An Unexpected Bride

by Shadonna Richards

  Evan really picked an awesome, inspiring concept when he found the building, Emma had to credit him. The artsy, futuristic looking loft gave it a nice touch, too.

  “Sorry to trouble you, Evan, but Bianca’s on line one.” Lucinda smiled at Evan and waited for him to respond.

  “Thank you, Lucinda. I’ll take the call.” He gestured to Emma to wait while he picked up the receiver. The smile widened on Lucinda’s face as she walked off. The smile vanished on Emma’s as Evan punched line one.

  Bianca? Again?

  Emma tried hard not to listen to the conversation but not as much as she suppressed the urge to squirm in her seat. She was on edge now. But not as much as Evan, apparently. She noticed a drastic change in his body language. He leaned forward on the desk and his face looked flushed. He listened most of the time. Nodding in thought. Answering occasionally.

  What was going on between them? Still, she tried to rationalise that it was none of her business. Though it sort of bothered her that this woman, his ex-girlfriend, had the sort of priority-interrupt-any-meeting-when-she-calls treatment. Emma embarrassingly recognised the feelings she experienced whenever Bianca phoned and interrupted anything at the office to speak with Evan.

  Jealousy.

  When Evan got off the phone call, he seemed preoccupied in his thoughts.

  “Sorry about that. Personal business.”

  “Sure. No probs.” Emma’s smile seemed forced, Evan even noticed. Was she jealous? Did she think there was something going on between him and Bianca? Or something rekindling with Bianca? Not a chance. He chuckled and was about to address her body language and non-verbal concerns when another call came in. He realised Lucinda put it through. He picked it up.

  “Uh-huh. Yep. Great. Perfect.” He hung up.

  “Everything’s all set for our New York trip. You have your travel docs, right?”

  “Oh, of course,” Emma responded with an air of distraction.

  “Okay, so we’ll be heading out tomorrow—if that’s okay? Client wants to see us asap.”

  “Sure. I’m game.”

  He noticed her octave higher than usual falsetto voice. She was eager to please but he sensed a hint of hesitation, or was that anxiety? Maybe he should explain about the whole Bianca thing so that she didn't get any ideas.

  For some reason, he felt the need to explain himself to her. It wasn’t as if they were really getting married.

  What was he going crazy about? It was only a pretence.

  But he felt, oddly, obligated to be up front with Emma about everything. That’s the old Fletcher thing again, wasn’t it? Devoted to a fault. And for what? To have your heart taken for granted, trampled on, then left for nothing?

  He tried not to think of his father at the moment. And what the other Fletcher men in his family had gone through, not to mention his own personal heartbreak, but still, whenever a woman came into the picture, it was hard not to think of what could happen. He certainly did have a weakness alright.

  Pretty women.

  Smart, beautiful, kind-hearted, got-it-together women. Just like Emma.

  Only Emma.

  What is wrong with me? Evan asked for the fifty-sixth time.

  Evan could tell this was a lot for Emma. Account coordinator one day. High flying ad exec the next. Still, he believed in her and it wasn’t as if she’d be travelling alone. She looked adorable in her pink silk top. He tried hard not to gape at her breasts. The shape of her nipples became visible through her blouse. God, he was beginning to get turned on. He had to shift his focus on something else. Oh, yeah, the client. Bianca. His father. The wedding next week. Okay, maybe not the wedding next week or the honeymoon he wished they could have following next week’s farcical nuptials.

  He tried to think of what else he was about to say to her before his tempting interruption. Heck, before her nipples made a surprise appearance. But he could think of nothing else except how much he wanted to see her naked. Alone with him. And how much he wished he could just—

  “Evan?”

  “Yes?” He jolted upright.

  He felt blood rush to the areas it shouldn’t right now. He knew for damn sure he was blushing. He straightened up his composure. He dared not stand up right now—he may not be the only thing standing up.

  He really didn’t want to frighten Emma away. They were, after all, going to New York together. A whole lot of stuff can happen in a city known for spontaneous actions and hot romance like New York. Heck, it was worse than Vegas!

  For the next hour, the spoke about last minute details regarding travel arrangements. They would meet at the office then head out to the airport first thing in the morning. He asked how her grandfather was doing. She explained and he was relieved that everything was okay. Emma knew very little about his father’s condition except that he wasn’t doing so well. She also asked Evan how his dad was doing.

  “Oh, he’s good, thanks for asking.” A troubled expression was evident on his face. “Well, much better now, anyway,” he corrected.

  “Oh?”

  Evan explained a little to Emma, not too much—he felt some things needed to be private for now.

  He really wasn’t one to lay out his personal life or that of his father to his employees or coworkers, as he would often refer to them. He just mentioned that his father had some trouble with the home care nurse, so he’d hired someone he was familiar with, someone he knew his father trusted and liked. His friend, Bianca. He noticed a slight shift in Emma’s stiff body language as he explained Bianca’s role and why it was crucial he took calls from her immediately in case there was a critical situation with his father.

