Crashing the Congressman’s Wedding (Crimson Romance) (22 page)

She let his words slide, concentrating instead on walking straight despite her burning feet. As he led her out the doors to the sidewalk, crisp night air bit her bare arms and back, causing a shudder. He draped his jacket over her shoulders and held her close, guiding her across the street.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

A horn beeped. “Congratulations,” someone yelled from the murky depths of the vehicle.

Justin waved. Alice smiled. Who knew a small town could be so stoked for a hospital fundraiser?

When she stumbled on the opposite curb, Justin dropped his arm to her waist and held her tighter until she was almost walking on air.

“Evening Congressman. Alice. Congratulations,” said a passerby walking his dog.

Justin nodded, and Alice smiled again.

A few feet more, and they were walking into Justin’s office building.

“Do you have work to do?” Alice asked, her nerves mingling with confusion.

“Nope.”

When the elevator doors closed, he cupped her face in his warm hands and kissed her. Softly. Sweetly. Second after second of breathing him in. Alice floated in soul-deep serenity.

Then the bell rang and the doors jerked open, and Justin clasped her hand in his, moving quickly through the halls. She tried to process the events, focus on the possibilities, but her thoughts scattered.

Finally, he unlocked his office door. “I want you to see something, but first I have some things to say.” He spun her around to face him. “I love you, Alice.”

She nodded, ready to respond in kind, but he placed two fingers on her lips and smiled. “Wait for your cue,” he said.

She lifted her brows in question.

“You’ll know it when you hear it.” He ran his hand down the length of her arm to squeeze her fingers. “Okay. Let’s start again. I love you, Alice. You’re beautiful, talented, funny, vibrant and true. There isn’t another woman in the world who compares to you.”

If she weren’t emotionally and physically exhausted, and stricken by the sincerity of his words, she would’ve argued that last point. The world was a very big place.

“You’ve shown me things, taught me things that have changed my hopes and dreams,” he continued, releasing the pressure on her fingers to grab both of her hands in his. “I don’t want to live another day without you firmly positioned as the most important person in my life. So … ” He walked backward toward the radiator, dragging her by the hands across the floor. “Will you marry me?”

When he dropped to one knee the theatre marquee captured her bleary-eyed attention.
Alice, I love you. Will you marry me? Justin.
The words shone bright for the entire town to see.

Alice gasped. No wonder people shouted congratulations as they hurried across the street. Her knees buckled, carrying her to the floor where she knelt before him with mouth open, head buzzing and heart thrashing in her chest.

She’d lived her whole life craving attention, wanting an audience to love her. Tonight that wish came true. And yet it wasn’t half as satisfying as earning the love and respect of this one man, a man who taught her she was worth the risk.

“Yes.”

It was the loudest whisper of her life.

Alice paused at the back of the sanctuary, smiling down the lily-lined aisle at the smoking hot man standing before the altar. His tuxedo was tailored, his shoulders were back, and his hair was impeccably groomed. As gorgeous as he was all poised and polished, it was his smile, reaching his glimmering green eyes that made her swoon.

She sighed, smoothed a hand over the snug bodice of her dress and tried to remember a time when she didn’t love Justin Mitchell. No such time ever existed.

Suppressing the urge to sprint up the aisle and catapult into his arms, she breathed deep and took in the spectacle around her. The big wedding was Margaret Mitchell’s idea, and not surprisingly, Alice resisted at first. Memories of the last time she stood in this spot topped her list for not wanting a replay, but then Margaret took Alice’s face in her hands and asked, “Wouldn’t your mother want her only daughter to be married in grand style?”

The answer was yes, and so Alice compromised. Big wedding. Big reception. Extra-long honeymoon. Two months to be exact. They could do that now, having waited to marry until Justin’s congressional term was complete.

Harp music drifted down the aisle to calm her racing heart. So much had happened over the last year, she barely recognized herself. She’d grown into the woman she’d always hoped to be — proud, respected and loved.

Charlie laid her hand over his forearm and patted her soundly. “This is it.”

