Bewitching You

by Estrella, Viola

  She’s the one. Go to her.

  He sucked in a gulp of humid air overfilling his lungs.

  Go to her? Where the hell had that thought come from? He swiped a hand across his sweat-soaked forehead. Shit. He was losing his goddamned mind. That, or the blazing sun was playing tricks on him.

  “Sorry,” he called out, but his shaky voice didn’t carry far. “I can’t.” He cleared his throat and tried harder. “I have to go.” And stop talking to a fucking hallucination.

  Determined to save face with reality, he planted his feet on his pedals and launched forward. Aching legs be damned. He was getting the hell out of there and finding his way home.

  Going insane was not part of the plan.

  ~ * ~

  Sofia shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her legs wobbly and her throat tight.

  “Was it really him, dear? You don’t know for sure,” Nana said from her chair.

  “He looked just like him.” Sofia sank down onto her bottom and pressed her forehead to her knees. Nana’s cat, Sam, rubbed against her leg and purred. “But he didn’t act like him. He seemed horrified of me. He sped away before I could even talk to him.”

  “You called his name.” Nana stood and ambled toward Sofia. Her pink polyester pants scraped together as she crossed the floor. Nana was a plump woman. More for hugging, she always said. Sofia had agreed.

  “I did call his name, didn’t I?” Sofia moaned and slapped her palm to her forehead. “Just brilliant.”

  Nana sighed and carefully sat next to Sam on the hard floor. “You must remember that most people don’t share our gifts. Or at least, they don’t realize they do.” She patted Sofia’s leg and then ran her fingers down Sam’s tawny fur coat.

  “I know, Nana. I was so excited, though. I half-expected him to run to me and pull me into his arms.”

  “Ah, yes, but he doesn’t know you like you know him.”

  “Do you think it’s over? Did I ruin my chance at love?” Cold panic had her thinking dire thoughts. Not being the perfect weight herself, why would an attractive man like Gray stop to talk to her long enough to show him how compatible they were? She really needed to start that diet her mom had told her about.

  “No, no, dear,” Nana said in a comforting tone. “I hardly think that’s possible. This simply wasn’t the right time. Not yet.”

  Sofia groaned. Twenty-four years without the love or touch of a man was too long, and Gray Phillips was the only man she wanted. She may have scared him away this time, but next time he was going to fall in love with her. Just like in her dreams.

  Fate had plans for them.

  ~ * ~

  “This one’s called white chocolate raspberry,” Nora Spencer said as she held up the bite of cake to Rachel’s mouth.

  Rachel sighed louder than she’d intended. Planning a wedding with her mother wasn’t as fun as she’d thought it would be.

  “Grayson’s allergic to chocolate products, Mom. I thought I told you that.” Several times.

  Nora rolled her eyes and dropped the fork onto her plate. “But it’s white, and it’s delicious. What could the harm be? The guests will love it.”

  “Yes, but my husband will break out in hives, stop breathing, and die on our wedding night.” Okay, maybe she was exaggerating, but the horrified look on her mother’s face was priceless.

  “Really? He’s that sensitive?”

  Rachel frowned and shrugged. “I don’t actually know what happens to him, but I don't want to find out on my wedding day, okay?”

  Her mother flipped her auburn hair and turned to the baker. “Can we get rid of all the chocolate products, please? My daughter thinks her fiancé is allergic.”

  Rachel ignored her condescending tone. So, I don’t know all about my future husband’s allergies. So what? That was the least of her worries.

  The truth was, there were times she wondered if she really wanted to marry Grayson. The thought was silly, she knew. Any woman could see he was the perfect man. He was handsome, he had a successful career at Linden’s Advertising, and they’d been through a lot together, including the death of Hayes, Gray’s twin brother.

  Her chest constricted.

  Rachel didn’t want to think of Hayes. Not now. It was too painful. She shook the depressing memory out of her head and turned her thoughts back to Grayson.

