by Whitney G.
“I’m throwing you the most epic bachelorette party of all time, regardless of your fiancée’s ridiculous warnings.”
“He warned you?”
“He did.” She smiled. “He also sent me an email with some bullshit guidelines that he wants me to follow—something about not letting your party get too raunchy or over the top. He doesn’t want more than five men there, and he doesn’t want any man to get within three feet of you.” She scoffed. “But guess what? It will be raunchy. It will be over the top. There will be cocks everywhere, and goddamnit Claire you will fucking love it. Now, turn around so I can help you into the next dress.”
I turned around and shook my head.
Over the next few hours, I tried on dress after dress, but I didn’t fall in love with any of them. They were either way too simple or way too decorative. What’s more was that every time I tried on a dress, Helen and my mother critiqued it as if I wasn’t standing in the room. Then they would argue over who had better taste.
“Have you tried looking in our gallery room, Mrs. Statham? I mean, Miss Gracen.” An attendant took a dress off a hanger. “All the dresses in that room are one of a kind.”
“I haven’t.” I sighed. “What’s the price range?”
“Very affordable. They start at ninety thousand dollars.”
Ninety thousand dollars?!
I wanted to decline, but Helen and my mother were arguing over veils, so I followed the woman out of my suite and into an all-white room.
There were only two racks of dresses, but they extended from wall to wall. It seemed like they were organized by size, because there was no way of telling what each dress looked like; they were all covered in sheer silver bags with pink tags hanging from their sides.
The attendant circled me with measuring tape, stretching it across my shoulders and my breasts, briefly holding it around my hips.
“What type of dress do you love to wear on a regular day?” she asked. “A day when you’re only going to be running a few errands?”
“It’s usually something simple: solid color, basic shape, and a V-neckline.”
“I see...And how about when you go out on a date?”
“It depends...”
“Well, how about your last date? What type of dress did you wear? And where was it if you don’t mind me asking?”
I blushed just thinking about me and Jonathan’s last date. “It was at a vineyard. Nude colored lace dress with a low cut in the front.”
“Right. And you previously mentioned that you prefer the toned down organza skirt, sweetheart neckline, and corset bodice so...” She thumbed through a few hangers and pulled out a dress. “This is your wedding gown. Guarantee it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’m the best.” She smiled and led me back to my fitting room. “Let me know how it works for you.”
I honestly didn’t want to try it on, but I slipped back into my suite and walked right between Helen and my mother. “Could you two help me into this last one please? Then we can all get drinks before we head back.”
“What about the shopping spree?” My mother frowned. “Jonathan promised me I could get whatever I wanted. Don’t you have his credit card with you?”
“Yes...” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll just have Greg pick you up tomorrow and bring you back.”
I stood still as she and Helen took their time helping me into the long, silk dress. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror as they tugged and smoothed every inch of it. I just wanted to get this over with and go home.
I expected them to start arguing over whether they liked it or not, but they were both staring at me in stunned silence.
“Is it that bad or that good?” I asked.
“It’s absolutely perfect.” Helen’s eyes lit up. “You look beyond beautiful, Claire...”
“Would you like to put on the matching veil?” My mother’s eyes were filled with tears.
I nodded and stooped down so they could pull my hair into a knot and guide the veil’s comb onto my head.
“Don’t look yet.” Helen smiled. “Let me ask the attendants for some jewelry.”
I waited until she returned and tried to be as still as possible as she fastened a Harry Winston wreath around my neck. I tried to sneak a peek of myself, but my mother held my head still and secured a pair of diamond earrings onto my ears.
They led me into the main room, where the largest mirror was, and helped me onto another platform. As they stepped back, I could see tears falling down their faces.
Out the corner of my eye, I spotted the shop’s attendants whispering and nodding their heads in approval.
I couldn’t take the anticipation anymore. “Can I turn around and look in the mirror now?”
“Yes.” They said in unison.
I slowly spun around and sucked in a breath once I saw my reflection.
Oh my god...
The dress was flawless. Utter perfection.
It was a strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline, a neckline that was embellished with a thin line of sparkling white and silver crystals. The top of the dress fit like a vintage corset and gave way to a long skirt of beautiful organza waves that flowed from my hips to my toes—into a long train that draped off the platform.
The veil was simple, but stunning. It had light, lace accents around its edges and its ends grazed my lower back.
I twirled around and looked over my shoulder, noticing that the jewelry I was wearing perfectly complemented the shimmering beads in the veil’s comb.
I didn’t want to cry, but the tears had already begun to fall down my face. Everything suddenly felt more real now; I was actually getting married.
“This is it.” There was a lump in my throat. “This is the dress I want.”
All of the attendants clapped, and the manager walked over and handed each of us a glass of chilled champagne.
“Congratulations, Miss Gracen,” she said. “I’ll bring out our seamstress to check for any necessary alterations.”
