"No, we've said all that needs saying. I have my things from your place, so there's no reason to ever cross paths again. This should make it a little easier on both of us." Tears spilled past the blaze of anger again, ache twisting in her chest where the remnants of her battered heart quivered.
"Please, give me another chance. It won't happen again." He reached out and brushed a tear from Jemma's cheek with his thumb. His handsome features morphed back into the compassionate man she'd known and loved.
Mikey's voice pierced the darkness of the hallway as his hand appeared, grabbing the collar of Dalton's coat. "You heard my sister. Leave now, and I'll let you walk away all by yourself."
Jemma glowered at the shadowed figure behind Dalton, sputtering, "Dad promised to let me handle this."
"Dad promised he wouldn't interfere. Besides, I'm merely escorting this gentleman to his car. That's all."
Dalton's face puckered back into a hateful scowl, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. "Well, I guess I don't have much of a choice now, do I? Your dad is probably standing on the street, waiting for some signal from your Neanderthal of a brother." Turning to face Mikey, Dalton smacked away his grip and stormed down the darkened steps.
Jemma glared at her brother as he stepped into the light. "Why? I'm not your little kid sister anymore. I'm a grown, mature woman."
Mikey snorted. "Twenty-three years does not constitute maturity."
"Okay. And twenty-five does?"
"When you're a guy? Yes." He pushed his way past her and slumped onto the couch.
Jemma closed the door and sank into the beanbag chair next to him, sort of glad to have his company, though she'd never admit it to him. "I would have gotten rid of him eventually, you know."
Mikey forced a pained smile as he picked up the box of snack crackers from her coffee table, stuffing a handful of them into his mouth. "Yeah, okay." Crumbs spewed with his words. "I know you, and I also know he would've weaseled himself back into your life somehow. I let you handle it until I heard you crying. After the tears came, I knew it was only a matter of time until you suckered under. He's been lying to you for a while."
His words splashed over her like ice water. She wiggled to a sitting position. "Excuse me? What?"
He slumped down in the chair, while swallowing the food in his mouth. His lips contorted into a pity smirk. "Yeah, sorry. I saw him with her a few weeks back, but Dad wouldn't let me tell you. He says I didn't see him do anything wrong." Mikey sat up straight and scooted to the edge of his seat, his eyes widening. "But, I say it was all kinds of wrong. They were walking arm-in-arm, and she was hanging all over him. I thought that was bad enough. It still doesn't compare to what you caught them doing, though." He shoved another heaping handful of crackers into his mouth, a few not even able to fit in all the way. Pieces slid down his shirt, landing on the floor at his feet.
She loved her big brother but knew he was lucky to have their father's looks, or he'd never date with those kinds of manners.
Jemma took a few crackers from the box, her stomach churning intermittently between hunger and anger, and munched on the carb-filled goodness as her thoughts finally came together. "Well, part of me wishes you'd told me. What I walked into might not have been such a shocker. The other part knows I wouldn't have listened to you, though."
Mikey tossed his hands in the air then slapped them on his thighs. "Only a woman can admit they have two different people bottled up inside. You're psychotic, you know that? Men don't stand a chance."
"Be very careful with your words. My selves haven't decided whether to hug you or punch you just yet. Count your blessings; the nice side is winning at the moment."
Mikey snorted, choking on remnants. When he finally stopped coughing, his face fell somber. "Are you going to be okay? I could sleep on the couch tonight if you want company."
Memories of her snoring, slobbering, gaseous brother sprawled on her couch in nothing but his boxers sprang to mind, and she stifled a groan. "That's very sweet of you, but I'll be fine."
He stared directly into her eyes, undoubtedly reading her like a book, just as he'd done all his life. "If you change your mind, call me." Mikey sprang to his feet and walked to the door. "I'd better head back to Duke's and call off the Cavalry. I don't think you want four drunken middle-aged men showing up here looking for a fight."