She nodded, watching the flower girl take her place beside Kory. This really was
it
. The it she’d been waiting for her whole life, since she first saw Justin standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She was drawn to him then like she was drawn to him now. Connected. And while she’d always expected to stay connected but live apart, reality stepped in with a different — better — plan.

The breath she tried to take stuck in her too-small throat as Charlie tugged on her arm. She needed to walk, needed to move, needed to take her place. Beside Justin.

This wasn’t the time for puzzling over unexpected blessings and why she suddenly turned out worthy of every dream she’d ever dared to dream. This was a wedding.

The man she loved was getting married.

And this time, he was marrying her.

Elley Arden is a born and bred Pennsylvanian who has lived as far west as Utah and as far north as Wisconsin. She drinks wine like it’s water (a slight exaggeration), prefers a night at the ballpark to a night on the town, and believes almond English toffee is the key to happiness. Elley writes provocative, contemporary, series romance for Crimson Romance. For a complete list of Elley’s books visit
www.elleyarden.com
.

Maggie blinked at the picture she held in her hand. She rubbed her eyes. She tilted her head. She even squinted. No matter how she studied the tattered square, the image didn’t make sense.

Her date reached across the bistro table and flicked the back of the photo. “That’s my wife and kids.”

Maggie counted eight children. A PhD in counseling psychology couldn’t guide her reaction. Years of embracing Buddhist dharma couldn’t ease her shock.

“I’m sorry.” She shook the fog from her brain. “You said ex-wife, right? I must’ve misheard you.” Which wasn’t likely. Psychotherapists knew how to listen.

A smile warmed Paul’s brown eyes and brought out a dimple in his cheek. Maggie hadn’t noticed the deep dip a week ago when he grinned from behind a farmer’s market herb stand. She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring, either. Glancing at his naked left hand, she felt relieved. There had to be a rational explanation for this irrational conversation.

“Katherine is my wife. We’ve been married for twenty years.” The words leaped from his lips and pinned Maggie to her chair, snapping her bare back against the metal with enough force to sting.

She folded her arms over her chest and breathed, trying to plot a graceful exit from the alternative universe disguised as a coffee shop she must have landed in.

“It’s time for another wife.”

This was where desperation had led her. But as much as she loathed being a twenty-eight-year-old PhD living at home with her mother, Maggie wasn’t desperate enough to escape by way of a married man. She might be liberal, forward-thinking, and even a little off-the-proverbial-wall, but she wasn’t a home wrecker.

Drawing a shaky breath, she cursed the crowded location and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. You seem nice enough, but I can’t be with a married man. Tonight was a mistake.”

She reached into her patchwork purse, but before she fished out keys, Paul wrapped a clammy hand around her wrist. “Don’t go. Let me explain. I have Katherine’s blessing to pursue you.”

“You don’t have my permission,” Maggie said, uninterested in the details.

He released her and slinked back in his chair, looking very much the misunderstood martyr with glassy eyes and tight lips.

A bolt of pity wrapped in sensibility struck her brain.
Deep breath, Maggie. Calm down.
After all, the evening was innocent. They hadn’t even held hands. What harm had been done on a platonic first date?

Compassion caused her to smile. “Good night, Paul. Go home to your wife and kids.”

“But I’m a polygamist. I want another wife, and Katherine wants a sister wife.”

Maggie widened her eyes. Though rumor had it Salt Lake City overflowed with plural marriages, in the year since she’d moved home with Crystal, Maggie had yet to meet one. Until tonight.

Grabbing the edge of the cold table, she breathed through her nose and exhaled relief. Paul wasn’t risking the wrath of karma by proposing an illicit affair. He was explaining an alternative lifestyle. While Maggie had no desire to be Wife Two, she owed him civility and the opportunity to communicate without humiliation. After all, she was an expert in interpersonal communication.

She nodded in understanding. “Please tell Katherine I’m sorry, but I’m not sister wife material. Thank you for the coffee.”

Maggie lifted from the seat with as much grace as she could muster and scurried across the tile floor. Her feet wobbled in too-high heels, and her knees knocked below the hem of her flowing skirt. When she finally reached the exit, a cool rush of late October air layered her skin with goose pimples.

