Authors: Tracy Madison
“This is an odd circumstance, but we’re all adults. It will be fine.” Scot winked. “Besides, if I don’t show, Jameson will think he’s won. I can’t have that.”
A swirl of warmth began at my toes and drifted upward. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Okay. That’s settled.”
We left the restaurant and headed outside, deciding to walk off breakfast by checking out the strip. For the most part, we laughed and talked easily. We talked about everything. It was
nice, getting to know more about Scot and sharing pieces of my life with him. But every now and then a mask of distance slipped over his features and he would grow silent.
I didn’t know what he was thinking about during these times. Probably, it was better that way. But they, along with Jameson’s unexpected appearance, put a damper on what should have been an incredible day. It made me wish that I had the power to turn back time. If I did, I’d return to this morning, to the minute when I first woke, lying in bed naked with Scot’s arms wrapped around me. When everything felt natural and right.
Yeah. That was a moment to remember.
A thick ball of emotion gathered in my throat as I watched my parents exchange their vows. Susanna Marie Kaiser-Collins was dressed in a simple, antique white, vintage-style gown that skimmed just below her knees. She held a small, brightly colored, cascading bouquet of yellow dahlias, white orchids, and orangey-red mini calla lilies. Her grandmother’s pearls adorned her neck, and tiny diamonds glittered in her ears. She exuded beauty and grace.
My austere father stood tall and proud beside her in a black suit and yellow bow tie. He had a mini calla lily pinned to his suit jacket, and he radiated old-world charm and elegance. The pride and love on his face when my mother stepped into the aisle had taken my breath away.
Jameson stood to the right of my father, I stood to the left of Mom, and Scot sat behind us as the only guest. I hated that. But he swore he was fine.
The standard wedding vows, altered slightly due to this being a renewal ceremony, were used, but my parents spoke the words with such tenderness, such depth, that it seemed as if I had never truly heard or understood them before. This, too, took my breath away.
Mom passed me her bouquet, and my parents clasped hands.
My mother’s soft voice filled the chapel. “Gregory, I have always loved you. I will always love you. You are the best part of me, and I can’t express how joyful I am to be standing here with you today. Together, we have laughed and cried. We have
celebrated and mourned. My life is better with you in it. I am stronger with you beside me.” Her voice caught. When she spoke again, I heard her tears. “I don’t know what the future will bring us, but I am positive that with my hand in yours, the best is yet to come.”
I clamped my lips shut to stop myself from sobbing.
“Ah, Susanna,” my father said, his voice shaky and thick. “You have always been the master of words in our marriage. I tried to write my feelings down for today. I tried to find the words to express exactly what you mean to me. But it seems I am still the tongue-tied man you married thirty-four years ago.”
With a little cough, he pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “So please forgive me, but I am using another man’s words today. This verse comes from the poem ‘Beauty That Is Never Old,’ written by James Weldon Johnson. And this is what I would write for you if I could. ‘The world for me, and all the world can hold is circled in your arms; for me there lies, within the lights and shadows of your eyes, the only beauty that is never old.’” He coughed again and returned the paper to his pocket. “I love you, my darling.”
“Oh, Gregory,” my mother whispered. “I love you, too.”
My parents kissed, and the tears I’d been fighting to contain came free, silently spilling down my cheeks. How had I never seen the love my parents shared? How could I ever have believed that their marriage was simply a “good match”?
This
couldn’t be false, couldn’t be from the journal, from my spell. Their feelings were too vibrant, too alive, to be anything but true.
But how could I have remained so blind for so long? What had happened to change them from the young couple who’d believed so vehemently in their love that they defied everyone in order to be together to the parents I’d grown up knowing?
A thousand little moments crashed into my awareness, startling me with their vividness. The way my parents always stayed near each other, no matter the event or who was in attendance. I’d always believed they did this to show a united front, but now . . . now I saw how my father’s eyes followed my mother, even when he was embroiled in business talk, and how she would look up, catch his gaze, and smile.
A united front, yes. But also a loving union.
