One Wrong Choice (A Cruel and Beautiful Book Book 3)

by A. M. Hargrove

  There’s awkwardness as we get dressed. It lessens as she follows me out to the kitchen. The easy smiles and touches I give her as I move about eases some of the tension. So much so, she breaks the silence between us.

  “You’ve never told me about your ink.” She strokes her fingers over the red scales of the dragon that twines around my arm. “Does this mean anything?”

  It does. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

  Her smile widens. “Oh, let me guess. You want everyone to think it’s some real big bad dragon, but it’s really a magic dragon from your childhood.”

  “You’ve got me,” I say, letting her win because I don’t want to talk about it.

  She sits as I prepare the meal. One thing Jenna is not is a cook. It’s okay. I enjoy using my hands, and cooking is therapeutic.

  “Are you still planning to work tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I haven’t quite caught up, but I won’t miss Braedon’s race.”

  From all our talks over the years, she knows my brother’s passion of rowing.

  “Oh.”

  A little slow on the uptake, I finally say, “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “I actually have some work to catch up on. Helen has been on my ass. She won’t get the best of me, though. I’ll prove to her that I can do this.”

  Grinning, I say, “If there’s one thing I know for sure is that you will do just that.”

  She stays the night, but is gone before I wake. Cold sheets greet me, and I miss her warmth instantly. To make matters worse, I receive a text from my father about Braedon’s race that day. He wants us to watch the meet together.

  Braedon leaves earlier than I do for work. Later that afternoon, I leave the shop to arrive on the shore and find the spot where I’m supposed to meet dear old Dad. I find him standing with a woman I’m guessing he wanted us to meet. What gives me pause is the two of them face my mother who has a death grip on Brock’s hands. Great.

  Reluctantly, I approach because my parents look like they are about to lock horns. Mom sees me first.

  “Brandon, honey, it would have been nice if you’d given me a heads-up your father was in town.”

  Where Mom appears on the edge of blowing, Dad can barely take his gaze off of Mom’s hands in Brock’s. When he does, he glares at the man like he’s worth about as much as dirt.

  The woman with Dad wears a cheery smile, oblivious to the all out war my parents are about to wage.

  “Sorry, Mom. I guess I forgot.”

  She fakes it better than Dad and breaks the weirdness by introducing herself to the other woman. Just when I think things will calm down, the woman says, “Nice to meet you,” to Mom, “I’m Tabitha, Cole’s fiancée.”

  Thirty-Two

  Jenna

  Sunday dinner at my parents is going to be informational for everyone, maybe myself included.

  “Jenna, baby,” my dad greets me as I walk in. “How’s my girl?”

  “I’m good.” I give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “I don’t see you enough these days. You work too hard.”

  “But I like it, Dad.”

  “As long as my girl is happy, that’s all I want to hear. I believe your mother is waiting for you.” He makes a funny face.

  “Dad!” And we both chuckle.

  He gestures to her little parlor and pretends to sneak away.

  I am the first to arrive and greet my mother with a gigantic smile. “Hello, darling,” she says. “You’re looking marvelous. This relationship renewal with Kenneth certainly agrees with you.”

  “Hmm. If you say so.”

  “The Balfours are very happy about it, too.”

  “Mother, you have to understand something—”

  “Jenna, dear, you know it’s so difficult for someone your age to make a good match these days. I’m thrilled you came to your senses.”

  It’s an awful feeling to want to thump your mother on the head. It really is. A sudden image of me thwacking her and seeing her perfectly coiffed bob going kilter pops into my mind. Better to remove myself from this room before I do just that. “Excuse me, Mom. I’m going to check on Betty.”

  “A minute, dear. I need a word with you. I’m glad you’ve changed your mind. The Balfours hold the key to our finances, you know.”

