Marry Me Page 6
“Of course. That was my fault and I will do anything I can to make it better. I feel horrible. Are you okay? That looked like an awful fall. Maybe we should get you checked out too?”
Well shit. That was easy.
I sit here and smile down at the purse sitting on the bed next to me. Crazy to think that all those months ago a chance encounter that ruined a handbag would lead to a whirlwind romance and an engagement. He took me shopping that day and bought me the exact same bag that had been ruined, and we haven’t left each other’s side since.
I thought I was absolutely insane for following him from country to country, but it’s a trip I’ll never forget. The craziest part was he was supposed to be getting on a cruise ship for a few months with a group of his “closest friends.” In reality it was a publicity stunt thought up by his manager to get a bunch of Hollywood’s elite together. Wren skipped the boat while the others took off on his dime, and we got to know each other better.
Shaking my head, I stand up and grab my dress from the hook on the back of my door. The creamy white of the sweater pops against the tan of my skin. It might be winter here in Oregon, but we spent the last three months of our trip in Jamaica. I definitely enjoyed the warm tropical weather and lying on the beach so often, but near the end of the getaway, I was ready to come home. I just need to remind myself who the man I am marrying is and why I’m marrying him.
A knock on a door down the hall pulls me from my thoughts and my mom says, “Giselle honey, are you in here?”
That must have been the bathroom. I know it’s only a matter of time before she makes her way down the hallway to me. I take a deep breath and hold back my emotions. There’s no way I can let on to anyone, even my own mother, that I don’t know if I’m making the right decision.
Sure I paved my own way in life and have done incredibly well for myself, but my mom has always been of the opinion that you need a man to take care of you. I love her to death, but she’s comfortable with the old school role of housewife, spending her days cleaning, doing laundry, and having a cooked meal on the table when my dad gets home from work. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that; it’s just not for me. I can only imagine how she feels about me marrying someone like Wren.
That first summer when Marek brought Anders home from college, I had just been through one of the worst years of my life. I thought my parents were getting a divorce. Dad was never home, and Mom was a bit of a basket case who barely left her bedroom. I figured he’d cheated and they didn’t want my brother or me to know about it. That couldn’t have been further from the truth. They were keeping something from us all right, but it was much worse than I could have possibly imagined.
There’s a quiet knock on the door and my mom opens it, peeking her head in. I’ve asked her countless time why she bothers knocking first if she’s just going to open it without waiting for a response, and she’s always said it’s rude to not announce yourself. I bothered arguing with her on that topic years ago but eventually gave up. When she sees me sitting on the edge of my childhood bed, she comes in, shutting the door behind her. I still can’t believe we’re not staying at the hotel. The whole thing is absolutely ridiculous, but it’s only a few more days, and the battle didn’t seem worth it to me.
She tilts her head to the side as she sits down on the bed next to me. I can see a lecture in her eyes before she even starts talking and I’m not surprised when she purses her lips and finally says, “You know, Giselle I heard you last night and I don’t appreciate it.”
What she heard was Wren sneaking into my room. We spent an hour making out like teenagers before he snuck back to Marek’s childhood bedroom to go to sleep. It was all very PG-13 and I don’t know why my mom is freaking out about it.
“I’m thirty-five years old, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“No, it is a big deal. I told you that I didn’t want any of that going on while you were staying under our roof and it’s very disrespectful to your father and me.”
If a train crashed through the house, my dad would sleep through it. He’s always been dead to the world the minute his head hits the pillow. And I know he wouldn’t care anyway. He’s not as old fashioned about these things like my mom is. Hell, it’s not like it’s a big family secret that she was pregnant with Marek on their wedding day.
I want to roll my eyes, but instead I just nod my head and say, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
There’s no point in trying to explain anything to her because she won’t believe me anyway. Once Kathleen Outlaw has made up her mind, there’s no reasoning with her. I don’t know how my dad has lived with her all these years. Just a few days with her and she’s driving me up a wall.
She picks at invisible fuzz on my sweater, always fussing, and says, “I really like that boy, other than his indiscretion last night. He’s very sweet, and I don’t have to worry about who’s going to take care of you and protect you anymore.”
I want to roll my eyes at her, but I hold myself back and instead say, “He’s not a boy, and I don’t need somebody to take care of me. I’ve been doing a pretty damn good job of that on my own.”
“You’ve always been so independent, but I still worry about you. Are you doing okay financially? You know, until your husband can start supporting you?”
My back stiffens and I try to rein in my emotions. I am so sick of this, and no matter what I do, I can’t seem to make anyone around me realize I have a job. Just because I went the non-conventional route and I don’t work for someone else doesn’t mean I don’t make a damn good income. “Are you kidding me right now? You can’t be serious.”
“What’s wrong with my question? You just spent almost a year traveling around the world without working. That seems pretty irresponsible if you ask me.”
I want to yell at her that nobody asked for her opinion. But I’ve heard it way too much and I need to finally just put her in her place.
