by Susana Mohel
Although he hides it well, I pick up the tension radiating from Joel after this nasty little encounter, so I smile up at him and squeeze his arm to show my support, that I’m confident I’m putting the future Redlands in safe hands.
But what will that future hold for me—am I in safe hands too? I doubt that very much.
I do my best to mask my nerves as we mingle and make small talk with our guests. I also do my best to stop ogling my brand-new fiancé, but try as I might, I just can’t take my eyes off him.
I’ve never seen him in a suit before, and boy oh boy, he can certainly pull off the dark blue three-piece he’s wearing tonight. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve said he was born to wear one. I’ve no idea if he bought it specifically for the occasion or whether he already had it, but either way, I’m just appreciating the finished effect.
Several drinks later, I make my excuses to head off to the bathroom, but stop in my tracks when I overhear someone freely giving their opinion of my fiancé.
“That Joel Sadger simply has no breeding or class, in fact I’m surprised he’s even able to string a sentence of more than three words together.” I recognize the voice of Lorna, one of my mother’s acquaintances. “Tara’s hit rock bottom with that rude, uncouth and ill-mannered corn-fed boy.”
“Yeah, but let’s face it, Mom, the guy is hot, and you don’t need to converse much in bed, do you? I mean, have you seen his body…” I recognize that voice too—it’s Julia, her daughter, someone I’d previously considered my friend.
“I grant you he’s scrubbed up reasonably well tonight, but that’s only because Monique put her foot down and insisted he wasn’t to turn up in his usual cowboy attire. But decent clothes can’t hide the fact that he’s not our kind and certainly not marriage material.”
“You just have to accept that times have changed, Mom. There’s a new breed out there with a whole load of new money challenging the old order.”
“This isn’t Hollywood, darlin’,” she replies. “And you can’t buy class or breeding, it’s something you’re just born with. Shame on Tara, I feel so sorry for her poor mother having to put a brave face on things.”
I almost burst out laughing and expose my hiding place. Lorna’s conveniently chosen to forget the choices my darling mother made.
Monique Appleton-Lancaster might have married the most handsome guy on the Dallas basketball team, but he didn’t have class or breeding, that’s for sure. And thanks to his vices, all he accomplished was wasting his talents and ruining his career, leaving the family dependent on the generosity of her parents.
Let whoever is free from sin cast the first stone.
Determined not to let the gossip mongers upset me, Joel and I manage to get through our wretched engagement dinner. We do our best to put on a united front, and I find myself almost feeling optimistic by the end of the evening. We’re a team, we can do this together.
But the very next day, Joel takes it upon himself to go off and introduce himself to all the Redland’s staff, when I’d assumed I’d be the one making the introductions. But he doesn’t wait for me, only up showing back at the house afterward.
Everything has to be on his terms, but I get why he did it. He’s hell-bent on staking his claim as soon as possible, making clear to all and sundry that from now on, everyone, including me, will be reporting to him, in his new role as ‘Lord and Master’ of Redlands.
And apparently, the next item to be crossed off his ‘to do’ list is checking up on our wedding arrangements, as he fires off his question as soon as he walks in.
“Have you booked everything for the wedding?”
“We’ve set the date for two weeks from Saturday,” I reply quietly. “I assume that’s fine by you, as you wanted it as soon as possible?”
“Yep, that works for me,” he confirms, but then narrows his eyes as he looks at me. “What’s bothering you?” How does he read me so well—will I always be an open book to him? Might as well hit him up with the truth right now, seeing as he’ll discover it for himself soon enough.
“My mother is a spendthrift,” I sigh. “She might not be too thrilled about our short notice plans for a speedy wedding, but that’s not going to stop her from going all out in organizing an event she judges worthy of her eldest daughter. She worries about what people say, how she’ll be judged if this wedding doesn’t match up to expected standards. So, no matter what I say, she’ll be throwing money around that we don’t have, refusing to accept the dire straits we’re in.”
“So you need money? Is that what you’re worried about?” Joel raises his eyebrows.
Well, of course it is. Money worries are what got us here in the first place, aren’t they?
He reaches into his pocket, then places something into the palm of my hand.
His credit card.
“Just try not to max it out,” he winks. “I’m not that wealthy.”
And his caring generosity begins to crack through the walls I’ve constructed to protect my heart.
For better or worse, it seems Joel Sadger is taking care of me.
“Darlin’, that dress is simply divine,” my mother trills from where she’s sitting like the Queen of Sheba, sipping her third glass of champagne.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I’m wearing an ivory dress with a fitted lace bodice, and a flared silk skirt embellished with thousands of crystal beads.
“Your waist looks so tiny in that dress. You’re going to make such a beautiful bride, although it’s such a shame that I can’t say the same about the groom.”
“Mom...” I warn her in exasperation.
From the moment I announced my marriage to Joel, she hasn’t stopped complaining. At all.
Not out of concern for me, but because this won’t be the extravagant kind of wedding she’s had planned from the day I was born. She’s beyond disappointed that I’ve insisted on a small, quiet affair, with far less pomp and fuss than she wanted.