"Nope, point them in the other direction. I'm going to go to bed for about three days." Jemma followed Mikey to the door, flashing him as much of a smile as she could muster, and added, "Give Daddy a kiss for me, will ya?" Knowing full well he would, she pictured her father's red face and shocked expression from times past.
"Will do." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "I love you, little sis. Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"
"I will, big bro. I love you, too." She folded herself within the confines of his awaiting embrace, and a brief reprieve of peace enveloped her. She found herself doubting her decision to not have him stay the night. The large belch he expelled directly in her ear kept her from changing her mind. Shoving him away, she muttered, "You're such a pig."
"Yes, I am." With a wink over his shoulder, he slid down the banister and into the dark.
Shaking her head, Jemma closed the door and locked it behind her.
Leaning against the sturdy wooden frame, she glanced around at all of the boxes in her small apartment. She realized at that moment she'd missed the simplicity of it, the convenience of everything being all together. She walked toward the bamboo partition that hid her bed, sliding her hand along the stainless steel counter of the kitchenette. Briefly, she considered turning on the television for background noise, but decided she needed the quiet. She thought back to Dalton's expansive, elaborate house, resembling more of a museum with all of the display cases and locked cabinets filled with antique and collectible guns, knives and tools. Never once had Jemma felt like she could relax there. She knew he clung to money and all of his stuff, flaunted his household staff like they were trophies, and tossed money around whenever he could as a diversion to keep people from knowing he'd grown up in filth with an alcoholic mother.
She pushed the two-timing jerk from her mind, and dropped into a sitting position on her bed. As she let out a pent up breath, Jemma was glad to be herself again. While her heart still ached for Dalton's arms to hold her, a part of her reveled in the freedom surging through her as she stared back toward the door, at the much beloved beanbag chair he hadn't allowed at his house.
CHAPTER THREE
Six months into her life as a devout single woman, Jemma had funneled all of her extra time into photography, making quite a name for herself in the wedding circuit. She'd even cut her hours at the bank to part-time with very little monetary help from her parents. She kept receipts, though, knowing she'd pay them back.
Eventually.
Her cell phone, which had been replaced after that fateful slam against her kitchen wall, had been ringing almost nonstop with brides wanting her to capture the special moments of their big day.
Always the Photographer, Never the Bride. The name, though born out of hurt and frustration, was catchy, funny, and memorable, helping to keep her in business; well, the name and her photos. She prided herself on always getting the perfect shot, freezing the special candid moments, and setting up some pretty unique poses.
Jemma squinted into the brilliant sun as she left Holloway's Photo Shop, after lusting over equipment on her dream list. If only she had a sugar daddy to pay for a new camera and printer. She could charge for prints and be set with the extra income she needed. She briefly pondered wealthy men in the area, jokingly of course.
Sort of.
Her phone whistled, alerting her to a missed call. She must have slipped into a shopping trance while ogling the new camera.
She pulled it from the side pocket of her purse and checked the display, snorting in disgust at the sight of Dalton's work number. Though he'd stopped with the guilt trips and mind games several months before, her stomach lurched at the thoug
ht of a revival. Her finger wavered over the delete button. But morbid curiosity won out yet again, and she pressed play.
"Hi, my name is Herbert McCallister, and I'm calling on behalf of my daughter, Kate. She's getting married on June third at seven o'clock. I know this is the eleventh-hour, but I do hope you have an opening. Kate gave me your business card, and her husband-to-be, Dalton Blackwell, recommends you highly. I am willing to pay you handsomely for the last minute inconvenience. Please call me back at 555-2627. I look forward to hearing from you."
"Why?" She barked at her phone, as though it were Dalton's voice on the message. "Why would you recommend me?" Without thought, she typed in his cell number.
He answered on the first ring. "I thought I'd be hearing from you."
"Seriously, you'd recommend me to your future father-in-law? He's your boss even! To take pictures at your wedding?" The last two words came out a little harshly. He deserved much worse. The betrayal from months ago stirred anew in her heart and gut.