  She’s hinted at this before, but Ben told me it wasn’t the case. “Mom, Ben said—”

  “Jenna, your brother isn’t privy to everything, and this is something you shouldn’t discuss with him. He knows what affects the business, in certain instances, but not what affects the family. Your father and I do keep a few things private, and trust me when I tell you, if the Balfours pull their investments, the Rhoades’ personal finances will be destroyed. So the question I have for you is, do you want to be held personally accountable for that?”

  “It can’t possibly be that bad, Mom. I’m sure there’s something we can do. I’ll talk to Dad about it.”

  Barbed wire snakes through my guts as she silently shakes her head.

  She purses her lips. “Whatever you do, do not discuss this with your father. He doesn’t want you to know the state of our family finances, and if you go to him, he will deny everything, even at the risk of our solvency.”

  “But, Mom, we’re talking about my life, a marriage to someone I don’t want to marry.”

  A long, bony finger is aimed at me. “If you want to be responsible for us being homeless, you go right ahead and ruin this family and have us lose our home. May I remind you that a Rhoades has lived in this house since your grandparents? You may not care about this, but think of your father and me. We all have our crosses to bear.”

  I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to quell their trembling. On a scale of one to impossible, I just hit totally fucked. The walls of her silly parlor close in on me and I make a break for it, needing air to cleanse my head. The first place I can think of is Betty’s kitchen.

  Sprinting out of the parlor—and why the hell can’t she call it a den for fuck’s sake—I run into the kitchen for comfort from one of my favorite people in the world.

  “Betty!”

  She turns around and opens her arms. It’s the only place I know that will shield me from what I face ahead.

  “Why are you shaking so?” she asks.

  “Don’t ask.” I hang on to her as if my life depends on it.

  “You okay, Jenna?”

  I finally release her and say, “Yeah, I’ll get through this, like I always do. You ready for the snobbery to hit?”

  A hearty laugh rumbles out of her. “Oh, you bet I am. I’m going to kill ’em with my standing rib roast.”

  Normally, my mouth would water, but right now, it’s nothing but sawdust. “Oh, your standing rib roast? Did you make the little new potatoes?” If I don’t ask, she’ll start digging for answers, and I can’t have that.

  “You know it! And the gravy, too.”

  “Betty, I should’ve worn yoga pants, but Mother would’ve killed me.” I pat my stomach because I want her to believe it’ll be stuffed like a turkey after this meal.

  “Yep, she would have.” Then Betty leans in and whispers, “She’s been all over this house, checking things out, acting like the president was coming for dinner.”

  “You know how she is. That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Jenna, you still gonna marry that boy?”

  Pasting a synthetic grin on my cheerless face, I say, “Why, yes. Yes, I am.”

  Betty frowns. “You want to know something. I never could see you two together,” she whispers. “He’s a nice boy, but way too finicky if you ask me.”

  “He’s good to me, Betty.” My response is lackluster, even to my ear. She’s not stupid. Betty knows something’s up, and I can see it in her shrewd eyes.

  “I gotta go. I need to greet Kenneth when he arrives.” I kiss Betty’s cheek and scoot out of there. When I hit the front porch, it’s just in time to see Kenneth pull up the circular drive. I run out to his ca
r to meet him.

  “Jenna,” he says and kisses my cheek.

  “Hey, I need to tell you something. I’ve changed my mind.” I fill him in.

  “So, we’re getting married after all?” A satisfied expression settles on his face.

  “We sure are. I can announce, or you can. Your choice.”

  “Oh, I’ll do it.” He lifts my hand and kisses it. “I wish I had known you changed your mind. I would’ve brought the ring.” He tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, and we walk inside. My stomach plunges to my feet with every step we take.

  Soon after, the older Balfours arrive, followed by Ben and Sam. Mimosas are served, and I down three at light speed. I’m calling on liquid courage to get through this dinner, and if I had my choice, I’d guzzle the entire pitcher.

  Betty calls us into dinner, and I tug at the collar of my blouse. The damn thing isn’t even close to my neck, and it seems like it’s choking me. Dear God, don’t let me have a panic attack. My upper lip has dots of perspiration on it. Christ, I’m melting down.

