Broken Dreams Boxset

by Rebecca Barber

  “Fine. Spoilsport.” Kristie fake pouted. “Seriously, though. What’s your idea of heaven, Maggie? The world’s your oyster. There’s no one to tell you no or where to go. Or say you’re only dreaming.”

  “Wait!” Holding up my hand and cutting her off. “Did you seriously just quote Aladdin to me?”

  With a sneaky shrug, Kristie just smirked. “So what if I did?”

  “You know there’s something wrong with you, right?”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “You, my favourite Disney Princess, have a problem.”

  “Yeah, but you love me anyway. Now, stop avoiding this and tell me, where in the world is Maggie going to go?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  MAGGIE

  SEVEN YEARS AGO

  “In the presence of your family and friends, it gives me great pleasure to pronounce you, Andrew and Maggie, husband and wife. Drew, you may kiss your bride.” The moment the words slipped from the celebrant’s mouth, Drew dipped me dramatically in one of those cheesy, Hollywood kisses. At least it would have been corny if I wasn’t the one wrapped in his arms wearing the white princess dress.

  “Happy?” Drew asked me as he laced his fingers with mine before turning us to face the garden full of smiling faces of our family and friends.

  “Absolutely,” I answered honestly. Right now, I was beyond happy. Ecstatic, really. It was hard to believe that forty-five minutes ago, I was bent over, hands on my knees, sucking in deep breaths as my dad rubbed my back promising me everything would work out. And if it didn’t, for whatever reason, that he’d always be there to catch me.

  The panic attack had hit from out of nowhere, at least that’s what it looked like from the outside. For me though, I knew better. It’d been building for days. I was beginning to feel like everything that could have gone wrong with this godforsaken wedding had. It was only two nights ago when Drew and I stood at either end of the kitchen, him with his hands on his hips and me with tears streaming down my face as I threatened to call the whole thing off. It wasn’t because I didn’t love Drew. It wasn’t even that I didn’t want to marry him. I did. More than I’d ever wanted anything before. The problem I had, was trying to keep everyone else happy.

  Joanne, my mother-in-law to be, even now as Drew led me back down the aisle, looked at me like I was something she stepped in while wearing her very favourite heels. I don’t think she hated me. Well, up until the wedding planning took over, she hadn’t, but now I wasn’t so sure. I’d invited my boss, an uptight man who, despite years filled with fights and arguments and the fact that I wanted to pretty much strangle him every other day, I actually greatly admired. The problem was, he was Joanne’s high school sweetheart. How the hell was I supposed to know? I guess shit like that happened when you spent all your life living in the same five-kilometre radius. Everyone knew everyone’s business and more often than not, their history was infinitely tangled with your own. A history you couldn’t out run or forget no matter how much you wanted to.

  We were sitting around the table after another tasteless dinner. At least mine was tasteless. With my mother and Drew’s right there, I wasn’t game to even steal a bite of Drew’s perfectly cooked steak and, instead, I stuck to half a serving of salad, taking extra care to make sure I pushed aside the cubes of feta and skipped the dressing. It was bland, boring and all I could think about was inhaling a cheeseburger. But two days out from my wedding I didn’t have the strength to argue with them. I was sick of hearing about the challenges of being bloated or a big girl. I knew I wasn’t a rake. Drew knew I wasn’t. He didn’t seem to mind. Not one bit actually. In fact, he seemed to quite enjoy my curves.

  “Is this the Luke Reynolds I think it is?” Joanne asked with a look on her face like someone just let one rip. Loud and toxic.

  “Do you know him?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

  “The question is, how do you know him?”

  “He’s my boss.”

  “Your boss?” Joanne squeaked. It was an interesting noise.

  “Yeah. He and I have worked together for years.”

  “And I’m only just finding this out now?”