"Well, you are the best photographer in the area."
She snorted in response, but pride hitched her chin a notch.
"Besides," he continued, "I knew you'd never do it, since you're still in love with me. Obviously, I've moved on, and you need to realize it."
"I need to realize it? I'm pretty sure that happened the moment I saw you doing your secretary. How is she these days? Did she ever get that bad taste out of her mouth? You know, from me catching you with her." Sarcasm oozed from her words. She paced along the walk outside the photo shop, anger bubbling through every cell in her body.
"I made a mistake, one mistake, and you'll never let me live it down. I can hear the hurt in your voice. Don't torture yourself even more by watching me marry the love of my life."
"What you're hearing is sarcasm. And, you seriously think that would bother me?" she barked.
He laughed. "I believe your angry tone says it all."
"I don't have any problems seeing you get married. I might feel a little pity for your bride, but that's on her."
"Uh-huh, sure," he mocked.
"And as a double bonus, I'll be making money off of your sorry ass. I'll see you on your big day." She swiped the phone off, really wishing it was an old school landline she could slam down in his ear.
With shaky hands, she slipped her phone into the side pocket of her purse then fished through the main compartment for her worn, well cared for, planner.
"Let's leave this to chance, shall we? If by some miracle the date is open, I'll call Mr. McCallister back. If not…" she muttered to herself as she flipped the thick book open, pushing past loose notes and reminders until she found June third. She stared at the date, remembering now the call a month back from a bride who'd cancelled her June third wedding. Leaving Jemma wide open.
She pulled her phone back out and hit redial on the missed call. She battled the conflicting thoughts, waffling between what-the-hell-am-I-doing and take-that-Dumbass-Dalton, including every gray shade in between.
After getting clearance through his secretary, Mr. McCallister answered. "Ms. Keith, does this mean you have an opening?"
What the hell am I doing?
She inhaled a deep breath. "Yes, I had a cancellation for that date."
"It must be fate," he said, relief wavering in his voice.
Fate? Or punishment for everything she'd ever done wrong in her life?
Mr. McCallister proceeded to tell her what he was willing to pay for the last minute inconvenience.
Take that, Dumbass Dalton! And hello new camera and printer.
"Really?" she muttered, regaining her composure. "How could I turn down an offer like that?"
"Exactly what I was going for," he chuckled.
Switching back into professional mode, she said, "If you could give me the bride's phone number, I'll take care of the rest." She dipped her hand back in the depths of her purse and dug for a pen.
He rattled off her number. "It sounds like we will be in good hands, with the glowing recommendation my future son-in-law gave you."
"Well, that means a lot to me, sir." She bit down on her lip to keep the cynicism from her voice. "I'll get in touch with your daughter in the morning and set up a meeting."
"Thank you. I look forward to seeing your finished product."
After saying their goodbyes, Jemma hung up and stood there in a daze. Conflicting emotions swirled through her until she turned and stared at Holloway's store front. She walked back inside, directly to the front counter.
The sales clerk looked up and smiled. "Back for more demos?"
She returned his grin, though hers was probably more along the maniacal side. "Nope, I'd like to open an account and charge the camera and printer I was just looking at. I'll have a deposit check soon and be able to pay it off in June."
* * *
After signing her life away, and giddily watching them sack up her new things, Jemma somehow made it to her car. Her brain flipped between the excitement of new equipment and the conflicting emotions of the wedding she'd just agreed to photograph. She drove the short distance to her apartment, parked her car, and climbed the stairs in a near zombie state. She laid her things on the couch and flung herself onto her bed, bouncing twice before coming to rest. Her thoughts switched to the next day's task of calling the bride.
How in the heck am I gonna handle this one?
