by Meghan Quinn
Stunned, I flop down in one of the chairs that face his desk. That’s what he thinks is protecting me? Squashing my hopes and dreams. He really should learn a lesson from Racer.
And men run the business world? Screw that.
We’re living in a world where women can flourish, where we can seize an opportunity and make the most of it, a world where despite gender, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation every person has the right to succeed, to strive for a better life. All it takes is encouragement, determination, and the helping hand of an adoring fan.
I’m not the naïve one. My father is.
“You’re wrong.” His brows rise from my brazenness. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong, and it’s time you realize it.” I stand now, gaining more courage. “Life is bigger than the typical stereotypes you choose to live in. There is a world of freedom right outside your front door that you’ve chosen to ignore. Instead of looking past your blinders, you’ve accepted an old adage of women doting on their men, and men being the supporters of the family, the rulers. That’s not how it is anymore. You’re living in the past, Dad, when you should be looking toward the future. A future where women are paid the same in the workforce, a future where entrepreneurs just aren’t men, but they’re women, they’re African Americans, they’re a married couple of the same sex. Be a part of that world, Dad. Be the difference. Because if you don’t, you’re going to miss a lot. I will be damned if I get married one day and my children are exposed to your ‘values’. They’re skewed, ancient, and frankly insulting to what freedom stands for.”
I start to walk away, when I realize there is one more thing I need to address. With my hand on his door, I keep my eyes trained on him. “And what you did to Racer McKay is abhorrent. Using your influence for such a dishonorable and despicable purpose is one of the most monstrous things I have ever seen. I am so ashamed that the man who shares my DNA is capable of such vile and disgusting behavior. Your words. Racer, on the other hand, has worked tirelessly to preserve his father’s legacy, to keep the one thing that mattered the most to him. And without even blinking an eye, you ripped that away from him. You also ripped him away from me, because he left believing he would shame me. You might not have liked what Racer had to say to you, but I will tell you this. Racer is and will always be a better man than you. He doesn’t have the flourishing bank account you have, or the status, but he has heart, he has compassion, and he has been the unyielding force behind me since the moment I met him. He has driven me to be better, to be the woman I’ve always dreamed of. I’m the person I am today because of him, not because of you. You used your influence to hold me back. Your daughter. I love that man with everything I have, and despite your feeble attempt to break him, I still believe you will never be half the man he is.”
With my head held high, I leave my father’s office, adrenaline pumping through me, my heart beating uncontrollably, and the unknown resting in front of me.
Fuck. Him.
How can I possibly fix all of this?
I’m certain of one thing, though. Standing up to my father was task number one.
Chapter Twenty-Four
GEORGIANA
“G, come on, you have to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.” I bring my knees to my chest as I stare at the wedding dresses in front of me.
“You haven’t eaten anything in two days.” Madison pokes me. “Look, I can see your bones.”
“You can’t see my bones, and I had a cheese stick this morning.”
“Oh well, Jesus, look out, Thanksgiving Dinner, we have a new gorging session.” Madison pokes me again. “Come on, eat this doughnut for Mommy.”
I cringe and look at my friend. “Don’t call yourself Mommy.”
“Well, I’ve acted like one the last few days. Besides wiping your ass, I’ve done everything for you.” As she prattles on and on about Russell Stover chocolates and alcohol-infused God knows what she thinks I owe her, I start to feel angry. I miss Racer so much.
I’m really not into Madison’s antics today. I know she’s stayed by my side the last week, but even with the grand opening of Limerence tomorrow, I feel hollow. I haven’t heard from Racer since he left. That doesn’t mean I haven’t sent him multiple text messages.
I haven’t been pleading with him. I haven’t begged him to come back. Instead, I resorted to one thing that has brought me joy over the years: my book.
Madison starts going on about what kind of booze she wants as I scan through my messages I’ve sent, all of them going unanswered.
Georgiana: Heimat – a place you can call home. Let me be your heimat, Racer.
Georgiana: Rutilant – glittering with gold light. I miss how your eyes would rutilant when you stared down at me.
Georgiana: Sobriquet – a nickname. I just want you to call me my sobriquet one more time. Call me Princess, call me Georgie, just call me.
Georgiana: Dalliance – a brief love affair. I don’t want this to be a dalliance. You’re my forever.
Nothing. I’ve heard absolutely nothing. And with each moment of his silence, a little piece of me breaks, a little piece of me dies. I’ve never relied on another human, but Racer brightened my day, he made the bumps in the road seem non-existent, and he made my accomplishments feel like I had the power to do anything. He made me feel warm, protected, loved.
But now . . . all I feel is hurt.
I hurt myself loving him.
Knock, knock.
I look toward the door, a flash of hope fluttering in my stomach, but when Aaron peeks his head into the shop, my hope vanishes.
“Is it all right if we come in?”
“Only if you take your shirt off,” Madison teases. At this point, Aaron gives no thought to Madison’s requests.