“I don’t think this dress is the one. I’d prefer something much simpler,” I state.
“I don’t like it either. It sucks.” Camille, my baby half-sister and self-proclaimed maid of honor, adds her opinion. “You should try the one I found for you. It’s way nicer.”
She speaks with such conviction that I traipse back to the fitting room, if only to shut her up. But after being trussed up in her choice, I’m horrified by what I see reflected in the mirror.
“I look like a Barbie doll, the way my boobs are shoved up like this,” I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the strapless, corset style dress. “Besides, I’m practically falling out of it, it’s so low cut.”
“That’s sexy, Tara. You’ve got great boobs, so why not show them off? That’s what men like, it makes them fancy you even more.”
She carries on about the best way to flaunt your cleavage, how to paint your lips in forty-two different ways to seduce your man, how to keep his attention in the bedroom, and it sounds to me as if she’s quoting directly from some trashy TV program. She seems to know a hell of a lot more about it than I do, which is just plain wrong for a girl of her young age. What on earth has our mother been letting my baby sister watch?
“How old are you, Camille?” I ask.
“Fifteen, nearly sixteen,” she brazenly lies.
“No, you’re not! You’re only nine years old, and I’m concerned where all this inappropriate garbage is coming from.”
“Nine is the new sixteen. And I read magazines and watch television,” she replies archly. “Which you ought to do, because you’re soooo boring.”
She might think I’m boring because I don’t approve of her choice of dress, but aside from the fact that I hate it, I’m also being practical, because these ridiculously over the top dresses also come with ridiculously over the top price tags. Besides, what no one realizes is that I’m hardly your typical bride, head over heels in love and excited about her big day. No one can know that our wedding is nothing more than a me
ans to an end, a business transaction.
It’ll be a very simple wedding with only about twenty guests, held in the grounds of the San Antonio property where my mother and Oscar live. Property that, incidentally, we were unable to sell because it belongs to his family, and while that man is very good at taking from my family, he’s not so good at giving. So, running his house has been yet another expense draining our depleted resources, as we’ve never yet seen a penny coming in from his supposedly successful business.
“Can you please fetch me the other one we saw?” I ask the sales assistant, deciding it’s about time I put my foot down about my wedding dress. “The one with the short skirt.”
“But, darlin’,” my mother cries out in dismay, but without letting go of her glass of champagne. “It’s your wedding and that only happens once in a lifetime.”
I look at her via the mirror in disbelief, raising an eyebrow to silence her. What a hypocrite she is, having been married two times thus far, with a good chance this second one won’t be her last.
“All I’m saying is that although regretfully you’ve chosen… that man… as your husband, when you could’ve done so much better, you should still have the wedding that you deserve. Even if, despite being the daughter of Spencer Rhett, you have chosen to marry a cowboy.” She actually shudders in disgust.
“Mom, we’ve had this conversation before. I’m going to marry Joel whether you like it or not, so I suggest you get used to the idea.”
“Well, maybe I could understand if I could see any sign that y’all were actually in love, but from what I’ve seen, you seem to be doing your level best to avoid him most of the time,” she observes. “It hardly seems a match made in heaven, so don’t you go thinking I’m only worried about what people will say. Although inevitably there will be talk…”
“For goodness sake, Mother! Shouldn’t you be used to it by now, since folk have been talking about us since time began? Sad truth is, while Joel’s fully prepared to do everything in his power to get Redlands back on its feet, not a single one of those wagging tongues have ever offered any kind of help. So, why pay them any heed?”
My mother shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable, but refusing to concede I’m right. Instead, she switches her attention to Camille, belatedly reprimanding her about behaving more appropriately. Camille ignores her, as usual.
It’s all so dysfunctional, and by the look on the sales assistant’s face, she’s worked out that we’re hardly your average happy wedding group. But what does she care, so long as she gets her commission? So, she scurries off to find the other dress and once it’s been located, we head back to the fitting room. She helps me into it, and as I stand in front of the mirror, my mind wanders back to happier times.
Happier times—when I was carefree and had no responsibilities.
Happier times—when I naively believed everyone got their happy ever after.
Happier times—when I first met Joel.
It was during one of my mother’s interminable parties at the ranch. I’d gotten bored with all the mindless inane chatter of her stupid guests and had snuck outside. My mother didn’t even notice, far too busy gossiping.
“You’re not one of our guests,” I told the young guy I spied dipping his feet in the pond outside the house.
“No, I’m not.” the guy replied succinctly, not even bothering to turn and look at me. He just ignored me, as if he had every right to be there and I was the intruder.
I wasn’t in the mood for talking either. I’d escaped outside to find some solitude, fed up with having to be polite to people.
But I wasn’t used to people ignoring me, much less a stranger who’d invaded the place I considered my private sanctuary, and it was me who finally broke the silence.
“So, who are you?”
“Oh, nobody you need worry about,” he replied. “But you’re the owners’ daughter, right? You shouldn’t be out here talking to me.”
“You’re the one who’s here in my place.”
