Page 3 of Love and Other Trials
It sucked not fitting in.
A part of her—which clearly needed therapy—was still chasing family approval. Love even. Like that silly mouse with the wheel that never stopped. She’d tell herself to not let them push her around, but then she’d see them all huddled together or smell her mother’s familiar perfume and want to be wrapped up in them. To have them praise her and tell her she’d done a good job, accepting her, for a brief moment, as one of them.
This wedding was her chance. Tiffany had even made her the maid of honor to give her the proper authority. For a moment, it was like they’d handed her all her dreams, wrapped in poofy pale pink tulle, the fabric for her bridesmaid’s dress.
Or so she’d thought. Then the threats had kicked in.
Tiffany had wanted her to lead the whole shindig. Even knowing she had a demanding full-time job. It hadn’t taken her long to realize why they’d been so inviting: she wasn’t one of the Deverell women. Her mother had reverted to her maiden name after her first divorce—and she’d changed her three daughters’ names too, out of spite. Ariel had balked at giving up her father and Jeffrey’s last name of Holmes after the divorce. Her mother hadn’t cared enough to fight her, saying it was probably less confusing anyway since she didn’t embody the Deverell women characteristics.
Which her sisters had taken to mean the curse didn’t apply to her. Surely if she planned everything, the bad luck would stay away. Logic had never been their strong suit, God love them. She’d pretty much told them Madame Renfro, the voodoo priestess, would have said there was no way the spirit world worked like that. Or so she figured…
They hadn’t liked her response or her insistence they needed a dedicated wedding planner. That’s when her sister and mother had brought out the familiar big guns of family manipulation. Because a Deverell woman would do anything to get what she wanted…
Which was why Ariel really wasn’t one of them. She couldn’t go that low.
God. Families. You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.
She took a sip from her flask to stave off the bitter taste in her mouth. The blackmail was like tea left too long in her grandmother’s Royal Doulton rose teapot. What would her grandmother think of their deviousness? Maybe she would have understood. She’d wanted the wedding curse broken long ago. She’d consulted multiple psychics on the subject to no good end, obviously.
Ariel had been close to her. Her grandma hadn’t been able to do much with the Three Tornadoes. They were a unit and tight as a sailing knot, and oddly, Grandma had said maybe they were too much like her for the four to get along. Ariel hadn’t had anyone to really play with, and since she’d always been wise beyond her years, she and her grandma had bonded. She’d also loved Ariel taking good care of her.
Her cute little white house on Folly Beach with the green shutters was supposed to go to Ariel because she’d been the one to call her grandma at least three times a week and look out for her in her later years. Grandma had known how much Ariel loved that house—and also that her own daughter wouldn’t hesitate to sell it to a developer. But being old-fashioned and trusting in family to abide by her wishes, Grandma hadn’t imagined hiring a lawyer to create a will. She was old-school Charleston that way and frugal with her money.
But after she’d passed five months ago, her mother had given the deed to Tiffany with the understanding she could give it to Ariel after she made her wedding come off. Was she a little bitter at the blackmail?
Yes. But she was focused.
Grandma’s house was going to be hers, and she was going to do everything her sister wanted to make this wedding the event of Charleston.
If they ever picked her up...
She turned to her faithful hound. “You’ve got my back, right, boy?”
Sherlock gave a muted ruff and looked up at her with his sad, expressive brown eyes, the wrinkles on his angular face lending him the kind of wise visage people trusted, her most of all. Whenever they visited her family, he stayed glued to her side. He knew what they were up against.
“Well, buddy, we knew how it was going to be. Back in Tornado Alley, family style. No pity parties.” She took another drink from her flask. The whiskey was a welcome streak of fire down her throat as she stared at the empty baggage carousel making lazy circles around the airport.
Sherlock suddenly gave a low ruff, his droopy head lifting as a light blue vintage Bronco pulled up along the curb outside baggage claim—noticeable because up until now it had been as empty as the rest of the airport. A tall man with broad shoulders wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans headed around the hood after letting himself out and jogged toward the entrance. The sliding doors slicked open. He paused, putting his hands on his trim hips as he scanned the area before sighting her. The frown on his handsome face changed into a killer smile. Her heart gave a lurch, like she’d just hit her bicycle’s brakes because she’d seen something amazing and wanted to stop.
Wowza.
She’d seen photos of Naval Captain Dax Cross on social media after he’d first texted to introduce himself as best man. She’d already been told his nickname was Captain Hotpants, and wasn’t that cute as hell? That he was H-O-T hot wasn’t in question. He was absolutely gorgeous, whether in his dress whites or in faded jeans and a ripped T-shirt on the beach.
The beach pics were especially yummy, and she might have looked at them a few times. Not in a stalker like way. But in aI want to make sure I’ll recognize him when I meet himway. Okay, and maybe she’d drooled a little.
Like she was now. His sandy hair was windblown from the storm. His square jaw carried a day’s stubble from not shaving. But it was his piercing moss green eyes that had her breath freezing in her chest.
She’d been attracted by his good-humored texts as much as his photos and posts online, but he was even better-looking in person. Attraction confirmed. Body temperature rising. Jeffrey would be thrilled. She certainly wanted to give a little cheer. If he was her consolation prize this week, she could get through anything.
Suddenly being the maid of honor to his best man didn’t seem like a chore. No, this task was going to go down like red velvet cake and extra dry champagne.
She lifted her hand and waved.“Captain Hotpants!”
“Ariel Holmes!” He walked over in determined strides, a mouthwatering picture of pure, all-American male in action. “I heard your family forgot to get you, so I headed out while they were arguing about who would brave the storm. You’d think with your mother being named Stormy and your sisters being called the Three Tornadoes they wouldn’t make such a fuss over a little rain.”
There was an edge to his voice already, one that had Sherlock’s head lifting as he gazed up at the captain. “You brought the garlic, right?”
His mouth flattened and a forced exhale was audible beyond the baggage claim turnstile noise. “I thought you were joking when you texted that. Now I know better…”
