by April Wilson
“Honey, anyone can be ordained to perform a marriage ceremony. He can apply online.”
The thought of Cooper officiating at our wedding makes me tear up. Not only is he Shane’s best friend, he’s also become like a father to me, and I love him dearly. We both do. There’s no one I’d rather have marry us.
“What about location?” he says. “Where do you want to get married?”
“How about at the house in Kenilworth? We could do it in the great room – there’s plenty of room – and we’d have the lake as our backdrop. That would be lovely.”
He nods. “That’s easily arranged. Now all we need is a date.”
“As soon as your parents get home.”
“That’s two weeks from now.”
“Then that’s when we’ll do it.” I can’t help the huge smile on my face. “Gina has offered to cater the event, and Jonah will provide the music. If Cooper officiates, then we’re all set.”
Shane raises his glass of wine, and we toast. “I guess I can wait a couple more weeks,” he says, “but no longer. As soon as Mom and Dad get home, we’re doing it.”
I nod, smiling as I sip my wine. I’m getting married.
* * *
After we finish our meal, we grab a taxi and head toward the shopping district. I assume we’re heading back to Clancy’s, but Shane surprises me by telling our driver to stop in the middle of a block of shops.
“Right here. This is fine,” Shane tells our driver.
“Why are we stopping here?” I say, as we get out of the cab.
“You’ll see.”
We get out of the cab, and Shane leads me to the front windows of a quaint little shop. The storefront is painted gray with white trim, as is the awning that hangs over the door and the two bay windows, one on each side of the door. In the windows are jewelry displays mixed with antique knick-knacks.
“I thought you might like this place,” he says, gesturing at the vintage displays.
I see a number of wedding bands mixed in with the vintage jewelry, and I realize he’s brought me here to pick out our rings. My throat tightens painfully. He could have picked any of a dozen high-end, expensive jewelry stores in Chicago, but instead he picked a quaint, out-of-the-way vintage shop that he knew I’d like.
He lifts my left hand and kisses the engagement ring already on my finger. “How about we find a wedding band to match this?”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He smiles at me and pulls me into his arms, bowing his head for a quick kiss.
I lean into him and slip my arms around his waist. “This place is perfect. Thank you.”
“You don’t ever need to thank me, sweetheart. Making you happy makes me happy.”
Shane opens the door to the little shop, and a bell tinkles overhead as we step inside. The cool air is scented with vanilla and apples and cinnamon, most likely courtesy of the chunky, rustic candles perched on glass pedestals scattered across the sales counters.
“Welcome,” says a middle-aged woman standing behind the counter. “Can I help you find something special?”
“I hope so,” Shane says, leading me toward the counter. “We’re looking for wedding bands.” He holds out my hand and shows the woman my engagement ring. “Something to go with this.”
The woman, whose nametag says Rosemary, smiles. “Oh, that’s a lovely ring.” She smiles warmly at me. “Congratulations, honey. Your man has good taste.”
The saleswoman directs us to an antique wooden display case with a glass top and points inside. “Do any of these strike your fancy?”
I scan the rings in the case and immediately my gaze lights on a slim, gold band with a delicate pattern of flowers etched into the band. “That one,” I say, pointing at the ring.
Rosemary retrieves the band from the display case and hands it to me. “It looks like it might even fit you,” she says.
I remove my engagement ring and slip on the wedding band. It’s a little too loose for my finger, but not much. Then I slip the engagement ring back on, and the two rings look like they were made for each other.
“I can have that resized pretty quickly for you,” Rosemary says. “When’s the wedding?”
“Two weeks,” Shane says.
“Oh, no problem,” she says. “I’ll have it ready for you in a week.”
* * *
After Shane selects a plain gold man’s wedding band, we complete our purchase and walk the six blocks to Clancy’s. Shane comes inside with me for a cup of coffee in the café so we can celebrate our purchases with our friends.
“So, when are you two tying the knot?” Sam asks.
Shane takes a sip of his plain, no-nonsense black coffee, then sets his cup down. “Whenever Beth says we are. Hopefully in a couple of weeks, when my folks get home from Italy.”
“Where are you getting married?” Erin asks.
We’d told them about our revised wedding plans, and no one seemed overly surprised by the announcement.
“At the house in Kenilworth,” I say. “It’s lovely, and there’s plenty of room. Everyone can stay up late partying and spend the night. We’ll make a weekend party of it.”
After we finish our coffees, Shane gets up to take his leave and head back to his office for the rest of the afternoon. He asks Sam to walk him to the door, and the two of them are deep in conversation for more than a few minutes.
“What are they talking about?” Erin says, as we spy on them from the café.
I shake my head, watching what looks like a pretty intense conversation. “I have no idea.”
Shane’s doing most of the talking, and Sam’s mostly nodding his head. They both look awfully serious. I wonder if their discussion has anything to do with Luciana being in the store this morning.
Finally, the two men shake hands, and Shane squeezes Sam’s shoulder before giving me one last smile and then walking out the main doors.
“What was that all about?” I ask Sam, when he returns to our table.
“What was what all about?” he says.
