“There is no me and Ryan. He’s some ex. That’s it,” I finally manage to utter.
“Why is he writing you? What does he want?”
I can’t even imagine. I can’t let my mind go there. Shivers run up my spine, and I start to shake. Wyatt doesn’t know what he’s talking about. What he’s asking me to say.
“What is he apologizing for, Brielle? What happened between you two?” He asks carefully. He can probably sense my anxiousness. The depths of which he will hopefully never know.
“Nothing really,” I shrug. But I have to offer him more than that. “Okay, we dated. For a bit. Not long. And then I broke up with him. That’s it.”
I pray that that’s enough information. But it’s not.
“So what is he apologizing for?”
I need to offer him more. Tell him the truth, I say to myself over and over again while Wyatt waits patiently.
“He just didn’t take it very well, that’s it,” I finally say. I can’t look Wyatt in the eye. I feel like he can sense the truth just by looking at me. When we finally do make eye contact, I realize that he can’t. His expression is completely blank. Like one of those that Buddhist monks have when they reach enlightenment. I saw a documentary on them recently on Netflix, and it clearly left an impression.
“Is that all?” Wyatt asks quietly.
“Yes,” I nod. Please leave this alone. Please. Please. Pretty please.
“You’re full of shit, Brielle. You know that?”
His words hit me so hard, they knock the breath out of me.
“It’s true,” I whisper.
“No. No, it’s not. You know that. And I know that,” he says and walks away.
When he reaches the door, I start after him.
“Wyatt, please.”
“We have nothing else to talk about, Brielle. Unless you want to tell me the truth.”
“This is the truth,” I start to sob. Please believe me.
“No, it’s not,” he shakes his head and walks out.
Big fat tears start to roll down my face. I’m a coward. I’m a freak. Why couldn’t I just tell him the truth? I love this man. I did nothing wrong. And yet, something kept me silent.
Of course, I know perfectly well what it was that kept me silent.
Pain. Shame.
To admit what happened was to make it true again. It was to contaminate this house with all that darkness and hopelessness. No, I couldn’t do that. I can’t do.
But was that worth this? Worth Wyatt thinking that Ryan and I was anything at all? Worth Wyatt having doubts about me and how much I love him?
Love. We haven’t used that word yet. Not really. But I love him. I’ve known I loved him for a long time now. And until the emails, I was pretty sure that he loved me too. Shit. Shit. Shit. How could I screw this up so badly? I buried my head in my knees and cried until all sense of time disappeared.
One day passed. And then another. And then another five. Wyatt and I still didn’t speak. He avoided me in the hallways and ate dinner and lunch at different times from me. O still spoke to me, thankfully, and she was sweet and kind and a friend that I really needed.
“I think I’m going to leave soon,” I tell O at dinner on the sixth day of our silence.
“What? No!”
“Yes,” I nod. “After the wedding.”
The wedding is in two days. My mom is arriving tomorrow morning. I tried to get out of it. I tried to get her to move it to somewhere else. But O interfered. She said that she didn’t care that Wyatt and I were no longer together or were having drama. Danielle was her friend, and the wedding was not getting cancelled just because things got a little tense.
“No, you can’t leave!”
“I have to. I don’t think Wyatt and I are together anymore. He won’t say a word to me. And I just can’t stay here like this. I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”
“But you’re my friend, too. Please stay. Stay until after the birth, at least.”
I think about it for a moment. She’s due in two months, but I don’t think I can manage here for that long.
“I don’t know, O. I’d love to. But this thing with Wyatt and me is serious. He won’t say a word to me. I don’t think I can stay here for two more months like that.”
“Are you sure you can’t work it out?”
O knows about Ryan. At least, as much as Wyatt does. And that’s enough. I can’t share any more than that.
I nod. “I don’t know what he wants from me. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him the truth. What else can I do?”
O shrugs. She feels my pain. I can tell by the hurt expression on her face. The problem is that I know what else I can do. I can tell him the truth. The real truth. The one that he feels is somewhere below the surface of all our conversations. The only problem is that I’m a coward, and I can’t bring myself to tell him any of it. I can’t bring myself to say any of it out loud.
And the worst part of all this? Is that I’m willing to give up the best thing that ever happened because I’m such a coward. It makes me sick to my stomach!
My mom arrives the following morning. She is as radiant as I’ve ever seen her. Her hair shines in the sunlight, and her skin has a beautiful glow to it. Her eyes are wide, and she’s wearing fake eyelashes that make them look triple their normal size. And there’s something else. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Hello, darlings,” she hugs me and then O. “Oh what a beautiful place you have here! It seems to get more gorgeous every time I visit.”
When she embraces O, I finally realize what it is that adds to her beauty. Her lips. They aren’t pursed from tension and anxiety anymore. Instead, they are calm and relaxed. Glowing just like the rest of her.
“Here, let me introduce you to my darling husband to be. Luke!”
A distinguished man with a few gray hairs on the sides extends his hand. I’m about to shake it, but instead he brings it up to his lips and kisses the back of my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Brielle,” Luke says with a slight French accent. His words are soothing.