  “Mum.” Drew’s tone carried warning. I was thankful he was here. While I was busy sorting out place cards and stuffing them into labelled bags so I could drop them off along with the table seating arrangements, Drew was twirling my long, out-of-control mud-brown hair around his finger. It was something he did constantly and was rarely aware he did. We’d be sitting watching a movie and his fingers would weave their way into my long locks and just play for hours. Even though I thought it would bug the crap out of me, I was surprised when, in fact, it did the opposite. It provided me a level of comfort I never knew existed.

  “I’m…sorry?” I actually had no idea what the big deal was. I hadn’t had deep and meaningful conversations about my co-workers with my soon-to-be mother-in-law. Why would I?

  “He absolutely cannot come.”

  “What?”

  “Margaret!” my mother admonished.

  How this had spiralled out of control so quickly was beyond me. “I can’t do that. I invited him months ago. And I want him there. He’s my friend.” I defended my decision only to be on the receiving end of a look on Joanne’s face that looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon.

  With a huff, Joanne stood up, forcefully pushed back her chair, knocking the cabinet behind her so hard the sound of glasses clinking together had me wincing before she stormed off leaving Drew, my mother and me all sharing very confused glances.

  It wasn’t until late last night when Drew texted me from his hotel room – yep we were that couple who, despite spending the past couple of years living in sin, chose to stay true to tradition and spend the last night of our single life apart – that he’d gotten to the bottom of his mother’s outburst. Evidently, she wasn’t over it and was still insisting that I call and uninvite him. As it turns out, Joanne and Luke had been high school sweethearts and each other’s firsts.

  Despite the drama and my newly named mother-in-law scowling at me throughout the ceremony, the moment we were pronounced husband and wife, I didn’t care about anything or anyone except the gorgeous man standing in front of me. The man holding my hand and looking at me like I was his whole world.

  Standing amongst the crowd on the grass, all looking amazing in their best summer dresses and suits, Drew pulled me tight against him and kissed me like there was no one else around. Actually, I wasn’t sure there was. At least that was until someone muttered something about ‘getting a room’. It wasn’t a bad idea really. And it certainly wasn’t one I was going to object to. Not any time soon anyway. I was dying for Drew to peel me out of this beautiful dress. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Drew’s face when he saw the brand new, lacy underwear I was wearing.

  I was told my wedding day would be the best day of my life. The one where I’d get to look like a princess and there, waiting at the end of the aisle for me, would be my very own Prince Charming. And Drew most certainly was charming. There was no denying that. From the moment I saw him, or the moment he saw me, it depends who you ask as to who saw who first, the moment I handed him the smelly pair of worn, size eleven bowling shoes, he used every ounce of charm in his arsenal to worm his way into not only my pants, but my heart too. I can’t say I made it particularly difficult for him either.

  Over the past few weeks, with the patience of a saint, Drew had endured not only his mother’s snooty attitude but also my Bridezilla meltdowns that seemingly came out of nowhere. A late RSVP was enough for me to ignore the dinner I was cooking and set a haughtily thrown tea towel on fire. So, when the make-up artist called two days before the wedding and told me that, oops, she’d double booked and was going to have to cancel, the same highly recommended make-up artist I’d booked five months ago and paid a deposit for, my tantrum included calling off the whole damn wedding. Drew, like the perfect husband-to-be that he was, simply scooped me up from the floor where I
’d thrown myself in despair, settled me in his lap before telling me over and over again until the tears stopped flowing that I didn’t need some fancy, overpaid make-up artist to look beautiful. He wanted to marry me exactly the way I was. Even with my mascara-streaked face and baggy-arsed sweat pants.

  “Even covered in snot?” I asked, wiping my eyes. I didn’t believe him. Why would I? A bride was supposed to be perfect. She shouldn’t look like a toddler had applied her eyeliner or made her cheeks extra rosy, which is exactly what I’d look like if I attempted it myself.

  “Even then. Even with your dress tucked in your knickers and your hair looking like a bird nested in it, pretty much the way it does when you wake up every morning. You’re still gorgeous.”