“You and Shane just now. What were you guys talking about?”
Sam’s expression is inscrutable as he shrugs. “It was nothing. Just guy talk.”
Erin and I roll our eyes at each other. I know better than to try to pry information out of Sam. He can be very tight-lipped when he wants to be.
“Fine, don’t tell us,” Erin says, rolling her eyes at Sam as she vacates her chair and pushes it in. “Traitor.”
I follow her example, and the two of us head out of the cafe, leaving Sam behind.
He follows us. “Don’t gang up on me, girls. It’s not fair.”
Chapter 12
Later in the afternoon, I’m downstairs at the front check-out counter sorting through some customer returns when a loud commotion just inside the main entrance draws everyone’s attention. And I do mean everyone’s. Customers and staff alike all stop what they’re doing to look.
“Son of a bitch,” Sam says, whipping out his phone and punching in a quick text. “He was right.”
“Who was right?” I say.
“Let me go, you moron!” Luciana Morelli snaps, jerking her arm out of the security guard’s grasp. “Get your filthy paws off me!” Luciana tries to sidestep the guard, but he blocks her path.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the guard says, “but you can’t come in here.”
“Bullshit! This is a free country. I can damn well go where I please.”
“Actually, you can’t,” he says.
I rush over there, hoping to prevent a scene. “Excuse me, is there a problem?”
She glares at me. “Call off your guard dogs, Beth!”
Sam’s hands land firmly on my shoulders, and he maneuvers me behind him. Mack shows up too, and the both of them get between me and Luciana.
“Ms. Morelli,” Mack says, “you need to leave, or I’ll have you forcibly removed and charged with trespassing.”
“You can’t do that!” she snaps, crossing her arms
indignantly.
“Of course I can. This is private property.”
There’s a crowd forming now, and the situation is getting out of hand. “Luciana, you need to leave,” I say. My heart is pounding in my chest, but as I’m with Sam and Mack, there’s nothing she can do to me.
She glares at me. “You are such an idiot! Do you really think he’s going to marry you? He’s just using you, Beth. When he’s had his fill of robbing the cradle, he’ll move on.”
Mack turns to Sam. “Take Beth upstairs. I’ll deal with this.”
Sam takes hold of my shoulders and marches me toward the stairs. “Up you go,” he says. “Boss’s orders.”
“Whose? Mack’s?”
“No, the big boss’s orders. Shane’s.”
Halfway up the staircase, I look back just as Mack strong-arms Luciana out the door and onto the sidewalk. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her hands are flying, and I’m sure she’s reading him the riot act and threatening him with bodily harm.
“That woman is nuts,” I say, as we head down the hall that leads to the administrative offices.
“Certifiably,” Sam says. “By the way, he’s on his way.”
I don’t even need to ask who he means. He means Shane.
* * *
The photos start coming in shortly after Mack kicked Luciana out of the bookstore. She left the store in a huff, he told me, after threatening to sue. But Clancy’s is private property – my private property – so legally, I’m allowed to ban her from coming in here. For the sake of my self-esteem, let alone my sanity, it’s a wise move.
And then the photos start coming.
And coming.
And coming.
I don’t know how she got my personal cell number, but she’s sending me image after image of herself and Shane from back when they were dating. The first few are pretty innocuous, mostly publicity shots of them attending public functions together – images I could easily find on the Internet if I looked – Shane dressed in a black tux looking incredibly handsome and Luciana looking stunning in a variety of sequined designer gowns. Her curvy, statuesque figure is the stuff of men’s fantasies.
Alone in my office, I scroll through the incoming photos. Sam is in the hallway outside the administrative office talking to Mack. And all of a sudden, I hear Shane’s voice now as well. He must have just arrived, and he’s barking out orders. But I’m too caught up in the onslaught of incoming photos to pay much attention to what he’s saying.
“Do not let that woman in this store again,” he says.
My attention is diverted by the continual vibration of my phone, alerting me to the arrival of additional images, which are becoming more and more personal. Photos of them dining together at restaurants, walking along the beach, at a baseball game at Wrigley Field. They made a gorgeous couple, that’s for sure.
I honestly don’t know why I don’t just turn off my phone. Instead, I sit here like an idiot, dwelling over each one as it comes in. Shane with his arm around Luciana at a baseball game. Shane holding Luciana’s hand as they walk along the bike path that cuts through Oak Beach. I can’t look away, and with each image I feel more and more sick to my stomach.
How did she get my personal number? And why is she so determined to make me miserable? I’ve never done anything to her. I’d never even met her before the summer, when we ran into her at Sylvia’s Boutique while we were shopping for a dress for me to wear to the Children’s Hospital charity event. And then again in the women’s restroom at the hotel where the event was held.
I’m no one to her, and yet she seems determined to make me suffer.
There’s a knock on my office door.
I swallow hard and clear my voice, afraid it will crack when I speak. “Come in.”
Erin comes through the door, shutting it quietly behind her. “Wow, Shane’s in a tizzy. I’ve never seen him like this.” She stops in her tracks, halfway to my desk, and stares at me. “Good grief, Beth, what’s wrong?”