I remembered how my dad had always phoned her every night when he was away on business, and how Mom would steal away to another room to talk. My mother’s tireless focus in helping him in anyway she could, from planning those god-awful dinner parties with clients she despised, to befriending wives of those same clients, to insisting on downtime to get him—them—away from the stress of his job and their never-ending social calendar. Not just them, I realized, but us. Our family. They never left me at home with a nanny or a babysitter. I was always a part of the quick weekend trips and the longer yearly vacations.
Years upon years of small, barely seen smiles, soft touches, and words of encouragement floated into my memory. No, we were not a sentimental, sappy family. They always expected the best from each other and from me. And yes, they pushed hard. Sometimes, perhaps, too hard. But now . . . now I saw what brought them together, what propelled their actions, and yes, what kept them together: love. True, romantic, heart-pounding, starry-eyed love. It was real. And it could last for a lifetime.
My heart and brain, so often at odds with each other, connected in a blaze of comprehension. I nearly staggered under the weight, the power of this understanding. The last bit of stony resolve melted away, and a burden I’d been carrying around evaporated. Maybe my spell had allowed my parents to
show the world their love for each other, but it hadn’t created that love. It hadn’t fed that love. They had done that. Even if I hadn’t seen it until today.
I still had questions about their metamorphosis. Questions I intended to ask at some point, but one answer was clear to me: I wanted what my parents had. I wanted to fall head over heels. I wanted to love a man as deeply as my mother loved my father, and I wanted a man who loved me the way my father loved my mother. I wanted the fairy tale.
My gaze found Jameson, and almost without thought, I shook my head in a silent admission that he was not the man for me. He sort of reeled back, but he nodded, as if he could read my thoughts. A tiny smile of defeat passed over his features. He bent down at the knees, as if he were picking something up from the ground, brushed imaginary dust off of the imaginary something, and placed it on his head.
My tears fell a little harder. He’d just removed his hat from the ring. And while we hadn’t spent much time together, a bubble of sadness exploded inside. If it weren’t for Scot, I might have been happy with Jameson. He was a good man. He was everything I’d thought I wanted, and he deserved to find that one woman whose kiss would, in his words, help him shed his amphibious shackles. But no, that woman wasn’t me. A million more dates wouldn’t change that.
A different man called to me. I turned around to look at him, to look at Scot. And there he was, all handsome and strong and sexy. Oh, how I wanted him. Craved him, really. A burning that had started deep inside the second we met months before, when Leslie introduced us. This man would likely drive me ten ways of crazy every single day. If I were lucky enough to see him, to have him in my life, every single day. Did I love him? Had I fallen so fast? My heart and my soul screamed yes, but that damn rational brain of mine begged
for more time. Just to be sure. And hey, more time was fine. I wanted to really know Scot, what made him tick, what made him laugh, what made him scowl. I wanted to know what his dreams were, what his favorite food was, and so much more. So yes, more time was fine.
Finally, at the age of thirty-three, I believed in the fairy tale.
Hours later, after hugs and kisses and congratulations to my parents, after a strange dinner and then drinks with Jameson and Scot, I finally had the chance to talk to Jameson alone. We were winding down for the evening, and Scot had just excused himself from the table.
“I’m sorry,” I said to him. “Scot came into my life—again—the same day you pretended to be Chicago’s biggest pervert. Everything has happened so quickly, and I . . . I didn’t see this coming. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”
“What way is that, Julia? Do you love him?” Jameson swirled the melted ice around in his almost empty glass. “It isn’t my concern, but I’m curious.”
I shrugged, but instead of answering said, “I had every intention of our continuing to date. But my parents . . . they’re so much in love, Jameson. I want that for me. And I guess I realized—”
“I want that, as well. It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?” Jameson regarded me silently for a minute. Then, “Quit looking at me as if you’ve broken my heart. I’m not a little boy who’s lost his puppy dog. I like you. I enjoy spending time with you, but I think—” He set his glass down. “My dad and yours liked the idea of us being together. I’m not going to lie . . . I liked the idea, too. The reasoning is sound. Our fathers are retiring soon. I’ll be taking over Dad’s firm, and Gregory hopes you’ll do the same with his.”
