right now, right this moment, looking into Patrick’s eyes, I feel nothing but fear. This can’t be all there is for me, can it?
I do deserve more, don’t I?
And then I remember.
I remember the real reason I’m here, and regret sinks in.
I shouldn't be the one standing here. I know this. He knows this. Hell, everyone in this room probably does. Yet, here I am.
With his eyes locked on mine, his carefully structured wall slips, and staring back at me is the boy I’ve known most of my life. Before all of this—the expectations, the political aspirations, and the lying—we were friends. And underneath it all, even after all of this, he wishes I were someone else, and he knows I desperately want to be anywhere else.
As my father and I reach the end of the aisle, the strings stop, and a deafening silence blankets the inside of the church. Patrick and I continue to stare at each other, lengthening the moment until my father clears his throat. This is his way of letting us know it’s time, and Patrick’s eyes slide from me to him as if commanded. The muscles around his eyes tighten as the two men speak nonverbally to each other, and I watch Patrick’s wall re-erect as he slips into the roll he’s meant to play. His lips twitch at one corner, the telltale sign of a smirk, and, just like that, whatever emotional moment we were having is over. He smells victory for the one thing he wants most in his life—his career.
“Who gives this woman to this man in marriage?” the minister calls out.
“Her mother and I do,” my father says.
Turning me to face him, he gently lifts my veil, kisses my cheek, and then returns it to its proper place. He avoids making eye contact, and given our opposite positions on this marriage, I understand why.
Stepping toward Patrick, my father shakes his hand and then places my right hand in his left. Patrick’s hand is cold, and I find this apropos since he’s become cold hearted and disconnected, and a shiver runs through me.
My soon-to-be husband leads me up the steps and to alter, and Ali reaches over for my bouquet, as we come to stand in front of the minister.
“Please be seated.”
There is a soft chorus of clothes rustling behind us, but not a single person says a word. Brittany sniffles from over on my left, and Patrick’s grip on my hand tightens.
“Dear friends and family, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Patrick Easton Walker and Camille Elizabeth Whitley in marriage. Over the years, these two have built a friendship and a commitment to each other that grew, matured, and eventually turned to love. Today, they have decided to create a new bond together and a new sense of family as they become husband and wife. If any of you has reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."
Silence fills the church sanctuary, and it’s at that moment I realize that this is wrong and I desperately don’t want this. I thought I could do it. I thought I’d found peace with my decision and could be loyal to my family, but as the lump in my throat grows larger, I know I can’t. Waves of panic crash into me, each one stronger than the l
ast, and my heart pounds so hard it’s as if it’s trying to beat right out of my chest. The fallout will be excruciating and irreparable, but that’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I don’t want to get married to him. In fact, I don’t want to get married at all.
Looking for a way out, I glance around the altar toward both of the side doors. Patrick pulls on my hand to grab my attention, and his dark eyes sharpen just enough to tell me he’s on to me. His fingers tightened around mine even more, as if his hold alone could keep me from fleeing, and his whole body tenses. There’s a warning in his stare and it causes me to pause for an unprecedented feeling, I’m afraid. Afraid for more reasons than I can count.
The minister flips a page in his book, and the silence that follows seems to stretch for years. Is this extra time my chance? Am I being given one? Can I walk away? My eyes again shift to the side door, and I can’t help but wonder how many steps are there from the altar to freedom? If I took this chance would anyone try to stop me? Or would they let me go?
Oh, who am I kidding . . . I can’t leave.
My eyes blur and with each passing heartbeat, I know my opportunity is slipping away, and Patrick is one step closer to smelling victory. Trying to pull my hand from his, he just holds on tighter, and pain shoots through my fingers. I stop breathing, waiting for the guillotine to fall, and he holds his breath with sweet anticipation.
“I do,” a male voice echoes from the back of the church.
What?
Shock reverberates through me, like lightning striking, but it quickly dissipates as I exhale slowly feeling nothing but relief.
Instant relief.
The noose around my neck unravels as my body experiences a visceral reaction to those two words, and I suck in new air, fresh air that tastes a lot like hope.
But wait!
Who?
A collective gasp from those in attendance reverberates around the sanctuary and seems to pull the air, along with my attention, toward them. Whispers and movement begins as people turn in different directions, looking for the person who spoke. It’s then that, from the back of the room, the man behind the voice steps out into the aisle.
Slowly, he begins to make his way toward us with his eyes locked on mine, and my breath catches. He’s incredibly handsome.
Patrick’s hand moves off my fingers and to my wrist as I face the beautiful stranger and watch him approach.
Do I know him? I don’t think so. He looks familiar, but it’s a vague recollection—as if I may know someone who looks like him but not the man himself. He has olive skin, which fairs on the darker side; dark hair, which is short on the sides but longer on the top; and pale green eyes. Nope, I’m certain I’ve never seen him before because I would remember eyes as striking as his.
“This has to be a joke,” Patrick spits out as the man comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps.
“I can assure you that it’s not,” he says, the light color in his eyes darkening to an emerald green as he continues to hold my gaze.
I don’t know where he came from or who he is, but right now I don’t care. Relief washes over me, I just know that this is a sign, and I’m being given a second chance. My skin tingles, and I jerk my arm out of Patrick’s grasp.