  Snuggling closer to Drew, I felt his heart beat, strong and steady beneath my splayed fingers. This was why I was marrying him. Even in the middle of a meltdown, he got me. In a way no one else ever had or ever could. He got me. That’s when I knew everything would be all right. Or better than all right. In two days’ time I was marrying my best friend. It didn’t matter what went wrong. So what if it rained? So what if I had to do my own make-up and ended up looking like Bozo the clown in my own wedding photos? So what if my new mother-in-law spent the whole day shooting death rays from her eyes at my friends? None of that stuff mattered. I would’ve married Drew wearing my pyjamas with Elvis officiating. How we got there didn’t matter. As long as we made it. And the sooner the better. With the realisation dawning on me, and the stress evaporating from my body, I spent the next forty-five minutes reminding Drew just how much he meant to me and how lucky he was to have me in his life.

  True to form, two days later, I woke up looking like I’d been dragged along by my hair by a train for the past week. The bags under my eyes would have been considered excess baggage on any long-haul flight. My hair looked like a greasy pile of straw and don’t even ask about my lips. The ones that were supposed to be, in nine hours and twenty-seven minutes, sealing my marriage with a kiss. They were dry, chapped and bleeding.

  With a reluctant huff, I slid out from under the covers, peering over at where Drew should have been. I knew why I’d slept so badly. Why I’d been awake every half hour. Somewhere around four, I’d given up trying to sleep without being wrapped in Drew’s arms and sent him a text. When his reply came back barely a minute later, I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling a little lonely. Shaking off the sleeplessness, I shuffled into the kitchen and popped a pod in the coffee machine. God knows I needed the extra hit of caffeine this morning.

  Looking around the room, I was glad I’d declined the offers to stay with me last night. A moment of peace, a moment of solitude before the madness began was exactly what the doctor ordered. I needed to get my head on straight. Soon enough, my crazy friend Kristie would explode through the door, undoubtedly bringing with her mischief and mayhem, also known as Brooke and hopefully the calmer, more rational sidekick, Erika. The four of us had been besties since high school. Together we’d been through, and somehow survived, everything our teen years had to throw at us and then some. From broken hearts, cashing in our V-cards, to surviving growing up with overbearing parents and protective big brothers.

  When the first sip of my morning brew touched my tongue, I squished down into the oversized couch and stared blankly out the window. It was raining. Of course, it was. It was my wedding day, in the middle of spring and outside the heavens had opened up and were weeping with a constant, annoying drizzle. Determined to not let it shake me, I fought the urge to run into the bedroom, find my phone and check the forecast. Something I’d been doing religiously every day for the last month. The only upside to having a washed-out wedding was, at the last minute, Drew convinced me to pay the extra and take the wet weather option. Just in case. Turns out, yet again, he knew something or someone I didn’t.

  I heard the key in the lock and tugged Drew’s shirt further down my bare legs. No one wanted to see the worn, grey granny panties I was rocking.

  “She better be up!” Brooke grumbled, miserably stepping inside, brushing the damp strands of hair from her face.

  “Brooke!” Erika chided her.

  “What? It’s her wedding day. If I have to be awake at bullshit o’clock on a Saturday, then Maggie better be up. That’s all I’m saying.” That was the thing about Brooke. You could always count on her to call it just like she saw it. Every. Single. Time. Even if it was the absolutely last thing you wanted to hear, she wasn’t above knocking some sense into you. It’s probably why we kept her around.

  “Morning, Brooke. Ladies.”

  I barely had time to set my mug down before I was swallowed in a group hug complete with ear piercing screams. Directly. Into. My. Ear.

  “I’ll never get used to that noise,” a deep, gruff voice grumbled from behind me.

  Spinning around, I came face to face with the first man I ever loved. The one who everyone was measured against and no one, not even Drew, managed to surpass. He’d tried, but had sadly fallen short. Just. No one would ever be more important, more admired, more loved, than my dad.

  Without a word, I slipped out of the hug and recklessly threw myself towards him, knowing he’d always catch me. “Hey there, pretty girl,” he said with a half-smile before pressing a kiss to my forehead. I was Daddy’s little girl. A title that over the years I’d both loved and loathed equally. These days though, these days it was a title I wore proudly.

