by Rula Sinara
“What are you doing?” Tabitha, her cousin and maid of honor, rushed into the room. Her expression was frantic, her long blond locks solidified with enough hair product to supply a salon. “Let go of your dress! It’s getting wrinkled. You have pictures in less than fifteen minutes.” She slapped at Sienna’s hands, kneeled down and smoothed the expensive material. “There. It’s okay.” Tabitha let out a long, relieved breath. “I don’t think we need to steam it again.”
“I can’t do this.” The words were barely a whisper. Sienna cleared her throat. “I can’t marry Richard.”
“Don’t be silly—of course you can.” Tabitha stood and flipped a curl behind Sienna’s shoulder. “Richard’s a woman’s dream come true. It’s last-minute jitters.” But Tabitha didn’t meet her gaze. If anything, she seemed to be purposely avoiding it.
“I don’t know him.” Not the real him, Sienna thought. Oh, he was a pretty enough picture and well established in the financial world, but what were his dreams? His ambitions? And he’d never asked about her dreams, her plans. Her...
“What’s to know?” Tabitha asked. “He’s crazy about you and he can pay for anything you ever want or need.” Tabitha turned critical, almost accusing eyes on her.
Sienna swallowed hard. She saw it, a moment before Tabitha covered it, but it was there. A momentary flash of envy. “Now.” Tabitha nodded. “Let’s head downstairs. Richard and his groomsmen are finishing up with the photographer. We’re up next.”
The roar in Sienna’s ears intensified as Tabitha pushed the bouquet of red and white roses into her hands. She followed her cousin out of the room to the winding staircase and thought this had to be what an out-of-body experience felt like.
“I’m going to go get the others,” Tabitha told her, referring to Sienna’s bridesmaids. Tabitha took Sienna’s arms and planted her in an alcove at the bottom of the stairs. She fluffed up the veil a bit, tsked a few times, then smiled. “Don’t move. We’ll all be right back.”
Tabitha disappeared in a flash of bloodred, a fitting color for the attendants’ A-line gowns, Sienna thought against the giggle of hysteria that bubbled up. This was it. The first day of the rest of her life. Married to a successful man, a man whose parties and appearances and professional successes would soon be hers, while her own dreams...
Every ounce of warmth drained out of Sienna’s body. Her own dreams, whatever they were, would wither and die, forever unrealized and unachieved, because she’d been so determined to fulfill the only request her father had ever made of her.
She shouldn’t have waited so long to listen to the doubts. She should have confided in one or more of her friends, asked for their advice, but they were all so busy with their own lives, their own relationships and jobs. She didn’t want to bother them with something she should be able to work out for herself.
A cool breeze drifted in through the side door. The early spring rainstorm that had crossed through the area last night had long since moved on, leaving in its wake the promise of blue skies and crisp, refreshing days. The sunshine beckoned her, like a beacon of escape she only now realized was within reach.
She walked to the door, set the bouquet on the nearby table and pulled off her veil.
It drifted to the floor as she stepped outside.
She took a deep breath. Held it. Released it. The belt of panic that had been tightening around her loosened. It continued to ease with each step she took away from the club. Her spiked heels clicked on the cement stairs she descended. Bending down, she caught huge wads of fabric in her hands and hiked up her dress, walking quickly along the stone path to the marina entrance. She welcomed the warmth of the sun beating down on her.
Sienna surrendered to instinct. She’d practically grown up at the club, where her father had been president for most of her childhood. The boats were all different, of course, but they were also the same. She had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there. But she most definitely was not going to get married. Not now. Maybe not ever.
There was commotion behind her and it caused her to pick up her pace. She couldn’t be certain it had anything to do with her, of course. But the sooner she got out of sight and took some time to decide what came next, the better.
Except no boat felt right. Every schooner, yacht or cruiser she eyed had her scrambling onward. Her heel caught between two planks. Foot stuck, she pitched forward and cried out, landing awkwardly. Probably looking like a marshmallow factory that had exploded, she pushed herself up and shoved her hair out of her face. She twisted around to pull her foot free from her shoe, but froze, blinking at the fiberglass boat right in front of her.
Nana’s Dream.
Her stomach clenched. More cries and calls and shouts came from the direction of the club. Her pulse kicked into top speed. She finally yanked out the shoe from between the planks and practically dived onto the boat. She scrambled across the deck toward the open hatch, her dress billowing around her.
Once inside, she stopped. A time warp to the eighties? Dark painted wood paneling, hideous pastel floral-print cushions on the bench seats and nautical-themed drapes over the lone grimy window.
Boy, did this boat need some TLC ASAP.
She bunched up her dress and squeezed past the galley kitchen, then began pulling open doors. She heard distinct and all-too-familiar voices shouting from the dock, including her father’s loud baritone.
Expecting a bathroom behind the next door, she ended up wedging herself into a narrow closet where old fishing rods and gear were stored. It also had one shelf. With a fast sweep of her arm, she cleared it. After tucking the dress up and around her, she hoisted herself up, reached out and pulled the door closed.
Only then did she realize she’d lost her shoe.
Copyright © 2021 by Anna J. Stewart
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ISBN-13: 9781488074417
Second Chance Christmas
Copyright © 2021 by Rula Sinara
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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