“This again. Are we going to continue this stupid argument over and over? I just want this cycle to stop. I don’t need a man to take care of me. I don’t need you to take care of me. I don’t need Marek to take care of me. My ‘silly’ videos on ViewTube make me a shit ton of money.” My mother cringes at my use of a curse word and I roll my eyes but apologize anyway. “I’m sorry for that, but it’s true. I love you all very much and I appreciate your concern, but that ‘little channel’ of mine? It would take Marek five years at his job to make what I do in a year. So, while you see my videos as silly, I see it as what helped me pay for my apartment outright, what made it possible for me to travel the world for nearly a year and find my fiancé. I don’t ever discuss how much money I’m making, but seriously, enough is enough.”
Her mouth hangs open, and I think this is the first time in my life I’ve actually stunned her into silence. She runs her hands along the front of her dress, incessantly straightening invisible wrinkles. My own dress is still hanging from my fingertips, no doubt getting wrinkles where my fingers are grasping it in a vise-like grip.
She hops up from the bed with a fake smile plastered on her face as she again runs her hands down her dress, this time on the backside where she was sitting on it. With her fingers clasped together at her front, she says, “Well…we better get going to your engagement party. You don’t want to show up late to that.”
I want to tell her I can’t be late to my own engagement party. It doesn’t start until Wren and I are there. Anyone who is there before us is technically early. But, after the conversation we just had, things are already tense as it is, and there’s no point in adding any more fuel to the fire.
“I’ll be out in a minute. I just need to put my dress on.” And get my head on straight.
“Okay dear.” She walks toward the door before turning around and adding, “Don’t forget to thank Anders for closing the restaurant for the evening. That was so nice of him. He’s always been such a good boy.”
“Sure Mom, I’ll be sure to thank him. It was nice of
him.”
“It’s such a shame he hasn’t found a nice girl to settle down with. That friend of Tinley’s is single, isn’t she? What was her name again?”
Seriously? Now she wants to hook Anders up with some other girl? Why does she always have to butt into everybody else’s business?
“Dakota? I’m not sure they would get along.” Not to mention the fact that I would stab her eyes out if she even looked his way. Dammit. Anders doesn’t belong to me. I’m marrying a gorgeous man who loves me. Why can’t I seem to remember that?
“Nonsense. I’ll ask Tinley to introduce them tonight. He needs to find someone nice to make a life with.”
She doesn’t even pay attention to me as she continues walking out the door and shuts it behind her. I crumple down on the bed, holding my midsection. I really do need to start getting ready for the party, but the idea of Anders being with any other woman is enough to make me sick.
What the hell am I doing?
Chapter Nine
Anders
Fucking masochist.
That’s what I am. Why else would I shut down my very successful restaurant for an evening to host a party celebrating the engagement of the woman I love to some other guy? Because I refuse to acknowledge that he’s anything more than that.
I motion for the bartender to bring me another beer. One of the things I’ve been playing around with over at the bar is brewing my own beer, and I’m testing it out on all the partygoers tonight. I guess that’s one of my many problems—no matter how successful I get, I always want to do more. It’s why I went from owning a bookstore to adding a bar and finally bringing a restaurant into the mix. And why I have about twenty other ideas mulling around in my head to do next.
Even though I’ve made mistakes along the way, I always seem to find a way to make things work, which includes the brewery idea, or at least having my own beer. Based on the number of empty bottles, it seems to be going over well with everyone in here, so at least one thing is going right. Why do I have to be so stupid when it comes to women, though? Or at least one in particular.
“Why are you all this stupid? I swear no matter which way I turn, every single one of you is just acting so incredibly dumb.”
I don’t know if I said my thoughts out loud, but even if I did, I have no idea who the woman standing in front of me is. She looks kind of familiar, but I can’t place her. Her medium brown hair is cut short, hanging just below her chin. She has her hand on her hip, and her eyes go from Giselle to me and back again.
I shake my head and stare her down, asking, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
She releases an annoyed huff and rolls her eyes. What is with all the women I know always rolling their eyes at me? “Does that matter? I’m Tara, Tinley’s sister.”
That’s why she looks familiar. Tara is older and more polished than Tinley, but I can definitely see the family resemblance. “Okay. So, Tinley’s sister, why exactly am I stupid? Please enlighten me, oh wise one.”
One of my waitresses, who I’m still paying to be here even though the restaurant is closed, walks by with a tray of drinks, and Tara plucks one off. She downs the entire contents of the champagne glass in one gulp and closes her eyes as if savoring its contents. When her eyes pop open, she says, “You can make jokes all you want, but out of your entire group of friends, my sister included, I’m the only one who has never had relationship issues. In fact, my marriage is pretty damn near perfect, if I do say so myself. Only an idiot wouldn’t realize you love her. The question is—why aren’t you doing anything about it?”
Between Fox and now Tara, I’m getting all the unsolicited advice I don’t want. But maybe I should be taking it? Everyone seems to think it’s so simple to win Giselle back, but they wouldn’t be singing the same tune if they were in my shoes.