“Sir, what objections do you have to this marriage?” the minister asks. Neither Patrick nor I turn to acknowledge him. Instead, we both stay locked on to the unexpected guest. I don’t know him, it doesn’t appear that Patrick knows him, either. So, who is he?
“You can’t marry him,” he says, his voice deep, confident, and his regard is intense. I don’t understand what is happening, even though I feel like I should.
I don’t respond, I don’t know how. All I can do is return his stare.
“I love you. Marry me.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, and his eyes smile back with a mischievous glint.
This is absurd!
The murmurs through the crowd pick up in volume. Patrick says something to someone, I’m assuming it’s my father, but all I hear in my head is, “I love you,” and the more I repeat it, the more the voice sounds familiar. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t place where.
“Look, pal, I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here . . . but I think it’s best if you leave,” Patrick says as he moves to stand in front of me, shielding me from the stranger’s view. I step around him and move down two steps to put the beautiful stranger and myself at eye level.
That’s what he is, a beautiful stranger.
“Camille,” he whispers, reaching for my hands. His hands are warm, solid, dotted with calluses, and coiled with a strength like I’ve never felt before. He looks down at our entwined fingers, and his thumb rubs across the white line where my engagement ring usually sits.
I take a nervous glance at Patrick and then find my way back to eyes so green they warm me like the sun on a long summer day. This guy looks nothing like Patrick. Patrick is tall, lean, fair, and wearing a classic black tuxedo, whereas the beautiful stranger is taller, layered with thick muscles, and has on a charcoal suit, which looks expensive and perfect on him.
“Camille, this is insane. You can’t possibly be considering this!” Patrick stammers, pulling one hand back to him and clinging to it like a life vest.
Tugging on my other hand, my eyes return to the beautiful stranger and butterflies take flight. “It’s time to make that move,” he says, and a gasp slips through my lips and my eyes widen.
That phrase.
The voice.
It’s him.
A flush burns through my cheeks as I absorb and memorize for the first time the details of his face. His lips tip up into a lopsided grin, and my eyes are drawn to how full and pink they are. I dreamt about these lips and by the way his eyes smolder at me, he knows exactly what I’m thinking about . . . and he’s pleased.
“Ms. Whitley,” the minister calls, and I force myself to look at him. “Are we going to have a wedding today?” he asks calmly. “And if so, with whom?”
I turn to Patrick, whose eyes are wild and frantic with fear. Not fear over losing me, well maybe a little, but I think it’s more a fear of this hurting his political dreams. I know marrying him is the safe choice, the choice that was chosen for me, and it’s because of this I’m wavering. We’ve known each other a long time. He’ll take care of me, provide for me, and I’m certain together we’ll do great things. I love Patrick, I do, I’m just not in love with him. Regardless of our relationship recently, I never want to hurt him, but is all this enough? I don’t know.
I turn to the man with the most alluring green eyes, and I see not only an escape, but also an opportunity. An escape from a life I’ve felt chained to for the last five years, and an opportunity for a different path. A life I’ve only dreamt of and never really thought was in reach. Maybe it was there all along, maybe I just need to stand up for myself a little bit more, or maybe my life has been leading up to this moment.
Is it a risk? Yes.
Is it a gamble? Yes.
Am I okay with strapping enough scandal to our family name to last for generations? I don’t know.
And then just past his shoulder I see Claire standing in the aisle. My heart rate slows, and I find comfort in just the sight of her. Without even having to say the words, I know she’ll stand behind whatever decision I make, even if my decision is neither of the two men. But is that what I want, to walk out of here? I’m not sure that even if I did, I’d find myself in a different place. Patrick and my father would chase me down and demand a redo. Am I strong enough to stand up to them? I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I have.
But what I do know, is that ten minutes ago I felt like I was suffocating, and now I feel as if I can breathe. I’m certain that whatever I choose in the next minute or so, I’m forever cementing or changing the course of my life, and I’m surprisingly okay with it.
“Camille, did you decide?” the minister pushes, and I briefly close my eyes, gathering mys
elf.
Taking a deep breath, I drop both their hands and turn to face him. A smile splits across my face and I stand a little taller as I answer the minister.
“Yes.”
2
TO BE CONTINUED…
This is when I tell you that I hate cliffhangers, but I couldn’t help myself. I loved writing this one and I love this story.
If you’d like to know more about Camille, make sure you add Chasing Clouds to your Goodreads TBR! Planned release is summer of 2017.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33837385-chasing-clouds
ABOUT KATHRYN ANDREWS
Kathryn Andrews is a contemporary/new adult romance author from Tampa, Florida. She penned the much loved and bestselling Hale Brothers Series, as well as other titles including Blue Horizons and the soon to be released new novel, Chasing Clouds.
When Kathryn is not crafting beautiful fictional worlds that incorporate some of her most favorite real life places, for her readers to lose themselves in, she can be found hanging out with her husband and two young sons, while drinking iced coffee and enjoying the sun.
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BY TOMORROW
Katy Regnery
1
CHAPTER ONE
By tomorrow, thought Claire as she handed the Dunkin’ Donuts cashier a five-dollar bill and took her brown bag full of powdered donuts. By tomorrow it will be bearable.
Making her way out of the shop, she hurried through the wintry slush to her car, climbed in, and closed the door quickly, grateful it was still warm inside.