“I was here first,” he countered.
“This is my house, so that doesn’t even count,” I huffed back.
Childish, maybe, but I was just a silly seventeen-year-old girl. And this banter was such a refreshing change from the stuffy conversation in the house.
The young guy took a moment before he turned around and l finally got a look at more than just his broad back.
And God damn it.
He was it.
“Well honey, looks like you’re going to have to get used to seeing me around, ‘cos I might be just the hired hand, but I’m sure as hell not going anywhere now we’ve met.”
A mischievous smile played on his lips as he took in my stunned reaction to his handsome face.
And I could only stare at him like an idiot.
Because I knew instantly that he wasn’t just any boy.
He was everything.
He was the boy who would get under my skin.
He’d become the man who would change my life.
My wedding day is here before I know it.
After all these years apart, we’re finally walking the same path.
Our lives are merging, we are merging, to become one entity.
There’s no turning back, the decision has been made.
In a few hours, I will walk down the aisle, ready to give my life to the man I met all those years ago.
I just hope this won’t prove to be my biggest mistake yet.
ღ
“Why are you crying, Tara?” my little sister asks, strutting into the room as if she owns the place. What a diva she’s becoming.
“Camille!” I hastily brush away my tears. “It’s nothing, I’m just feeling a little emotional I guess. It’s not every day a girl gets married, is it?”
“Hmm. Well, I must say you look very pretty,” she says, giving me the once-over. “I, on the other hand, look totally gorgeous.” She treats me to a dramatic twirl to show off her outfit.
“Well, thank you. Anybody would think it was your wedding,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“I’m only telling you the way it is. I picked out this dress because I know purple suits me. It’s important to know these things if you want to make the best of yourself. You should take note, you could learn a thing or two from me.”
I change the subject to avoid being lectured further by my baby sister.
“I’m surprised Mom let you get dressed so early. Aren’t you going to wrinkle your clothes?”
“Mom has a hangover, too much champagne, I guess. When I asked at first, she said I should wait a few hours. But I know how to handle our mom, so I kept on at her, and in the end she told me to do whatever I wanted, as long as I left her alone.”
Camille continues parading around the room, and if I close my eyes, it’s easy to forget her young age. I just hope she doesn’t become the shallow kind of girl I used to be a few years ago.
She deserves to be better person.
Way better.
“I’m glad you went with that dress, at least you got that right,” Camille comments. “It’s very flattering and shows off your figure. Your cleavage especially is on point. Joel’s going to be blown away.”
I look at myself once more in the full-length mirror. I have to admit that it is indeed a beautiful gown, and I knew as soon as I put it on that I’d found my perfect dress.
It’s full-length, has a fitted lace bodice, with a deep V-neck that shows off my cleavage yet isn’t too revealing. It has a gossamer lace overlay embellished with fine beadwork, and a gorgeous pleated skirt interweaved with chiffon and lace. It’s stunning, even if I say so myself.
From the same store, I managed to find a small, delicate headpiece to compliment my dress perfectly. Now, with it skillfully integrated into my hairstyle, it makes me look almost like a movie star from the twenties. As for my shoes—I didn’t see any point in forking out on a new pair, since I already owned some that would do just fine. Keeping with tradition, they’ll be
my something old.
“I doubt he’ll even notice,” I grumble in response to Camille’s comment about my boobs. Joel doesn’t look at me any more than is strictly necessary.
Secretly, I’d love him to look at me the way he used to.
But I didn’t buy this dress to impress him, I bought it because I liked it.
Keep telling yourself that. That annoying voice in my head won’t shut up lately, but I try not to listen to it. Anyway, conversations with my little sister are way more illuminating.
“Trust me, Joel will notice,” she insists.
“What on earth are you talking about, Camille?” I frown.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no-one is looking,” she asserts confidently, nodding her blond head to emphasize her point. “He eats you up with his eyes, like you’re his sun and moon. I just hope someday I’ll have a sexy hunk like Joel looking at me that way as he begs me to marry him.”
“Camille!” I reprimand her. That girl lives in cloud cuckoo land sometimes. And what is a girl her age doing talking about ‘sexy hunks’?
“But it’s true,” she continues unrepentantly. “Why would I marry a man if he didn’t adore me and worship the ground I walk on?” Her comment gets me thinking. She has a point.
I’m getting married, but not for the reason everyone believes. Not because I’ve fallen head over heels in love, I remind myself. My motive is something else entirely, sadly.
“Camille, darlin’, don’t bother your sister,” my mother states, strutting into the room, and for once I appreciate her intervention.
“Oscar will shortly be arriving to walk you down the aisle,” she informs me.
Oh no. Not happening. I thought I’d made myself clear on this point, but as usual my mother has steamrollered over my wishes.
“No, mom. As I told you, I’m going to walk down the aisle on my own,” I insist.
“What?!” She retorts indignantly. “I didn’t think you were actually serious—how can you contemplate such a thing? Since your father is no longer with us, the honor of walking you down the aisle belongs to my husband, your stepfather.”