  The clincher had been when he’d met her parents. They’d immediately adored him. He had them under his spell...or it could have been because he was the first man she’d ever brought home who wasn’t an unemployed artist of some sort. Rachel couldn’t help it. She’d loved the passion that exuded from a man holding a paintbrush or a guitar or a camera...

  Consequently, Gray was the first boyfriend her parents had liked, and it felt good to have their approval finally. So good, that when Grayson had proposed a couple months after Hayes’s funeral, Rachel had accepted. Time to move on.

  No looking back.

  The bell above the bakery door rang and she crooked her head to see Grayson walk in.

  “Hi,” Rachel said, surprised. She wasn’t expecting to see him until dinner.

  He wore dark jeans, a snug t-shirt that stretched against his muscular chest, and a smile that melted her heart. He really was a handsome man.

  And he looked so much like Hayes.

  ~ * ~

  Gray pulled Rachel into his arms and squeezed her tight. The morning’s events had left him frazzled, and he needed to be with his fiancée so he could forget about who he thought he’d seen.

  “Wow,” she whispered into his ear as he lifted her off her feet. “This is a...nice surprise.”

  He set her back down and met her bemused stare. He brushed a lock of her strawberry-blonde hair away from her porcelain cheek. She was beautiful. Everything he needed in a woman, he reminded himself, even as an empty feeling settled in his stomach. “I came to help.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He forced another smile.

  “Grayson?” Nora came up behind Rachel, wearing the same confused expression on her face. “Whatever are you doing here?” She walked around and gave him an air kiss.

  “I’m here to help with the wedding plans. It’s long overdue, don’t you think?” He grabbed Rachel’s tightly fisted hand and maneuvered his fingers in between hers. She always seemed tense around her mother.

  “Of course not. You’re a busy man, and Rachel, well, Rachel’s just a student. She and I can take care of all the details. Your job is to worry about showing up to the church on time.”

  Rachel bit into her lip, probably holding her tongue like she did so well. Gray wondered what it would take for her to defend herself. He longed for the day it would happen. Maybe at dinner he’d give her a pep talk. What she needed was a confidence boost. Being raised by a woman like Nora couldn’t have been easy.

  “Isn’t that right, Rachel?” Nora cocked her head in that condescending way that grinded Gray’s nerves.

  “Sure,” Rachel said softly, as she lifted some chocolate frosting off a piece of cake. “We can handle it."

  Chapter Two

  A car was parked in the driveway of the home Sofia and her mother shared, so Sofia pulled along the tree-lined city street and cut her engine. The old blue sedan probably belonged to one of her mother’s clients. It didn’t look familiar.

  Sofia’s mom was one of many fortunetellers in Indianapolis, Indiana. She read palms and tarot cards with an accuracy that bewildered and sometimes frightened. Occasionally, when urged by an eager, generous client, she brought the crystal ball into play. To Laura, a ball of glass was just that—a ball of glass. Still, it was the one prop that delighted most of her patrons and had them coming back for more.

  “Who am I to argue?” Sofia’s mother had once said with a devious grin and a handful of cash. “They only want to hear good things about their future anyway.”

  Sofia couldn’t blame her mother. The few times a client had gotten a preview of an ill-fated future, they’d
become irate and left without paying. Even though some might consider Laura Good a charlatan, what other choice did she have? This was her career, her lone source of income.

  Sofia walked up the path to her home and noticed her middle-aged neighbor, Herbert Lawrence, from the corner of her eye. His thin six-foot frame cut across their adjoining lawns, coming toward her at a rapid pace.

  “Ms. Good,” he shouted, before Sofia could run inside and hide. “Ms. Good,” he said again, as she turned to acknowledge him. He had moved into the neighboring house five years ago, yet she was pretty sure he didn’t know her first name or her mother’s. They’d both been branded Ms. Good, and of course, always in an exasperated tone.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?” Sofia asked with an innocent smile. What has Mom done to piss him off this time?

  He jerked to a halt four feet in front of her with the standard grimace on his face. “You have to make her stop.”