  Once everyone gets a taste of Betty’s food, all conversation ceases. Kenneth and I are seated next to each other, and I hope no one is aware of my lack of appetite. What a shame, too, to miss out on this meal. This is one of her specialties. Even the older Balfours are more than gracious in their compliments. And their snobby backgrounds have exposed them to all kinds of exquisite food. But they seem to be smitten with Betty’s meal, even threatening to steal her from us. As if that would ever happen. Betty is loyal to my dad and would never leave the Rhoades’ household.

  Betty clears the plates, and I normally help, but she would kill me if I tried today. She serves coffee and more tea, and then we are treated to her warm homemade apple pie with vanilla ice cream on top.

  I keep thinking this is when Kenneth is going to speak up, but everyone polishes off their plates, and still nothing.

  Dad pats his belly, pushes his chair back, and asks, “Would any of you gentlemen care to join me on the terrace for a cigar? I have some Cubans that are quite nice.”

  Mr. Balfour says, “I’d love to.”

  I have to kick Kenneth under the table.

  “Excuse me, but can I have a word with everyone?”

  They all smile at him, thinking they know exactly what he’s going to say. My mother pats his hand, for she’s sitting at his left, at the head of the table.

  “Why sure, Kenneth. Go ahead,” Mom says.

  “First off, I’d like to thank you and Mr. Rhoades for having my family here for dinner. As usual, Betty outdid herself. And second, I know this will come as a complete surprise to everyone here, but I am pleased to announce that Jenna and I have decided to marry after all.”

  Mom gloats, the Balfours smile, Dad grins, Kenneth preens, but Ben and Sam, well honestly, they look cartoonish with their rounded eyes and gaping mouths.

  Mom stands and invites Mrs. Balfour into her stupid parlor. The older men and Kenneth head to the terrace, leaving Ben, Sam, and me at the table.

  “Are you crazy?” Ben whisper-yells.

  “Yes, but I have no choice.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” my brother asks.

  “It means … well, it means I’m going to marry Kenneth, and that’s that.” I lean back and cross my arms.

  Ben leans across the wide expanse of the large table. “You can’t. Jenna, you are making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “And maybe someday, you’ll thank me for it.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asks for the second time.

  I swat at an imaginary gnat. Maybe I am going crazy. “Never mind. Let’s drop it.”

  Sam says, “Jenna, please reconsider. This is serious. Marriage is a lifelong bond. A contract. You have to be in love with that person, and you are not in love with Kenneth. Think on it.”

  “Sam, I appreciate it, I do. But I have thought about it. For hours.”

  Ben throws his napkin down on the table in disgust, pushes his chair back, and says to Sam, “Let’s go. We’re leaving. I can’t take this silly charade any longer.”

  He stomps out of the room, Sam trailing behind.

  What a fucking mess.

  An hour or so later, everyone leaves, and by that time Mom and Mrs. Balfour have the entire wedding planned. Apparently, the ceremony will be held at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church in downtown Charleston, one of the oldest churches in town. The Balfours will host the reception at their plantation, with transportation supplied for guests staying at various hotels. The locals will be able to use the transportation as well, as there will be drop-off points throughout the city.

  On the way home, I call Brandon, but get no answer. What a disappointment, too, because I have some serious explaining to do. To say I’m a wreck doesn’t even come close.

  My phone rings and I answer, thinking it’s Brandon. But when Kenneth’s voice comes over the speaker in my car, my posture sags and tears bubble past my lids. How will I get through this?

  “Jenna, I can’t thank you enough. I promise to do my best to make you happy.”

  The only way I could ever be happy is if I’m with Brandon.

  “Okay, Kenneth.”

  “Jenna, are you crying?”

  “Uh, no. I got something in my eye.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, I’ll let you go. I’ll come by tomorrow to give you the ring back.”