She does have a point about the group. Tinley and Marek had a major communication problem and I’m not sure they’ve even worked it out so far, but how would Tara know about me? It’s not like I go around declaring my feelings to anyone. I haven’t even talked to Giselle all night. She’s been glued to Mr. Hollywood’s side, and I’d rather not enter that vortex. Maybe Tara has noticed things in the past. Am I really that transparent about my feelings? And if I am, does that mean Marek knows how I feel about his sister? I’ve always thought I’ve hidden it well, but maybe I’ve been fooling myself this entire time, and everyone knows.
Man, this chick is doing a number on my brain, and I don’t even know if I would be able to tell anyone which way is up at this point. This is the first time anyone has made me think about it. Giselle has always wanted me to admit my feelings, but I’ve always shut it down. Maybe Tara can offer me something I can work with after all.
I just shrug and look at her earnestly, hoping she can give me some sort of advice I can actually use. “What do you want me to do? I had the best night of my life with that woman and she disappeared in the middle of the night only to come back nine months later engaged—to a fucking celebrity, for fuck’s sake. I’m not sure there is anything I can do about that.”
As much as I hate to admit it or acknowledge the guy, he is my competition, and I have no idea what to do with that. How do I compete with a fucking Hollywood A-lister? I might make good money for a normal guy, but he makes the kind of money I could never dream of having. Maybe he is better for Giselle…After all, he can give her things I’ll never be able to.
No. Fuck that. Money isn’t everything, and I know she isn’t that shallow. If she were, I wouldn’t be working so hard to have her as my own.
“I think you’re just scared. You’d rather lose her than even try to fight for her—like a coward. And stop using his celebrity status as an excuse. When you strip all of that away, he’s just a normal guy like everyone else. Would you be rolling over and giving up if he had a normal job?”
A coward?
She thinks I’m a coward? She couldn’t be further from the truth on that. Giselle and Wren choose that moment to walk past us, and I know I have to do something big to get her attention. Nodding my head, I look at Tara and say, “Fine, if that’s really what you think of me, watch this.”
History.
Fox’s words from the other day echo in my brain, and I know exactly what I need to do.
I don’t give myself the chance to second-guess what I’m doing as I walk away from Tinley’s sister and head toward the corner of the restaurant. We have a small stage with a piano set up for weekend entertainment.
All those years ago when Giselle took to the stage and serenaded me with the Sixpence None the Richer song “Kiss Me”, she thought she made a fool of herself, thought she was singing to a boy who didn’t reciprocate those feelings, but I did—even more than I knew at the time. When she finished the last note, all I wanted to do was charge that stage and give her the kiss she so desperately sang for, but I was a coward and I thought the most important thing in my life was the friendship I had with her older brother, not the feelings I had for my best friend’s sister.
It might be eighteen years later, but I’m giving her what she deserved from me that night. Sitting down at the piano, I look up to see if anyone is watching me. When I see no one is looking back at me, I speak into the microphone to get their attention. “Excuse me, can I have you all look up here for a moment?”
The room goes dead silent and I mentally curse myself for doing something so stupid. It’s too late for me, and I should know that, but it doesn’t stop me from attempting to get her back—not that I really had her in the first place. My palms start sweating and every face in the room is focused solely on me, including the very happy couple in the back. Giselle has a pinched smile on her face, and that fucking dude standing at her side has his arm wrapped snugly around her shoulders. I could be wrong, but it almost looks as if he tightens his grip on her. If he leaves a mark on her body, I swear I’ll leave one on his face. I don’t give a shit who he is.
I clear my throat and take a big drink from my pint of beer
then place it on top of the piano to continue my speech. If it were anyone else but me doing that, I’d have a major freak-out. I paid a small fortune for this piano when I found out Ray Charles had played on it once. Sure, the dude who sold it to me could have been lying, but he had a photograph to go with it which I proudly hang on the wall behind it.
Pulling my fedora down low on my head, I say, “I think most of you here know me, but if you don’t, I’m Anders McKay. I own the restaurant we’re all currently standing in and I’ve known Giselle and Marek for well over a decade. Hell, I think we’re nearing on two, but don’t tell anyone else that little secret because that makes me sound old.” I wink to the crowd, which causes a few of the single women to take a few steps closer to me.
I take a small pause then my throat tightens as I say, “I want nothing but complete love and happiness for you Giselle. Wren, I don’t know you yet, but know that you’re the luckiest bastard to call her your own.”
I don’t miss his fingers clenching on her waist or the fact that he pulls her body in front of his own and wraps both arms around her. Yeah, that’s right, fucker—you know I want her. He smirks to me as if to say he has her and I never will. We’ll just see about that one, buddy.
I turn away from Wren and our non-verbal pissing contest across the room and glance down at the woman behind my insane actions since she’s been home.
Giselle’s expression is unreadable with her signature resting bitch face on, and it’s probably only going to get worse as I take us down memory lane.
Continuing my speech, I say, “The summer I met Giselle, she hopped up on the stage of a karaoke bar, singing to her heart’s content. She was a little embarrassed after her performance and she left before she could watch me make a fool of myself as well. What most of you don’t know is that I started taking music lessons the following fall when I was in college, and I figured I’d gift the happy couple with a song. I hope you all enjoy.”