  As usual, Sofia didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, but no doubt her mother was guilty. The woman was like Dennis the Menace, and Herbert Lawrence was the unlikable, high-strung Mr. Wilson. Sometimes it was fun to watch their antics, but mostly Sofia wished her mother would grow up and leave the poor guy alone.

  She inhaled a small breath and asked, “What should I ask her to stop doing?”

  He shook his finger toward the side of the house. “Purple,” he said, his voice hitting a new high. “Out my kitchen window, all I see is purple with little tiny flowers. Why would she do that to me?”

  “She planted purple lilacs again?” Was her mother running out of ideas? She’d planted lilacs last summer after she’d discovered he was extremely allergic to them, and that he hated the color purple.

  Herbert’s elderly mother visited him every other weekend, and Sofia’s mother used the kind, somewhat senile woman to get all kinds of information.

  “No, she painted the side of your house purple,” he gritted his teeth and continued, “with little tiny white lilacs. So every time I look outside my kitchen window, that’s what I see.”

  Sofia bit her lips shut to keep from laughing. Her mother really needed a hobby. “I apologize, Herbert…or Mr. Lawrence. I’ll talk to her about it. I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding.”

  “See that you do.” His silvery eyes matched the grey streaks running along each side of his head.

  Had he been grey when he’d moved in five years ago? Sofia couldn’t remember. She nodded and turned, making long strides up the porch and into the house. Thankfully, Herbert let her leave without another word.

  The door to her mother’s den was closed. The sign on the dark walnut-stained door read, “Reading in progress. Do not disturb.”

  Her mother’s murmuring voice reverberated out into the sunlit hallway. The sound was familiar and comforting. One she connected with her childhood.

  Sofia used to sit against the wall and listen in on her mother’s sessions, falling asleep at times. Of course that always angered her father, she remembered. He’d scoop her up into his arms and tell her to read a book or go outside and play. He hadn’t believed in the powers of the mind or any type of “nonsense that couldn’t be explained by science.”

  Oh, the arguments her parents had battled through. He’d yell and her mother would yell louder. In the end, he decided to leave and never come back. His leaving was for the best, Sofia realized now. How would he have handled knowing his own daughter was full of nonsense as well? Ever since puberty had set in.

  Yep, it was better this way.

  Her sandals tapped as she took the curved hardwood stairs up to her room. It had already been a long day, and all she wanted to do was work on her latest painting.

  She’d dreamed of a beach, late at night. Gray Phillips, of course, was there, not too far ahead of her. His pant legs were rolled up, as if he’d walked through the water along the shore. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his broad, muscled chest. He held a camp lantern. That, along with the light of the moon, allowed her to see him waiting for her. His smile was white compared to his dark features—brown hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. He seemed happy, or was he amused by her? Who knew? At any rate, the scene had begged to be painted, as had the rest of her paintings that lined her bedroom walls and filled her closet.

  One day she’d display them and show the world her visions, if she ever got the courage. Right now, her only desire was to paint. It fed her soul and eased her mind.

  She stepped out of her sundress and threw on an old t-shirt just as the phone rang.

  Oh, crap. Sofia checked the caller ID to make sure it was who she thought it was. Restaurant De Mon Coeur popped up on the screen.

  She’d forgotten all about work again. Again. When was she going to get her head together?

  “Hello?” she answered, and braced herself to hear French curse words through the earpiece.

  “Sofia,” her coworker and friend, Madeleine, said in a hushed tone. “André’s on a tirade. Get down here now. It’s super busy.”

  “Shoot. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there.”

  ~ * ~

  “I can’t believe we’ve been waiting for twenty minutes,” Grayson whispered against Rachel’s ear. “We have a reservation.”

  “They look busy.”

  Gray drew in an annoyed breath and rolled his tense shoulders. Tomorrow at work was going to be hectic, and he didn’t have time to sit around and wait when he could be preparing for his presentation. If he got this new account, there was no reason Linden wouldn’t give him the promotion he needed to have a financially stable future with Rachel.