She’d been in a lot of ridiculous situations, but this may have topped them all.

Slamming the door of her Aquarius blue VW convertible, Maggie faced the fact that her date was a bust, and now she was going to have to drive home. Face her mother. Rehash the story when all she wanted to do was climb into bed.

This was not the life she expected to be living at twenty-eight. Then again, her entire life had been beyond normal expectations. When most mothers were teaching their daughters to read books, Maggie’s mother was teaching her how to read auras. Inside their circle of friends, inside the safe haven of their bungalow, it was a skill no different than rolling her tongue. But out here, in mainstream society, it made Maggie weird, an outcast. She couldn’t seem to fit in. Even the men she attracted were … different.

Maggie dropped her head to the steering wheel and groaned. Where was the balance? The ying and the yang? She’d worked hard to gain academic success and respect, in the process, hiding a big portion of herself and her upbringing. And where did that get her? Barely able to pay her student loan interest, car expenses and rent for her office space. This was “failure to launch” wasn’t it? She was doomed to grow old, at home, alongside her aura-reading, spell-chanting mother.

But right now, Maggie couldn’t go home. She couldn’t face the woman who’d be waiting in the rocking chair. Sometimes a girl didn’t need her mother.

She turned the key, firing the engine, not knowing where she was going. Her friends were polar opposites — spiritual seekers vs. mental health professionals — and yet both groups would agree Maggie was struggling with self-discovery. What Maggie really wanted was a single friend who would line up shots and drink with her to oblivion.

She drove without direction, listening to the pathetic thoughts in her head until she tired of the wallowing and replaced her thoughts with a mantra. She whispered the words over and over again as she traveled tree-lined streets.

Eventually, her mouth stopped moving and thoughts started forming. The first? She had a decision to make. She couldn’t live in both worlds. Either she embraced her mother’s way of life or she moved out and carved life on her own. But between student loans, car expenses, and rent for her mostly unused office space, Maggie had only managed to save five hundred dollars since she moved back home. It wasn’t enough money for a security deposit, let alone a down payment.

Passing her street, needing more time to think, Maggie guided the car down South Temple and stopped to let a ghost and goblin cross. In the chaos of the evening, she’d forgotten about Halloween. Glancing at her white knuckles, she wished she was younger, with hands wrapped around a pillowcase bursting with candy instead of strangling a steering wheel. Kids didn’t know how hard life would get. They couldn’t imagine there would ever come a time when they wanted to move out of the house and live life on their own. But Maggie knew, and knowing sucked.

With no other place to go, Maggie parked her Volkswagen in the driveway of a historic Victorian, disarmed security features at the back door and reset the system on the other side. She switched on a chandelier in the main hall and blinked at the brightness. Crystal always said,
look for the bright side
, but Maggie couldn’t find a bright side when she was in the middle of an existential crisis.

She growled as she pounded her heels against the hardwoods and took the wool-covered stairs by two. At the east end of the wallpapered hall, she ducked into her office, shutting the six-panel door and driving a bolt lock into place. For a moment, she froze against the thick wood, but then an exhale carried her lanky body to a purple couch. She collapsed, face down on the purple velvet.

Reaching up without looking, Maggie switched on a glitzy lamp and turned her head. She opened her eyes to the Buddha that Crystal had placed against the far wall and the tapestry zafu that was a graduation present from Yogi Hajan. The pair would no doubt advise Maggie to meditate, but she couldn’t muster an ounce of spiritual motivation. She looked away before the inanimate objects could guilt her further.

Her orange Macbook sat on the desk where she’d left it hours ago after a virtual therapy session. Maybe one of “her girls” needed help. Somehow it was easier helping other people face their emotional, spiritual, and familial crises than it was helping herself.

Maggie booted the computer and headed straight for Facebook. No new messages. Nothing lurked in her inbox either. Of course not. What sort of college kid stayed in and chatted with her therapist on Halloween night when there were fraternity mixers and costume parties to attend?