“Just to be clear, these aren’t really tears in my eyes.” Helen stepped onto the platform and hugged me. “This moment never happened.”
I held back a laugh and nodded.
“I can’t get over how beautiful you look, Claire. You’re gorgeous...” My mother dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “He’s not going to be able to look away from you once you walk down that aisle.” She put her hand over her chest and cried. “Please don’t fuck this up!”
**
I smiled as Jonathan’s newest set of flowers were rolled into my office the next day. They were a collection of white, pink, and yellow tulips, with wild orchids evenly placed in between them.
I grabbed the envelope that was on top and sliced it open:
Five Places Where I’d Love to Fuck You
5. At a crowded concert
4. In a packed movie theater
3. In our bathroom’s sauna
2. On the hood of my Bugatti
1. On my boardroom table...
Call me as soon as your last meeting is over.
Love,
Your Future Husband
I laughed and slipped the note into my pocket. “You can send my ten o’clock back now, Rita.” I buzzed the intercom.
I walked over to my door and opened it, expecting to see an elderly man and his wife but instead—Ryan?!
“You never struck me as the domestic type, Claire.” He took off his hat and walked right past me. “But I guess when you’re engaged to a billionaire your priorities change. Interior design? Really?” He scoffed. “I bet I can guess what the other “C” in C & C’s Charming Designs means.”
“Do you not understand ‘get the hell out’ and ‘I don’t want you here’? Or did putting your cock in Amanda over the years cause you to lose some of your hearing?”
“You always were a smartass. I loved that about you.”
“Clearly not enough. Get out.”
He sighed. “Do you know how hard
it is to adjust to a new city? How much harder it is when you’re being watched and followed by security guards everywhere you go?” He shook his head. “Are you that threatened by me?”
“Get. The. Hell. Out.”
“I’ll leave.” He walked towards me. “But we need to talk first. Sit down.”
“I’ll sit down after you leave.”
“You can’t give me five seconds?”
“I’ve given you more than that already.” I walked over to the door and opened it. “Besides, I don’t speak asshole. I never could master that language.”
“You owe me this, Claire...Just please, listen. Out of respect for how you used to feel about me...Out of respect for one of our old promises: You never forget your first.”
“Unless he knocks up your best friend. People never read the fine print on that one.”
“Claire—”
“Mr. Hayes.” Greg was suddenly standing next to me. “It would be best if you didn’t utter another word to Miss Gracen. You are not welcome on this property.”
Ryan’s eyes dimmed and he shook his head, looking at me as if he was hurt.
What the hell is wrong with him?!
“You have five seconds to walk out of this door, Mr. Hayes.” Greg narrowed his eyes and Ryan walked out of the office, looking back at me as two other security guards escorted him out.
“I’ve notified Mr. Statham about the intrusion.” He sounded disappointed. “Mr. Hayes slipped by our watch today and managed to take a cab here. My sincerest apologies, Miss Gracen. It won’t happen again. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” I lied.
I hated Ryan with every ounce of my being, but I’d seen that pained look from him twice before, back when we were married: Once, when we were being evicted out of our first apartment because we hadn’t paid the rent in three months. And again when I went into labor with Ashley and Caroline four weeks early.
It’s definitely something serious...
“Miss Gracen?” Greg snapped me out of my trance.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Statham asked if he needs to come by now.” He was holding his phone up to his ear. “He wants to know if you want to be taken home early because of this.”
I shook my head. “No, tell him I’m okay. I’ll go to his office after my three o’ clock.”
He nodded and repeated my message to Jonathan before leaving me alone.
Sighing, I walked over to my desk and sank into the chair. I shook my head, hoping that would remove any thoughts of Ryan from my head, but then I spotted a white envelope on my desk. Something that wasn’t there before.
I grabbed it and realized that Ryan had probably placed it there before he was escorted out. I knew that I shouldn’t open it, that I should simply shred it and go about my day, but I was curious:
Claire,
I’ve been sending you photos and letters every day, but last night I realized that you probably haven’t received any of them. So, I thought I would personally drop this one off.
I’m not here to cause any trouble in your new life—which seems to be quite wonderful by the way...
I moved here six months ago with Amanda and I decided not to tell the girls so I could have the opportunity to talk to you without you shutting down but...It seems as if you’ve already done that.
I would like to speak with you over coffee. You can tell me which shop, and I swear I’ll only use a few minutes of your time. (Do you honestly think I would be going through all this trouble if what I had to say wasn’t important? IT IS.)
Please call me so we can meet up with each other.
Your first,
Ryan
PS—You always were beautiful, but you look fucking amazing now :-)
PSS—I know a part of you still loves me...
Monday, September 1, 2014
Jonathan
You can’t help who you fall for...
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
I sit down at the end of the boardroom table and try to look like I want to be here. I just got back from having angry sex with Claire and I’m starting to wish I’d stayed with her for the rest of the day—to make sure she sends off those damn invitations.
