Page 5 of Wretched Heart
As I stand immobilized, I feel a tug at my waist and my heart plummets. I assume I’ve been caught, but when I turn, it’s just a courier impatient to get past the dress that’s taking up most of the sidewalk. He apologizes and I press my back against the nearest wall to let him pass. Fear pulses through my veins, making my temples throb. I don’t know where to turn next. I need time to process what’s just happened.
Scanning the street, I see a high-rise building with a familiar Scots Pine logo. It’s a Moncrief Hotel, and fortunately we have a corporate account with them that I could use. It’s my only chance of sanctuary and I break into a run again. The concierge opens the widest doors for me without the faintest hint of curiosity as if he’s used to dragging runaway brides off the street. I have the receptionist in my sights, but I spy a brightly lit bar from the corner of my eye and it beckons.
I drum my fingers against the bar as the server waits for my order. I already know what I want. A shot of whiskey, followed by another. I’d drink myself into oblivion if I could. Anything has to be better than reality right now.
The only reason I hesitate is because I don’t have my purse or my phone, and I prefer not to risk opening a tab in the name of Corbyn Paper Merchants just yet. The hotel would need me to prove my identity before authorizing my charges, which would mean speaking to the person in charge of the account, namely our Chief Financial Officer, Morgan Summerville. He was at the chapel, and once he knows where I am, everyone will know. I’d rather put thatoff until I’m at least half a bottle down and it’s so late that no one will come looking for me when I try to book a room.
“The thing is…” I begin to explain to the girl behind the bar. “Wedding dresses don’t have pockets.”
“And you don’t have any cash,” she finishes for me.
She’s young and pretty, and I bet she has her own wretched stories about men who weren’t who they claimed to be. Her eyes soften as she glances at the tiara sitting at an angle atop my firmly set curls. From what I can see of myself in the mirrors behind the bar, my up-do is also on the tilt.
I glance down at my drumming fingers and the significant rock on the third finger of my left hand. I flash my engagement ring to the server. “Right now, I’d give you this for a single shot of whiskey.”
She grabs a bottle off the shelf and pours me a generous measure. “You hold onto that, girl. The first drink’s on me. And the only payment I want is for you to tell me how the hell you ended up here alone on your wedding day, and without a gold band to match that rock on your finger.”
I check her ID badge. “Melissa, you have yourself a deal.”
I let the first gulp of golden fire sit at the back of my throat for a moment before I swallow. The heat that slides down to my stomach is enough to make my eyes water, but I control the urge to cough. As well as being able to run in heels, my other hidden talent is that I can take my liquor, and I down the rest of my drink. The server refills my glass.
“Tell,” Melissa says.
I take a breath, but where to begin? And how much to reveal? I won’t give names. My engagement to Barrett Emerson hadn’t been made public, but his name alone makes what happened today newsworthy. That doesn’tmean it’s not my story to tell. And since I’m going to own it, I might as well embellish it just a little. I need to turn what was a cold business deal into something more palatable.
“It was my brother who introduced us,” I say, beginning with a truth. “They’re both successful businessmen and they move in the same circles.” This is the first exaggeration. Barrett is undoubtedly successful, even if it does appear he sold his soul to get where he is, but as for my brother… he can only dream of reaching the Emerson’s level of wealth, something I know he does, often.
“So, are we talking brother’s best friend?” asks Melissa. “It’s one of my favorite book tropes.”
I lift my shot glass in cheers. I like this girl. “I think we read the same novels,” I say, “but as I’m sure you know, real-life men infrequently live up to the fantasy. It turns out, my fiancé is no-one’s friend. He made promises he didn’t intend to keep. Something I didn’t find out until today, when I was standing at the altar, ready to make my vows.”
As I knock back the second shot, I notice movement in my periphery. The bar isn’t busy and I’d already spotted the guy in the wrinkled suit sitting in a booth when I arrived. He slides onto a bar stool near enough to feel too close.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing,” he explains. To Melissa, he adds, “Put her next drink on my tab.”
My new friend and I simply stare at him.
“Please ladies,” he begs. “I’m just someone else who wants to hear what brought a beau–” He pauses when he notices me bristle. “Sorry, again. I’m not trying to make a move on you, I promise. I just want to hear your story. And the server gets to pour your drinks directly. I’m not some weirdo aiming to spike your drink or take advantage. I’ll stay here and keep quiet.”
“You want to pay to just listen?” Melissa asks with a heavy dose of cynicism.
“I want to help,” he answers. He takes a swig from his beer bottle, then shrugs. “OK, what can I say? I’m alone on a boring-as-hell business trip and I’m a good listener.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I feel the gentle buzz of the alcohol in my system. I waft a hand at him and turn to give Melissa my undivided attention. “Let him listen,” I say, pointing to my shot glass for a refill.
“Is there anything else I can get you now that our friend is paying?” she asks, glancing to our eavesdropper. He nods.
“How about a room for the night?” I say too quickly. It’s only when I see his eyes light up that I realize my mistake. “Jesus, not like that. I need somewhere to stay. I don’t want to go home tonight.”
The man shrugs. “I’m sure we could come to some arrangement,” he says. “And Melissa, I believe the lady wanted another drink.”
“Actually, make it a coffee,” I say. The last thing I need is a drunken mistake tonight. I adjust my dress around the bar stool and press a hand to my heavily corseted waist. At least no one can come near me in this thing, but while I have it on, maneuvering is going to be difficult. I should probably limit my liquids, but I do need something to help me think my way out of this situation. “Actually, make it a shot of espresso. A double would be good.”
Melissa leans closer. “If the reason you’re keeping to shots is what I think it is, then don’t worry.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she adds, “If you need assistance getting to the bathroom, I can help.”
“Honestly, I could hug you,” I say, choking up. It’s ridiculous how her simple offer has me on the verge of tears.
Melissa gives me a wink before turning away.As I watch her make my coffee, I press a hand to my cheek and trace the salty trail of the single tear I’d let fall earlier. Cruelty and betrayal hadn’t been enough to make me cry. Kindness on the other hand… I blink away my tears.