  He couldn’t remember if he had told Emma they were an item at one point and time. He’d had quite a few dates coming into the office to meet him for dinner after work or such. Emma was discreet about it all, especially when she worked at reception. Not that there was anything serious between him and Bianca. But she was a community nurse after all, and a nurse who had experience working with mentally ill patients.

  His father had met Bianca on a few occasions and took a strong liking to her personality. Her wit, her charm, her no-nonsense caring demeanour.

  Evan thought she would be perfect. And so far, minor glitches aside, the arrangement seemed to be working much better than the other home care staff. This took a load off his mind so that he could focus on work once again.

  He didn’t have to worry about Bianca’s feelings for him. She’d moved on a long time ago. In fact, she was now living with someone who made her visibly happy. Evan was glad for that. He knew he could not have given her the commitment she craved. Still, his past feelings for Bianca were nothing compared to the strong, hard-to-explain, cosmic-attraction he had with Emma.

  8

  Later that night, Emma sat on her balcony with her BlackBerry in her hand and a glass of wine in the other, her heart pounding hard and fast.

  She sucked in a deep breath before pressing down on the number one key to retrieve her voicemail. She knew she couldn’t keep putting this off forever. She had to face the melody and hoped the conversation she would later have with her mother would not throw her off key.

  “You have one new message. First message,” the disembodied woman’s voice announced on the voicemail retrieval system.

  “Hi, darling, it’s your mother. I just heard from your grandfather about your wedding. I didn’t even know you were engaged. Guess we haven’t spoken in a while. Still, I wished you’d have called me, dear. Anyway, give me a call when you get this message. We’ll try to make it in for next week. No promises though. This is such short notice. Well, by for now.” Beep.

  The pre-recorded voice returned after Emma listened to her mother’s message. “To listen to this message again, press four. To save this message, press nine. To erase this message, press seven.”

  She really didn’t want to hear the message again. The guilt was way too much. What could she say to her mother? How much longer could she keep up this dec
eit, this charade? One thing’s for sure, she’d sworn to never tell a lie again—and she’d come to the realisation, there’s no such thing as a "little" white lie. It’s either an untruth or it isn’t. Plain and simple.

  Emma had a lot of thoughts sprinting through her mind at that moment, the trip to New York, facing Evan again, the new account, her own pretend, fairy tale, beautiful wedding, oh, stop it Emma! The wedding was a sham! And now she had to keep up the charade and tell her mother a not-so-little, off-white lie.

  She switched phones and got her cordless house phone, thankful she had a good long distance plan for North America and dialled the long distance number to Toronto, Canada. She gazed up at the sky. Daylight savings ended recently and she was glad it was still light outside. The cool evening breeze blew gently on the balcony. She sat back in her Wal-Mart purchased patio chair and placed her glass on the matching table. She worked hard and tried to make her little home as cosy and comfortable as possible. Especially for use after a long day at work. She had a pretty good view of the landscape. Her building overlooked a park, some new homes in the development, the quiet street, and she could see in the distance the hills and trees farther south. She looked up at the blue sky with the streak of reddish sunset peeking through.

  The view was tranquil. Stunning. Breathtaking. Because it was a more subdued part of town, she enjoyed the reduction of noisy traffic and choking pollution. She could just hear distant laughter of children in the background. Stillness. The air smelled, oddly, clean and clear. She enjoyed these moments to sit and peer out from the balcony. She was grateful for the view she had from her floor.

  Secretly, she dreamed of living in an expensive, upscale condominium complex with a state-of-the-art gym facility, tennis court, indoor swimming pool and sauna, gated security, concierge desk, close to stores and other conveniences, and a new neighbourhood. Still, she was genuinely grateful for what she had. What was that old saying, "Don’t be sad for what you don’t have, be glad for what you do have." And that other saying, "Gratitude leads to abundance." She couldn’t remember where she’d read it, probably from one of her self-help New Age books that she shelved on her antique oak bookshelf in her living room along with her psych text books.

  She was quite content with her slow steady progress in creating a life for herself. She had a job she loved. Her colleagues, especially her boss, loved her. For her work that is. And what other industry do you get to have scrumptious business lunches paid for every other week? Heck, more than that. Earlier they had an awesome celebratory lunch at Brenna’s Restaurant and Jazz Club. They had lunch hour music and dining on the patio which was opened at the restaurant since the good southern weather allowed it. It was just perfect. In fact, she couldn’t get the look of Evan out of her mind. He seemed to be glancing in her direction every now and then, an almost lustful look to her.