I’m not doing a very good job of hiding my emotions. I shrug, putting my phone face down on my desk. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” she says, coming to stand directly in front of my desk. “What is it?”
I press my hands to my face and take a deep breath. Then I hand Erin my phone.
“What are these?” She scrolls through the incoming messages, her expression scrunched up as she tries to make sense of what she’s looking at. “Oh, my goodness – these are all of Shane and that woman. Where in the world did you get these?”
“Someone’s been sending them to me for the past ten minutes. They’re coming from an unknown number, but I’m assuming it’s Luciana’s.”
“My God, she’s practically stalking you. Has Shane seen these?”
“No.”
Erin flips rapidly through the images. When eyes widen over one of the photos, I hold out my hand.
“Give it to me,” I say.
She shakes her head. “You don’t need to see this one. I’m deleting it.”
I shoot to my feet. “Don’t you dare delete it! Hand it over, Erin!”
“Beth, please – ”
“Give it to me!”
Looking devastated, Erin hands me my phone, and I look at the most recent photo to come in. It’s of Shane, and he’s asleep in a bed I don’t recognize, in a bedroom that’s not his. He’s lying face down, his hair tousled, and he’s naked. A sheet barely covers his buttocks.
The air leaves my lungs in a hot rush, making me dizzy, and I drop down hard into my chair to stare at the image. “Oh, my God.”
Erin makes a grab for my phone, but I hold it away from her. “Erin, stop.”
My phone buzzes quietly as more images stream in, more of the same, and like an idiot, I just stare at them.
“I don’t think you should look at any more of those images,” Erin says. “She’s trying to terrorize you.”
“She’s doing a good job of it.”
My office door opens and Shane and Sam walk in. Shane stops midstride when he sees me. “What’s wrong?”
“I’d better get back to work,” Erin says, rushing past Shane and out the door.
Shane’s brow furrows. “Beth? Honey, what is it?”
I turn off my phone and slip it into my purse, which I keep in the lower desk drawer. “Nothing. I’m just exhausted. It’s been a crazy day.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe me, but at least he doesn’t push it. I don’t think Sam believes me either. He’s giving me looks from across the room.
It’s five o’clock, so I power down my computer and grab my purse. “Can we go home?” I say to Shane, who nods.
“I guess you don’t need me then,” Sam says, backing out of the room. “I’ll see you,” he points at me, “in the morning.”
Shane nods, but his eyes are fixed on me. “Thanks, Sam.”
When we’re alone, Shane shuts the door to my office and walks to my desk. “Are you going to tell me what happened to put that look on your face?”
I feel ill. God, I can’t even think of those images, let alone show them to him. What can he say? The images exist, there’s no denying that. He probably didn’t even know she’d taken a lot of them, at least not the ones of him sleeping.
They were together at one point, so of course they did all those things as a couple... attend fancy functions, walk along the beach, sleep together. Have sex. An intimate image of them together flashes in my brain, unbidden and very much unwelcome.
God, I’m such an idiot! Of course he’s had previous sexual partners. He’s not a monk. But seeing an image of him sleeping in someone’s bed – presumably Luciana’s bed – somehow makes it a little too real.
It’s not until Shane skirts the side of my desk and pulls me into his arms that I realize my cheeks are wet with tears. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, and I feel his lips in my hair.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as his other hand rubs my back. �
��I’ll make it okay. I’ll deal with Luciana, and this will all stop, I promise you.”
Chapter 13
We ride home in silence, Shane watching me out of the corner of his eye. When our taxi driver drops us off at the front doors of our building, we cross the lobby and take the private elevator up to our floor.
As soon as we step into our apartment, I turn down the hallway that leads to our suite. “I need to change,” I tell him, leaving him in the great room. I know I’m a coward for running off like this, but I just need some time alone to process.
He follows me partway down the hall, but then he stops and lets me go alone into our private space.
I head straight for the bathroom, where I stand at the sink and wash my face with a cool, wet cloth, trying to collect myself. “Don’t be a naive fool,” I tell my pale reflection in the mirror. “Of course he’s had relationships. It doesn’t change what we have, what we are together. Grow up. Put on your big-girl panties and deal with it.”
Angry now, at both myself and at Luciana, I pull my phone out of my purse and reply to the unknown sender of the images. I’m not going to let her get to me anymore.
Nice try. But that’s all in the past.
A moment later, my phone pings with an incoming text.
You think it’s in the past? Think again. That last set – the ones of him naked in my bed – were taken last week. Where do you think he goes on his lunch breaks? The joke’s on you. You’re so damned gullible.
No. She’s lying. She has to be. He would never cheat on me.
I text her back:
You’re lying.
Immediately, another text comes in:
Do you want me to prove it? I can.
My stomach roils and I feel sick. I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach empties itself into the commode.
Do you want me to prove it?
She’s lying. I know she is.
There’s a quiet knock on the bathroom door, and I race to the sink to rinse out my mouth. “Come in.”
Shane opens the door and comes in. He’s removed his suit jacket and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white dress shirt, and I can see some chest hair peeking through the opening. My heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him.