He opens the door wide and is not alone. He’s joined by Tucker, Emma, and Adalyn, a group of friends I never thought I would have, but ones I’ve come to love. Tucker is carrying a bouquet of flowers and Adalyn has two six-packs in each hand while Aaron holds another two.
“We came to celebrate.” Emma holds on to Tucker’s arm as she speaks, looking sad, but also excited if that’s possible. “We thought before everything gets crazy tomorrow, we could have an intimate night of just friends.
“That would be lovely,” I say, putting on a good face, speaking past the lump in my throat.
“These are for you.” Tucker awkwardly hands me the flowers and then steps back and puts his hands in his pockets. He can’t even look me in the eye, and I know why; Racer isn’t coming back.
Just the thought of him not returning brings a fresh batch of tears to my eyes.
“Crap,” I mutter as tears fall down my cheeks and I try to wipe them away. “I’m sorry. Um, excuse me for a second. Pop open the drinks, I’ll be right back.”
I walk to the bathroom and grip on to the sink. staring at myself in the mirror. I look horrible. I’m surprised everyone didn’t take one look at me and leave. My eyes are drained, my face white, devoid of any life, and my hair is plastered to my face. It’s not a good look. I splash my face with water, trying to bring a little color back into it when there is a little knock at my door. Emma pops in and before she says anything, she reaches in and gives me a hug.
I lose it.
Everything I’ve been trying to hold in spills out. That’s all it takes, a knowing look and a hug. I sob into her shoulder, ugly, snotty sob, the kind of sob you can’t control, the kind of sob that causes all different things to happen to your face so you’re the most unpleasant person to look at. But right now? I don’t freaking care. This. Hurts. So. Much.
“It’s okay,” Emma says, rubbing my back. “I’ve been there. I know what you’re going through, and you have every right to cry.”
“Why won’t he call me? He won’t even text me back.”
Emma sighs and pulls me closer. “He’s in a tough spot, sweetie. Just give him time.”
“Give him time? How can I give him time when he’s looking for a jo
b in Pittsburg and selling his house? He’s leaving, Emma. And it’s not like I can go with him. I’m opening a business tomorrow, a business that will be almost six hours away from him.”
“I know it’s hard right now, but you have to let him find his way. Right now, you need to focus on one thing and that’s your shop.” She pulls away and grips my face. “Tomorrow marks the day your dreams come true, and you need to relish in them.”
“My dreams have changed.”
She shakes her head. “No, not possible. One man can’t change everything you’ve worked for. It may hurt right now, but you will get through this, you both will. Let him find his way. Have faith in what he’s doing. Have faith in his plan.”
His plan?
I search Emma’s eyes, looking for any kind of tell. When her eyes dart to the side, I know there is something she’s not telling me.
“Have you spoken to him?”
“No. I haven’t.”
I study her some more and this time she fidgets in place. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She takes a deep breath and grips the door to leave. “Just have faith and focus on tomorrow. Promise me that. Promise me you’ll soak in every minute tomorrow because you’ve worked so hard to get here, to make this dream a reality.” She cutely points her finger at me. “Promise me.”
Some of the tension in my chest eases. “I promise.”
“Good.” She smiles brightly. “Now come watch Tucker drink Angry Orchard. It’s hilarious. He pretends not to like it, but I’ve conditioned him enough to love it. You can tell when he casually licks the top of the bottle. It’s his tell.” She winks and takes off toward the main part of the shop.
Have faith in his plan. Please let his plan include me because I need him, I need him bad.
***
“We should have bought more champagne,” Madison says into my ear. “We only have five bottles left. I’m pretty sure it will be gone in an hour.”
“Are you serious?” I twist my hands together and look around at the bustling shop, champagne glasses in almost everyone’s hands, red velvet ropes blocking off the dresses so said champagne isn’t spilled near them, and the look of pure awe in every face.
I couldn’t be more proud.
“Yes. Should I ask Emma and Adalyn to go get more?”
“Do you think they would mind?”
Madison shakes her head. “No, they just asked me if they should get more.”
“They’re life savers. Tell them I will pay them back after the party.”
Thank God I have Emma, Adalyn, and Madison. They’ve been amazing all day. Naturally, my mother hasn’t shown her face. Coward. While I talked to potential clients, my squad has been bustling around cleaning up, refilling plastic champagne glasses, and making sure to point me out to anyone interested in setting up an appointment.
So far, I’m booked out for a month. A month! I still can’t believe it. This all seems so crazy and yet, something is missing.
Not something.
Someone.
Even though this shop is filled with women, as I hoped it would be, my someone isn’t here.
Racer.
I’ve tried to not think about him all day, I’ve tried to push him out of my mind, but every time someone compliments the shop, I immediately think about the long nights Racer and I spent together bringing Limerence to life. It feels wrong that he’s not by my side, receiving compliments with me.
“Are you the owner?” A pretty woman with short blonde hair walks up to me, a folder in her hand and a smile on her face.