  “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  What I need is a good run. So I head straight home and change into running attire. I shoot out the door, music blaring in my ears, and try to figure out what happened to my mom. Does she even love my dad? Was she always this way? Did she ever love me? Tears chill my cheeks as I blaze through the streets, trying to figure out how this all happened. All the happiness that was in my heart earlier was siphoned out in seconds by her words. The family fortune rests on my shoulders, and I can’t walk away from that.

  She always wanted a good match for me; that she was clear from early on. But when I met Kenneth, things went crazy with her. And I didn’t tell her because I knew she’d try to poke her nose in where it didn’t belong. As time passed and Kenneth and I were together for such a long time, it was hard to keep it a secret any longer. When she found out exactly who he was, you would’ve thought I was dating royalty. From that point on, she pushed for marriage. And Kenneth was so perfect when he came over—with his warm charm and manners, it made it even worse. But now, all she wants is what suits her agenda. She doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me or my feelings. And that’s what bites the most.

  Glancing at my clock, I scowl. I’ve been running for over an hour. That means I have allowed Mom to completely rule my life. I have to let this go and move on. What I hate about it the most is I lost Brandon before I really had him. Mom has led me around by the scruff of my neck, and where has it gotten me? Now I’m in charge of supporting the entire Rhoades’ fortune.

  When I walk in the door, the first thing on my to-do list is to try Brandon’s cell again. It’s going to break us both, but it needs to be done. But when the call connects, it goes straight to his voicemail. So I leave him a text. Two hours later, after I’ve showered, dressed, and paced like a caged tigress, I still haven’t heard from him. Maybe his phone is dead, so I jump into my car and drive to his house, only his car isn’t there. My next stop is his shop. And … nothing. Not sure if I should be worried or suspicious, I return home with a gouging ache in my heart, feeling like everyone has just shit on me.

  Suddenly, a loud banging on my door has me running and almost tearing it off the hinges. When I see him, I’m not sure who’s more upset, him or me. I throw myself at him anyway, thinking perhaps we can console each other. But then I step back and realize he’s now off limits. The only person I ever wanted is no longer available. He reaches out and I step back further, noticing the frown and question in his eyes. The pained expression is more than I can bear, and the damn misery-fest I’ve tried to contain mushrooms into a ruptured dam, crippling me.<
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  Thirty-Three

  Brandon

  Her warmth leaves in a rush, and tears shimmer in her eyes. If I’d known what words would whisper from her lips, I wouldn’t have asked for them.

  “What’s wrong?” I try to close the distance between us, but she continues her retreat.

  Instead of answering, she gives me her back and walks zombie-like to the couch. I follow, because at that point, I think I can help her. Hell, I want to in any way I can.

  Her hands are balled on her lap as if she’s trying to keep warm. I wait for her at any moment to blow into them, the way they nervously ball into fists.

  “Jenna, just tell me what’s going on.”

  Clearly, this has something to do with us. She can’t look me in the eye, not even for a second. I still myself for what she’s about to say. My imagination takes me to places like, we can’t go out in public yet; I can’t tell my family about you yet. Neither comes close to what she says.

  “I have to marry Kenneth.”

  There is no conscious thought of me putting a little distance between us. It’s more like the air is thinner where I had been, and I need to breathe.

  Her hand reaches across the divide, and her eyes finally meet mine. But I’m on my feet, stepping further away.

  “When did you decide this? Have you been seeing him again?”

  Sucker-punched, that’s the best way to decide the turmoil that roils inside me like the chaos in the midst of a hurricane.

  She gets to her feet, her face white as a sheet. But I don’t know which of us is a ghost, because I drift further to the door as if floating there.

  “It’s not like that, Brandon. Just give me a minute to explain.”

  The chuckle is an automatic response with no real feeling behind it.

  I hold up a hand. “There is no explanation, Jenna. The meaning is clear. You’ve made your decision, and it’s certainly not me.”

  “It’s not what you think,” she pleads.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think I’m a fool. I think I’ve played a game I never had a chance of winning. I think—”