  She felt his eyes on her most of the time. Though, she was laughing and talking with the group as they celebrated. They selected the Tex Mex cuisine, which was delicious. Not as tasty as Evan, she thought. She really wished she could just-

  “Hello?” Her mother’s voice startled her back to reality as the phone was answered. Emma almost forgot she had dialled her mother since the phone had rung so long. Her mother wasn’t one for subscribing to voicemail.

  Okay, this is it. She sucked in a deep breath. “Hey, Mom. How’s it going?”

  “Emma. Well, well, well, stranger. Nice of you to call your mom. Almost forgotten what you sound like.”

  Emma bit down on her lip, her long, soft, curly black hair blowing in her face. She grabbed her free hand to swipe her hair over to her other shoulder. It had been quite a long time since she’d spoken to her mother. They grew quite distant over the years, though she would always make it a point to call on holidays and on her mother’s birthday and other occasions. But still, she wished she’d have more time. She had planned to visit her mother in Toronto many times. Maybe she could make a go for it sometime later in the year. She’d heard countless wonderful things about Toronto, the clean streets, the attractions, the friendly people, the Royal Ontario Museum, the Art Gallery of Ontario, and take in the sights at Harborfront. Still, she’d save that for later.

  “So how’s the weather in Toronto, Mom?”

  “Oh, fine, dear. Probably not as hot as Texas at this time of the year.” Her mother didn’t waste any time with small talk to Emma’s chagrin. “So what’s this about you getting married next week?”

  Okay, here goes.

  “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you this before—"

  “I mean, I didn’t even know you were serious with anyone,” her mother interrupted.

  Emma felt that familiar guilt tinge in the pit of her stomach. Still, she wasn’t exactly lying about spending time with Evan. Truth be told, he was the only man she’d spend evenings with—working, that was anyway. She’d worked very closely with him on quite a lot of projects. Had business lunches with him—and the team-while discussing planning strategies for major ad campaigns they were engrossed with.

  “What is he like? What does he do for a living? What about his parents?” Her mother was good for spewing a string of questions in a row when she was anxious to solicit information, not giving the person a chance to answer, of course.

  Emma answered as much as she could, as truthfully as she could without giving herself away, hating herself every second she misled her mother. But trying to justify by at least thinking that it was all for a good cause. Her grandfather had only weeks to live. She wanted to at least make the last days good, happy, comforting, for the man who practically raised her along with her grandmother after her own father passed away. How bad could that be? Maybe she won’t have to spend the rest of her life in regret-hell or damnation if she could help it. If she could somehow make it all okay.

  Later that evening, Emma spent the night tossing and turning in bed. She tried hard to get some sort of a good night sleep. But as her grandfather once told her, there’s no comfier pillow than a clear conscience. Did she have one or what? Would her conscience ever be clear again.?

  She got up and turned on her bedside lamp. It was two o’clock in the morning. She clasped her hand to her forehead. She really needed to get her REM sleep or she was going to look like hell. Not only that, but she'd likely have the mental acuity of a cotton ball at the office. What was bothering her? Being alone with Evan—especially given the new circumstances with the impending wedding nuptials next week.

  She sprung up out of bed and powered on her plasma TV but there were only infomercials on most of the stations and reruns of old sitcoms. She couldn’t focus on anything right now. The apartment was pretty much quiet, and dark. The sound of the fridge was the only thing she could hear. That and her conscience.

  She made herself a cup of camomile tea then went back to her bed. She picked up a riveting mystery novel to see if she could lose herself in a good story to take her mind off her situation before settling to bed.

  No headway.

  It was useless; her eyes studied the words on the page but nothing was being processed. She glazed over the story. Literally. After finishing the last drop of tea, she went over to her overnight luggage to ensure she had everything all packed and ready. Her notes, her passport. Evan already had the electronic tickets and hotel reservation. God, she hoped to share the same room with him. But enough fantasizing about Evan. He may not want to have anything to do with her when she springs it on him that they are getting married for real next week. The thought had occurred to her and made her queasy to her stomach. She really didn’t want to ruin what she could have and her future in advertising with Evan all in one sweep. Still, she had to think positive.

  Speaking of which, she grabbed a copy of one of her daily meditation books to read a passage. She read a quote: Your life is whatever you focus on.

  Okay.

  And another passage: According to the law of attraction, whatever we choose to dwell on we pull into our lives like a
magnetic draw. Make sure you focus on what you really want in life, what will be beneficial to you—not what you don’t want.

  Another passage caught her eye: Practice eradicating thoughts from your mind that distress you.

  Yep, easier said than done.

  She continued to read: Then replenish with thoughts that promote feelings of happiness. Much like art, any skill can be mastered through dedication and practice.

  Okay, that was helpful, she mused. Maybe, she should quit worrying about stuff she has no control over—anymore. Okay, she should have just told Gramps the truth, but it was done now. There was no way to un-ring this bell. The words escaped her lips before she could haul them back—now she just had to play the cards she pulled from the pack and do so the best she could.