“Yes. Hello. I’m Georgiana Westbrook.” I hold out my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Georgiana. I’m Sunny Dubois from NY Bride magazine.” And just when I thought my heart would never pump again, Sunny jump-starts it.
“Sunny, what a pleasure.” I try not to show how excited I am inside.
“I’ve had a chance to walk through your little shop and take in everything. I have to say, Miss Westbrook, you have a little gem here.” Don’t kiss her, for the love of God, don’t kiss her out of excitement.
“Thank you so much. I’ve only been able to make it happen because of my amazing support system.” And that’s the truth. Waverly and Abe were here earlier, taking the first shift of chatting with visitors, and Emma and Adalyn have taken the second shift while Madison has been with me from the beginning. There is no way I could have done this on my own.
“It’s such a beautiful thing to hear someone acknowledge the community around them. I’m wondering . . . would you be interested in being interviewed for a feature in the magazine?”
“Are you serious?” I feel like my eyes are popping out of their sockets. “Of course, I would be honored.”
“I was hoping you were going to say that.” She winks at me and pulls a card from her folder. “Give me a call on Monday to set up a time. I would love to have a personal tour where we can take pictures of the shop and have a little behind-the-scenes look. How does that sound?”
“Like a dream.”
“Perfect. I look forward to hearing from you on Monday. Congratulations, Miss Westbrook. You should be very proud.”
We shake hands, and I watch her work her way through the crowd to the front door. I can’t believe NY Bride wants to—
What?
Anxiety starts to wash over me when an all-too familiar man walks through the doors of Limerence. The last person I ever expected to show up. I watch him like a hawk, examining my hard work, taking in the crowd, and working his way around everyone. Casually, he scans his surroundings but when he spots me, he makes a beeline for me. I hate that my high is already slipping. How dare he?
I swallow hard. “What are you doing here?”
He adjusts his tie and clears his throat. “I thought about what you said.” He fidgets with his tie again. My dad is a powerful man, one who never shows weakness, but right now, I’m seeing a completely different man. “I want to be the difference.”
My words repeated out of his mouth sound strange, almost like he’s on autopilot being controlled by someone else.
I don’t know what to say. I honestly don’t know how to react so I just stand there, unsure of how to act.
He continues, “I’m . . . sorry, Gigi.” Three words I never thought I’d hear from my father’s lips.
“Perhaps today isn’t the time to say this to you, but I wanted to show my . . . support for your business venture.” My business venture. Not exactly words of praise, but not a dismissal.
“Wh-why now?” I ask. I know my father, he’s a prideful man, and even though I hoped my speech could change his mind, when I left, I had the impression everything I said to him went in one ear and out the other.
“Someone with remarkable aptitude approached me. Not just you.” Before I can ask who, my dad holds out a letter to me. “Read it, Gigi. You will understand.”
With a shaky hand, I open the letter, and my eyes immediately start to tear as I recognize the chicken-scratch handwriting.
Mr. Westbrook,
I’m sure I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, given our previous unpleasant conversations, but you’re a smart man, and I don’t want to undermine you. I want to help you understand me.
I was blessed as a baby. I was born into a broken marriage. Some might think that isn’t a blessing, but it was where I was concerned because from the broken pieces of that marriage rose a strong, loving man who would do anything for his child.
My father was a great man. He wasn’t the richest, he wasn’t the most educated, nor was he the most skilled, but what he didn’t have in professional attributes, he made up for in love and dedication. He loved me, he loved me every damn day of his life, and he never hesitated to make that known. He wasn’t afraid to kiss me in public, he wasn’t ashamed to hold my hand when I let him, and he wasn’t embarrassed to express how much I mattered to him. He loved me wholeheartedly. He died two years ago, and I miss him terribly.
But he was al
so hard on me. His motto was: make mistakes, tell the worst truth rather than the best lie, love hard, and be the better man. So I want to pass on some of his wisdom.
Make mistakes – I made a mistake by talking to you the way I did. Instead of taking the high road, I made threats, called you horrible names, and disrespected you. I see that now.
Tell the worst truth rather than the best lie – There is no doubt in my mind that if I was given the opportunity for a redo, I would say the same exact things to you. Despite how ugly that sounds, I meant every word I said.
Love hard – I’ve never been in love before. I didn’t know what love really was until your daughter fell into my life. I didn’t think I would fall for her, we are like water and oil knocking heads, but we also balance each other beautifully and for that, I love her . . . hard. I love her so fucking hard.
Be the better man – I don’t want my job back. I know that’s a moot point by now and that’s not what this letter is about. This letter is to plead to you one more time . . . cherish Georgiana. She’s an amazingly smart and beautiful individual with the strength and courage I only wish I could obtain.
Give her a chance, reconnect, show her your love, because you don’t know when you will take your last breath. Make every moment count. I would give anything, and I mean anything, to have one more hug from my father, to have him grip my shoulder, look me in the eyes, and hear those four little words that always seemed to alter my universe: “I’m proud of you.”