  “Hey now! No tears.” I hadn’t even realised I was crying as he swiped away the tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

  It didn’t matter what else happened today. It could pour with rain. The food could be undercooked. The cake could fall apart. The bridesmaids could get drunk. The best man could forget his speech, and none of it would matter. Today, I was marrying Drew. And standing behind me, wishing me well, would be everyone I loved.

  It was just after midnight when Drew started the mammoth task of unbuttoning the hundred tiny buttons down my back that kept my once white, now slightly muddy, gown together. While he swore and cursed with each button, I started yanking pins from my hair. By the time I was finished, not only had I realised why the hairdresser had charged a small fortune, but I was convinced I was now sporting a bald patch. I was standing there, in nothing but my wedding lingerie, a smile, and a handful of bobby pins. But all was instantly forgotten as Drew started popping the buttons on his own white shirt with its collar smudged with various shades of lipstick. If he sauntered through the door any other day with that much make up on him, he’d be turning back around as quick as he’d come through it. Tonight though, I’d had the pleasure of watching him get his tight ass pinched by my aunt, grandmother, and even my own mother had commandeered a dance or two.

  “You’re fucking hot, wife.”

  I don’t know if I’d ever get sick of hearing that. Wife. I was a wife. It was more than that though. I wasn’t just a wife; I was Drew’s wife.

  Before I had a chance to say anything, Drew lifted me off my blistered feet and tossed me on the bed. My parents’ wedding gift to us was a night in one of the fanciest hotels in town. With a spa bath on the balcony, one I promised myself I’d be taking advantage of, and a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket beside the bed, I thought it couldn’t get much better. That was right up until I bounced on the cloud that was the mattress. The moment my skin touched the clean white comforter, all the events of the day caught up with me. Until that moment, I’d been running on pure adrenaline. It’s amazing how quickly it dissipates when you don’t have a million pins digging into your scalp, the heavy dress that you’ve tottered around as carefully as possible in all day hits the floor, and the beautiful, but painful, shoes are kicked off. When the warmth of his breath brushed my cheek, my tired eyes cracked open to meet the gaze of the most beautiful man I’d ever seen smiling down at me, his hands cupping my jaw as he bent his head and kissed my lips.

  Reaching up, my hands covered his. Beneath my fingers I felt the cool metal ba
nd he now wore on his finger.

  “What’s that look for?”

  Instead of answering him with words, I twisted the ring, feeling my smile grow wider as it tugged at my lips. Drew was mine. Andrew Jeffrey Sanford, the man I loved, the man I adored, the one who drove me crazy and made me want to throw things at his head, the one who never let me fall, the one who wiped away my tears and chased away my fears, was mine. Forever. We’d done it. We were married.

  Tugging his head down, I kissed him with everything I had. Every emotion that had been bubbling inside of me all day caught up with me and came rushing out in one massive tidal wave. Drew must have been stunned by my intensity, not that I blamed him. I didn’t know I had that sort of passion in me. After missing barely a beat, he got with the program and was giving as good as he got. When his tongue traced the seam of my lips, the duel only intensified. Fuck, I loved that man.

  Grateful for my parents’ forethought in paying the extra for the late check out option, by the time I staggered out of the hotel the next morning, every part of my body ached. Some in more pleasurable ways than others. Even after investing the time to make sure the spa was up to scratch, I still felt Drew everywhere. From the black hickey he’d left not only on my boob but the one I’d tried valiantly to cover on my neck, to the stubble rash on the inside of my thighs, Drew had clearly marked his territory. Even though I proudly wore his ring on my finger, he’d made it his mission last night and into the early hours of the morning to make sure I was branded his in every way possible.

  Stepping out into the sun, I held back a groan. Of course, it was a perfect sunny day today. The day AFTER our wedding. I wanted to be bitter about it. I was still barefoot, refusing to wear shoes. The blisters on my heels were the size of bottle caps and then there were the more painful, smaller ones on my toes. No way was I even going to attempt to stuff my feet into shoes unless absolutely necessary.