I watch my mom introduce Luke to O, Mr. Whitewater and eventually Wyatt who all respond warmly to his calm demeanor. After all the introductions are made, Luke takes my mother’s hand and tells everyone what a pleasure it is to meet her friends.
There’s a genuine goodness to his way of being in the world. He hugs my mother when he doesn’t have to, as if he is drawn to her by some invisible magnet. Not long ago, Wyatt and I had this same way of being. It’s called being in love. Even before O takes my mom and me upstairs for the dress fittings and the men head to the other part of the house to try on tuxedos, I know that what my mom and Luke have is real.
“So what do you think?” Mom takes my arm on our way up the stairs.
“I like him,” I say. “He seems to really love you.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she wraps her arms around my shoulders. A wave of relief sweeps over her face. It’s like she has been holding her breath, and now she can let it out.
It makes me happy that I can provide this sense of relief for my mom. And it makes me even more happy that, at this moment, I’m not lying. I’m telling the truth. It feels good. So good, that for a brief moment, I consider telling Wyatt the truth.
“C’mon, let’s go,” O takes my hand. “Danielle, I can’t wait to see you try on the dresses that I picked out for you.”
My mom stares at her dumbfounded. “I thought I would just wear something I already have. I have this little yellow summer dress that Luke got me in Paris.”
The smile nearly vanishes from O’s face, but she is quick to recover.
“Yes, of course. Whatever you’d like. But since the dresses are already upstairs, maybe you’d like to take a look?” O says with a mischievous look in her eye.
I’m sure that that look has served O very well over the years and has had quite an effect on many men.
My mom’s eyes light up. She has always love
d shopping. Even when we had absolutely no money, she would go to Target or Ross and browse the aisles. Inevitably, she would come home with some crazy marked down pair of jeans or a beautiful top, which she only paid $5 for.
“When did you have time to get dresses?” I ask on our way up the stairs.
“Oh, you don’t think I was just laying around here all day doing nothing, did you? I’ve been hard at work planning this little shindig ever since I heard of it.”
I shake my head and smile. I’m glad that there are women like O in the world. Women who get immense pleasure from planning and organizing events. I’m glad, mainly, for selfish reasons. Because I don’t have that event planning gene, and if the world was made up of people like me, then civilization would be doomed.
I wait on the couch in O’s room for my mom to try on her first dress. O is in the walk-in closet with her, because according to O, “trying on wedding dresses is a three or four woman job, but we’ll manage.”
I offered to help out, but both of them insisted that I stay put.
Finally, my mom comes out. My jaw drops. That’s not an exaggeration. It actually drops open, as if I’m in one of those old school cartoons.
The woman before me is tall and elegant and looks like she’s ten years younger than my mom actually is.
“So? What do you think?” My mom asks smoothing the large taffeta skirt of the wedding dress with her hands.
“Beautiful,” I manage to say. Tears come to my eyes, but I try to hold them off. I can’t believe that this is my mother standing before me. I’ve never seen her this beautiful and radiant. This effervescent.
“Yes, you do look lovely, Danielle,” O cuts in. “But there’s another one that I think might be a little bit more you.”
“Another one?” I ask.
“Yes, how many dresses do you think I got exactly? Just one? What kind of fitting would this be?” O tosses her hair and rolls her eyes. I smile.
When my mom disappears into the dressing room, O turns to me.
“You really like that dress?”
I nod.
“I think the skirt is a little full. It makes her look a little bit like a recently groomed poodle.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say. That was the most extravagant thing I’ve ever seen in real life, and I’m in awe by its grandeur.
Before I get the chance to gather my thoughts, my mom comes out again. This time, she’s wearing a long gown that hugs her hips and makes her look as if she were six feet tall.
“This is an A-line dress,” O explains. “It accentuates your figure a lot more giving you a very, very nice shape. What do you think, Danielle?”
This time, it is my mom who has tears in her eyes. She wipes them off with the back of her hand.
“I’m sorry. So sorry, I didn’t want to just disintegrate into a puddle, but it’s beautiful.”
“Well, this is it then,” O says decidedly.
“This is it? Aren’t there more dresses to try to on?” I ask.
“You don’t know the first thing about shopping for a wedding dress. Do you, Brielle?” O asks.
“No, why?”
“Well, if you did, then you’d know that the first dress that makes the bride to be cry is the dress. No ifs, ands, or buts. This isn’t a science, darling. This is an art. And the first dress that produces that reaction is the one!”
We both turn to my mom. She’s staring at herself in the mirror. She’s never looked lovelier, and she knows it. Tears are streaming down her face. Tears of happiness and joy. The kind I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen. The kind that I really wish my little sister was here for.
“And for us, the bridesmaids, I got us these lavender dresses.” They are cut to the knee with built in cups and thin straps going over the shoulder. The material is the lightest thing I’ve ever felt. This must be what it feels like to be a butterfly, I think to myself when I look at myself in the dress in the mirror.
“The color really compliments Brielle’s skin tone, don’t you think, Danielle?” O asks.
“You’re breathtaking,” my mom says choking up again.