Does it really matter if they’re ivory or white? If they have lace accents or pearl ones? If they have four or five different parts on the inside?
I’m beyond restless because she made me stay up all night so I could help her choose between hundreds of envelope styles: “White cream with no border? White cream with a white border? Or ivory and white cream with a slightly shadowed border?”
She also spent two hours this morning going over the seals that will be on the back of the envelope—the place where no one fucking looks: “The white seal will give our wedding a more elegant vibe, but the silver one says that it’s going to be an upscale event. Gold is a bit too much I think...But wait, what if we were able to get the seals personalized? Maybe white seals with our initials in silver and gold accents?”
She has undoubtedly mastered the art of getting under my skin because I told her that it didn’t matter, and that she better (better...) have those invitations sent off by noon today. But as usual, she has to fulfill her weekly ‘make Jonathan angry’ quota and when I stopped by on her lunch break, she said she was “still deciding what [she] should do about the seals.”
“Mr. Statham?” My number one trust advisor—Milton, clears his throat. “Did you hear what I said about my proposal for a new benefits package for all employees?”
“Loud and clear.” I smile and he rolls his eyes.
Today’s meeting is about spousal benefits for Statham Industries employees, but I know this is a thinly veiled attempt to make me force Claire to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.
My board members are nervous because they know that the second I marry her, she’ll automatically be entitled to a twenty six percent share of Statham Industries, which—next to mine is the largest share for any individual person. They don’t trust her because she didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth, because they think she’ll turn on me once the ink on our marriage papers dries.
But I don’t believe that at all. I trust Claire completely.
Sure, she tests my nerves like no one has ever tested them before, but she’s real—frustratingly real, and that’s what I love most about her.
Chapter 7
Jonathan
“Do you think I won’t fire you because you’re family?” I narrowed my eyes at Hayley and shook my head. She’d been showing up late to meetings, turning in sub-par work, and asking my secretary to cover for her almost every day.
“I think you won’t fire me because your fiancée won’t let you.” She smiled.
“What makes you think Claire has any control over what I do with my company?”
“Because she does.” She laughed. “I’m not being lazy, Mr. Statham. I promise. I’m still adjusting to the West Coast and working here...And to be fair, I redid all those reports hours after you marked them up. You’re just being extra hard on me because I’m your sister and you know it.”
“Okay.” I shut my folder. “Who’s the guy?”
“What guy?”
“The guy that turns you into a blubbering idiot at every board meeting. The guy who fed you that bullshit line about me being extra hard on you. I put an eighty thousand dollar bonus clause in your contract just for showing up to work every day. I’m pretty sure that means I’m being the most lenient with you. ”
“Did you just call me a blubbering idiot?”
“You have forty eight hours to re-do that mess of a presentation you gave this morning. And since you don’t want to tell me who this man is, I’m going to find out and then I’m going to—”
“Have a few words with him, i.e. ruin his life. You really have to wonder why I don’t tell you who I’m dating anymore?”
“So you are dating someone?”
She stood up. “Is there anything else you need from me tod
ay? I have a thirty page presentation to redo per the CEO’s ridiculous request. Word around the office is that he’s an ass.”
“He’s also brilliant and extremely sexy.”
She rolled her eyes and walked out of my office.
I picked up my phone to call Corey so I could get to the bottom of her secret life, but I spotted a strange red envelope on top of my mail stack. I put the phone down and reached for it, noticing that there was no return address—just a simple “To Mr. Statham” written across the front.
Is this the Red Ball invite Angela told me about? Did I forget to reserve tickets for me and Claire?
I opened the envelope and pulled out the plain white notecard:
Mr. Statham,
As amused as I am about you feeling “threatened” by my presence in San Francisco, please be advised that I am a lawyer and can press necessary charges against you for the following criminal offenses: Stalking, mail tampering, and being an asshole. Well, that last one isn’t necessarily an offense, but as soon as it becomes one, I’ll be sure to serve you with the proper papers.
Since you seem to enjoy hijacking my letters to Claire, I thought I’d send you one of your own so you can feel just as special.
Enjoy your day,
Ryan Hayes
I crumpled his letter into a ball and tossed it into the trash can.
I didn’t feel “threatened” by him at all.
Annoyed? Absolutely. Irritated? Definitely.
The fact that he was a lawyer didn’t mean shit to me. I had the district attorney’s number on speed dial and a team of high profile lawyers that would make his accomplishments look like a high school student’s.
I really hope I get to see this man in person one day...SOON...
His pathetic letters to Claire still came like clockwork, although they were a lot shorter now: “Can you join me for just one cup of coffee?” “You can’t give me five minutes? That’s all I’m asking for, Claire...” “I was once your best friend...Remember that.”
Before I could call Greg and ask him if there were any new updates, Angela’s voice came over the intercom.
“Mr. Statham?” she called.
“Yes, Angela?”