“Ah. A good business match. I see.” Something I’d expected from my father, but Jameson? I tried to laugh off my bruised ego. “Well. Thank you for telling me.”
“You’re an attractive woman. Intelligent, socially adept, and proper. We have the same background, similar families. We
are
well suited. But Julia,” he said in his oh-so-charming way, “it wasn’t all business to me. As I said, I like you. But never fear, my heart remains intact. As
you
said, it was only one date.”
Everything about him, from the tone of his voice to his direct eye contact to his body language, told me he was being open and honest. “Okay, then. Friends?” I asked. “Because I have a feeling we’ll make terrific friends.”
His mouth spread into a full, real smile. “I feel the same. And as your friend, I’m going to let you off the hook for our next date.”
“Next date?” Oh . . . his family’s preholiday party. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
“I’m positive.” Jameson twisted his wrist to check his watch. “It’s late. I want to call the airline and try to switch to an earlier flight.”
“Scot and I are here until Sunday morning. You’re welcome to spend tomorrow with us.” My upbringing and good manners forced me to extend the offer, but I wasn’t disappointed when Jameson shook his head no.
“It was tough to get away. Honestly, I’d have worked a good chunk of tomorrow anyway. Might as well do that on the plane. If I can move my flight up.”
He stood and I followed suit. We hugged, and this time, wonder of all wonders, his touch didn’t freak me out. Because it was the hug of a friend and not a would-be suitor.
We separated. “Okay. Well . . . good luck.”
“You too. If you happen to find a woman looking for a frog prince, let me know.” Again, I thought of Leslie. Before I could
broach the idea, he put a little distance between us and gave me a long, considering once-over. “You and I would have been good, Julia.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But we wouldn’t have been epic.”
His jaw fell open in surprise. A loud laugh burst from his lungs. “No, probably not,” he conceded. “But sometimes, good is all we need.”
I thought about that for a second. “I don’t think so. I think we settle for good. Either because we don’t believe we can get more, or we’re afraid to try. I’m still afraid.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Petrified, actually. But I am not going to settle. And you shouldn’t, either.”
He didn’t respond verbally. Just winked one of those emerald peepers, gave me a wave, and walked away.
I dropped into my seat, drained from the emotions of the day. Excited, though, too. I’d followed my heart, had made a decision—one that ignored every rational belief I’d ever had—and yeah, I was scared out of my mind. Of what the fallout would be. But I also felt more alive. As if I hadn’t truly started breathing until today. Not only that, but I had two more nights alone with Scot, and I planned to use them to my advantage. Hopefully, to
our
advantage.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and let out a sigh. So many things to deal with when I returned home. My business. Leslie. Verda and the ghost. Ha. Now that I believed in fairy tales, it almost seemed as if I’d been dropped into one. I just hoped at the end of it, I’d be Cinderella and not one of her unhappy stepsisters.
The stroke of a finger along my arm pulled me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes to see Scot sitting next to me. “There you are,” I said. “You just missed Jameson.”
“I’m sure I’ll see plenty of him tomorrow.” Scot’s shoulders went rigid. “I can hardly wait.”
“Actually, no. He plans on heading home tomorrow.”
“Why the sudden change of plans?” It was a nonchalant tone, but I heard an undercurrent of relief that made me grin. Hugely.
“Work. Oh, and the fact that we decided we’re better suited as friends than as a couple.” I tried for a flirty toss of my hair. “You, on the other hand . . . well, I’m feeling very,
very
friendly toward you right now.”
“You know,” Scot said in all seriousness, “I’m tired of sharing you today. I’m afraid if I leave you alone, you’ll walk off with one of the men who bought you all of these drinks.”
Yes, the spell was still going strong. In front of me were six cocktails. After that, I’d told the waiter to quit bringing them. And I have to say, if I weren’t afraid of screwing something up, I’d have tried to reverse the spell. Or at least to cast a new one.
But Scot was paying attention to me. He seemed interested in me. Really interested. So I didn’t want to take a chance. Besides, the spell would disappear the second we returned home. And then . . . well, then I’d see what was left.