We start to do our own makeup, but O remains in charge.
“First, you’ve got to put on the primer,” she instructs. “It’s like painting a house. Would you ever paint a wall without putting on primer first?”
Mom and I just stare at her. I don’t actually know, since I’ve never painted a wall or a house. I have put on foundation before, but apparently without primer, and that’s all wrong.
“All of these years of applying makeup and I’ve been doing it all wrong,” Mom jokes.
O sprays on our foundation then blends it with a wide brush. Fake eyelashes are next. The glue frightens me, so I just close my eyes and pray that O doesn’t glue them shut. She applies the eyeliner and the eyeshadow next, and follows that up by filling in my eyebrows.
At first, I try to protest and do my own makeup. But once the fake eyelashes come out, I just give up and give in. So does Mom.
When O’s finally done, I look at myself in the mirror and don’t recognize the beautiful woman staring back at me.
By four o’clock in the afternoon, we are all ready. Just in time for the ceremony. O leads the way, taking us to the garden. My mom looks like a movie star. She moves as if she were floating on air.
The wedding will take place in the garden’s gazebo. When we walk into the garden, Mr. Whitewater is standing at the head with a small book before him. Luke is right next to him on the right, and Wyatt is next to him. Luke looks like all fiancés do in movies: nervous, lonely, and incredibly handsome.
I follow O down the aisle. In the end, I turn to Wyatt. He’s radiant. The tux accentuates every hard line of his body. It looks as if it were made to just be worn by him in this world.
“Doesn’t Wyatt look handsome?” O whispers.
“Very,” I say. I try to meet his eyes, but he purposely avoids mine.
When the music starts, I turn away from him and look at my mother. She walks down the aisle slowly and majestically, as if she was born to do this. At this moment, she is no longer my mother. She’s Danielle. A woman on the verge of starting her new life with the love of her life, and I can’t be any happier with her than I already am.
When she gets closer, I see that the most beautiful thing that she’s wearing is the smile on her face. The last time, I saw her this happy was when my little sister was still alive. And that was many, many years ago.
The wedding passes in no time. Mr. Whitewater reads from the Bible and asks the bride and groom if they promise to care for each other in sickness and in health, for better and for worse. They say their “I do’s” and lock lips.
“Okay, let’s all head out to the foyer for cocktails,” O says as we walk down the aisle following the happy couple. Throughout the ceremony, I tried to meet eyes with Wyatt, but he had successfully evaded me until we were supposed to lock arms and walk back down the aisle. Finally, I thought. This will be my opportunity to at least touch him. No matter how chaste.
But he didn’t give me his arm. When I reached for it, he recoiled and walked slightly ahead of me. It took a lot of courage for me to reach out to him. I hope he knows that. I also know what he would say if I’d said that out loud. “Why don’t you get just the courage to tell me the truth?”
I will. Later this evening. I will tell you everything, I promise myself.
* * *
***
When I get to the foyer, I head straight to the bar.
“What would you like?” the bartender asks. He doesn’t look familiar. He was was probably just hired just for the occasion.
“Martini. Dry, please.”
I should’ve started drinking a long time ago. At least, way ahead of the ceremony.
“Here you go, madam,” he hands me the drink.
“Excuse me, sir. You can’t be here. This is a private party,” I hear someone say behind me.
“Don’t worry, this won’t
take long. Only a few minutes.”
I drop my glass to the floor. That voice is all too familiar and frightening.
Time stops. I turn around. Everyone’s still mingling, talking, and for a brief moment Ryan and I are the only ones in the room.
“Hi sweetie,” he takes a few steps forward and is suddenly right next to me. He’s breathing on the back of my neck. Suffocating me. I want to move my feet and run, but I’m bound to the floor. Frozen from fear.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that he’s carrying a handgun.
“Wow, you’re even more beautiful than I remember,” Ryan says brushing his hand against mine.
I shudder and recoil from his touch.
His wide black eyes are devilish and sinister. Arrogant. I can’t believe that I was ever drawn to them.
“Can I help you?” Wyatt comes closer. I don’t know if he knows about the gun. I want to scream for him to go away and stay away. This man is armed and dangerous. But I remain still and barely breathing.
“Yes, you can, actually. I’m here to pick up Brielle,” Ryan says tossing his head back. His shoulders are square with Wyatt’s. He’s challenging him.
“Pick her up for what?” Wyatt asks.
“Not for anything. Just pick her up. She’s coming with me.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Wyatt asks. “Do you know this man, Brielle?”
“Tell him, Bree,” Ryan says.
But tell him what? The truth that I should’ve told him a long time ago. I can’t do it now as much as I couldn’t do it before.
“Okay, then. If she won’t do it, let me do it. My name’s Ryan McPhee. And Brielle and I are together. She’s the love of my life. She got lost for a little bit, but now she’s back.”
Wyatt stares at him. And then turns to me.
Finally, I summon courage from some place deep within me that I didn’t even know existed. I’m shaking. But my words are steadfast.
“We are not together, Ryan. I have a restraining order against you. Or did you forget that?”
Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction Page 23