  He glanced at her sitting next to him. Not too close and not too far. That was the way she liked it, and he couldn’t complain. Rachel was a beautiful woman, but there were times when he needed his distance.

  That would change after the wedding night, he was sure. After they made love for the first time, the connection, the passion between them would grow.

  “I like that dress on you,” he said, trying to find some compliment that wouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable in his presence.

  She brushed a hand over the peach silk hem running across her thighs. “Thanks,” she said and gave him a glance. “I like your, um, tie.”

  Gray grinned at her. Her shyness was an adorable quality. Not being able to help himself, he leaned down and brushed his mouth against her ear. “Our wedding night is close,” he whispered.

  “Phillips?” A man in a tux appeared before them. “Party of two?”

  Rachel stood quickly, the profile of her face a new shade of red.

  “That’s us,” Gray said. He stood close to Rachel and placed his hand on the small of her back, hoping someday she’d get used to his touch.

  ~ * ~

  Sofia finished buttoning up her vest and thanked the heavens the material was black. She’d forgotten to wash the vest and her matching black skirt since her last shift two nights ago. The baby-blue blouse underneath was straight from the dryer and slightly wrinkled. It would have to do. She was so late.

  The kitchen was bustling like Sofia had never seen before. She slipped by the perspiring chef, who was cursing in French over a boiling pot of something.

  “Bernard,” he yelled at one of the prep chefs, who nearly dropped the knife from his hand.

  “C’est terminé?”

  “Un moment,” Bernard answered with a shaky voice.

  Boy, was he in trouble, Sofia thought as she reached the wall where the time clock hung. Two years of working in the place, and she still didn’t have a clue what they were saying, but their body language and tone said more than words ever could.

  She pulled her time card from its slot and clocked in...forty minutes late. Shoot.

  “Sofia,” André shouted as he pushed through the door, his face even redder than the chef’s. “You’re late again.”

  “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best innocent smile. The man was a sucker for a sweet smile and a blonde head of hair. One out of two had to wor
k.

  He growled under his breath. “One more time and you’re fired. Go take tables five through nine.”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  ~ * ~

  Gray pulled Rachel’s chair out for her, but her attention was on the piano player seated twenty-odd feet away. She gave him a small wave as if she knew him.

  Which would be impossible. The guy had tattoos crawling up his neck underneath his pressed white dress shirt. He was sporting a goddamn ponytail and smiling back at Rachel as he worked his fingers against the keys, playing a slow tune.

  “You know him?” Gray asked, and guided her into her seat.

  “Um, sort of. We went out once or twice a couple of years ago.” Her voice faded as she spoke, but he heard every word.

  “Really?” He sat across the table and watched as she continued to glance at the piano man, who probably got his last tattoo in a nine-by-nine cell from a guy named Snake. “He doesn’t look like your type.”

  “My type?” Her brown eyes fluttered as if being cleared from confusion, then quickly veered up at him. “You’re my type, Grayson.”

  “Huh.” So, there was a side to his virginal bride-to-be he didn’t know about. “You said you went out once or twice?”

  “Well, three dates, but it was a long time ago.” She clasped her hands together on top of the table.

  “Maybe we should talk a little more about our past relationships. Sometimes I feel like I don’t know you as well as I should. And we are about to be married. It couldn’t hurt.”

  “I’d rather not. It’s not a big deal.” Her cheeks flushed as she made busy work of tugging the napkin onto her lap and straightening it, avoiding his stare.

  Gray wondered what she was hiding. “It’s important to me,” he said. “I don’t like surprises. You know that.”

  “You’re being ridicu—” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced over Gray’s shoulder.

  “What? See another ex?”

  “No, there's something wrong with the waitress. She's staring at us. Very strange.”

  ~ * ~

  Sofia balanced the glasses of water on the tray as she slowly walked up to the man who could only be her Gray and the woman he was with.