Page 2 of Free to Believe
Bryan and I had a whirlwind courtship and an even faster engagement. When he slid the ring on my finger, he assured me I could have all the time in the world I wanted to plan our wedding.
“Maybe that’s when I should have known, Mugs. Does it seem like to you Bryan just wants a fiancée to parade around to his doctor friends when it suits him?”
My old dog just looks up at me and scoots back farther, a sure sign he wants me to rub him down.
Chuckling, I give the job my full attention even as my mind drifts. Should I end my engagement, or should I try to find a way to make this work?
Bryan had pursued me, just like my father had gone after my mother, with a single-mindedness that brooked no argument. My parents were made for each other. They died for each other.
Or with each other. My father’s illegal activities had my mother killed, but then he died alongside her.
But unlike with my parents, Bryan’s pursuit of me played a large part in putting a dent in my defenses. He was charming, he was charismatic, he was incredibly intelligent—much like the stories about my parents that my Aunt Dee used to try to comfort me with when I first came into her care. Only, Bryan was determined to infiltrate my life. He was determined to consume it—to consume me. And by doing so, he’s driving me further and further away, deeper into my already closed-off heart. And I never thought that was possible.
Burying my nose into Mugsy’s neck, I inhale his familiar scent. “I have all I need with you, Mugs. Strong, loyal, and true. Never giving up when things get rough.” Tipping his muzzle up, I smile. “If life were a fairy tale, I’d choose you. I wouldn’t care about your looks, your age, or your profession if you could love me the way you do.”
I’m rewarded with a lick on the underside of my chin, causing me to laugh.
Standing, I reward him with the one thing I know he can’t resist. “Let’s go, baby. It’s time for a treat.”
Mugsy ambles slowly to his feet and follows me to where I keep his precious dog biscuits.
* * *
Drivingwith my dog securely latched in the back of my Rover after he spent all afternoon napping in my private studio, I head home after an exhausting day. I really want to pour myself a glass of pinot noir, munch on a plate of cheese and crackers, and just curl up on my couch with my sketch pad. Fortunately, the drive from Amaryllis Events—my family’s wedding-and event-planning business—to our family’s compound of houses is hardly more than a mile.
Pulling into my driveway, I rest my head against the steering wheel. My home—which was once the servant’s quarters on the enormous farm we bought over a decade ago for a steal— is nestled in between Cassidy and Phil’s homes. Kind of the way our rooms used to be in the tiny trailer we were raised in, with Dee on one side of me and Cassidy, Phil on the other.
Taking in the contrast between the weathered brick, cedar shingles, and barn wood, I sigh when I realize this is why I work as hard as I do. So I—we—could fulfill the dream we had on a rainy night in a trailer just outside of Charleston. Today just happened to be one of those days where I wish I could delegate and not spend hours placating brides who demand I find them the right kind of wine to drink while shopping and who blame me when I can’t get a dress on time because they left finding their wedding gown to the absolute last minute.
When I graduated with a degree in fine arts from the University of Charleston, I dreamed one day I’d design dresses so stunning my name would fall from people’s lips in reverence. And while I’ve made a mark in fashion by the design of the amaryllis lace Ali trademarked for me years ago, and a few of my gowns have landed on the pages of bridal magazines, I haven’t found that missing “it” to drive people to select Amaryllis Designs over some of the more established names in the business: Monique Lhuillier, Pronovinas, Hailey Paige, Reem Acra, Rivini.
Unclipping Mugs’s harness, he lumbers down from the back seat. An ache of sadness washes over me. It seems like just yesterday he would have leapt from the car with all his might, chasing some animal only he could see. Now, he patiently trots up to my back steps waiting for me to unlock the door, his days of terrorizing the squirrels over.
The house line is ringing as I enter the foyer. Closing the door behind me, I hurriedly step past Mugs, who stops inconveniently to lap at his water bowl. Snatching it up before the last ring, I let out a breathless “Hello?”
My older sister Cassidy’s amused voice comes through the line. “Did I interrupt anything?”
“Not unless you consider my almost tripping over the dog to answer your call.”
“Ahh. I just wanted to check in and see how things ended up downstairs today. I heard you had quite an interesting appointment.”
“Give me a minute to open a bottle of wine and I’ll tell you all about it,” I grunt.
Cass makes a sound. “That bad?”
“Jesus, Cass. I swear to God, I thought they were going to tear the damn dress in half. It wasn’t until I screamed that if they ripped it they’d be buying both that dresspluswhatever dress they both ended up choosing that they both settled down.” Tucking the phone under my chin, I uncork the bottle of wine. I snag a glass from my cabinet. Using more than a generous hand pouring into the thin crystal, I fill my glass before taking a sip. “That was before the insults started.” The memory gives me a headache. “Scheduling error or not, no more dual appointments. These two were supposedly best friends since they were three, for Christ’s sake.”
“It could be worse,” she offers.
“How?” I demand.
“They could have been playing tug-o’-war with the groom.”
I think about that for a moment. “I think that might have gone better.” The musical laughter on the other end of the phone does much to relieve my frustration.
“Why don’t you come over and have dinner with us? This way you won’t be suffering your own company. Not to mention your own cooking,” she tacks on dryly.
“Normally, I’d take you up on that offer, but I canceled dinner with Bryan so I can just relax.”