Jemma guessed Kate had no knowledge of her and Dalton's prior relationship. Jemma's alter egos began a boxing match. Her professional, common sense side—which her mother nurtured—would keep her word and follow through with everything she'd promised on the phone. She would call, make the arrangements, show up for the wedding, take the photos, refrain from killing Dalton, and all would be great in the world. However, her father had also had a hand in raising her. The side he'd instilled would follow through with everything else, but lie in wait for the perfect moment to cause the most chaos, ruining the wedding after Kate's daddy-dearest forked out all of his cash. Either way, she'd get the money to pay off her equipment.
Silver lining?
"Mikey's right; I am psychotic." Jemma's voice echoed off of her high ceiling.
At least both sides agreed to make the phone call in the morning. The rest could be decided after the shock wore off.
CHAPTER FOUR
On the way to her parents' house for lunch, Jemma dialed the bride-to-be's number and put in her Bluetooth headset. Her mother's calming words echoed in her mind: A deep cleansing breath, in through the nose…
"Hello?"
Jemma released her breath in a whoosh. "Kate McCallister?"
"Yes, and this is?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. This is Jemma Keith with Always the Photographer, Never the Bride. The studio your father called for your wedding."
"Oh, I'm so thrilled to meet with you and see what you have planned. Dalton was very impressed with the work you've done in the past." The genuine, honest excitement in her voice took Jemma by surprise.
Shaking her head, Jemma reminded herself of whom this woman was marrying and how the groom-to-be had lied through his teeth to her for just shy of an entire year.
Switching back into syrupy-sweet, professional mode, she gushed, "Oh, me too. When is a good time for you?"
They chose Jemma's favorite coffeehouse for their meeting place, and Kate gave her a week to work up the confidence to face her. Everything would be just fine.
As long as Jemma could keep her mouth shut.
* * *
"You're ten minutes late." Her mother's cold nature snapped Jemma's inner-selves from their mental sword fight. With a time frame involved, they'd switched to blades. "Your father is out in the back yard. He made some comment about how you'll probably be late for your own funeral then stormed out there with the puppy."
"I only do this to irritate him. He pushes me, and I dig my heels in. It's a game for us."
"Yeah, well, that game is going to be the death of him." Humor twinkled in her eyes. They walked to th
e screen door and watched her father in the yard. His set jaw and hard grimace betrayed the sweet words as he talked to the little red fur-ball hanging on his every word. Her mom opened the door and they joined him on the deck. "Your daughter is here."
Turning to face Jemma, he folded his arms in defiance and stared down his nose at her. "Well, what's your excuse this time?"
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't realize fast food started taking reservations." Jemma feigned innocence, complete with batted eyelashes, bringing a giggle from her mom. This only served to narrow her father's gaze further, his teeth now grinding.
"It's rude to show up late. Bad business sense to set appointments and then run thirty minutes late, that's all I'm saying." He turned and threw a stick for the puppy. She darted after it, bringing it back to the deck but keeping it barely out of his reach. Shaking his head in defeat, he murmured, "Just like a woman, and a red-headed woman to boot. You're a tease, Penny."
Jemma walked up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear, "No, she's a puppy, Daddy. I'm sorry I'm late. I had a last minute appointment to set up. I couldn't drive and write in my planner at the same time." She batted her eyelashes again. "Please forgive me. Besides, if I was ever on time, you would have a coronary for sure."
"Well, since you were making money, I'll forgive you." He wrapped her in a bear hug. Squeezing the air from her lungs in repayment for being late, he swept her off her feet and spun her in circles like he'd done since she was a little girl.
Once he set her on her feet again and released her, she decided to break the not so stellar news. "Uh, Daddy, you might not be so forgiving when I tell you who I made the appointment with."
"If they're paying you, I don't care if you're taking pictures for the devil himself."
"Close."
He stopped playing tug of war with the dog and returned his full attention to his daughter. "You have got to be yanking my chain, child. No one would marry that piece of..."
My Ex-Boyfriend's Wedding Page 2
