Absinthe Of The Heart (Sins Of The Heart Book 1)

by Monica James

  “Speaking of aisles…have you decided on a dress yet?”

  The thought of discussing this with my mom and dad suddenly has me reaching for a ketchup-covered French fry.

  Lincoln and I both decided on a small wedding with just family and a few friends. My parents offered to host the ceremony in their home, and after seeing the gardens, I couldn’t think of a more perfect place.

  But that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

  I haven’t even thought about catering, or decorations, or even a guest list. So when my mom mentions the word “dress,” I, of course, break out in hives. “I was just going to wear something I already had,” I reply, discreetly scratching under my ear.

  But my mother looks as if I’ve just told her I’ve opted to go naked instead. “Holland, no, this is your wedding day. It’s a day you’ll always remember. I know you have lovely clothes, but you have to get a dress.”

  Swirling my leftover fries in the puddle of ketchup and mustard, I avoid answering her for as long as I can. I have no idea why this is making me so uncomfortable. The thought of trying on dress after dress with endless buttons, tight-fitting bodices, and enough tulle to make me look like a meringue sets off my allergies and everywhere begins to itch.

  “Maybe we could go shopping tomorrow? And pick up some supplies too?”

  Beads of sweat begin to gather on the small of my back, and I’m suddenly blistering in my seat. Reaching for a stack of napkins, I use them as a makeshift fan. “Is it hot in here?” I in no way address my mother’s question, which has both my parents looking at one another in worry.

  “You do want to marry Lincoln, don’t you?” It’s now my father’s turn for the third degree.

  “Yes, of course, I do,” I reply with a little more heat than I intended. What the hell is the matter with me? “We can definitely go wedding dress shopping.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.

  “Sweetie—” my mom reaches across the retro-style booth and grips both my hands “—if you’re having cold feet, you can always postpone. This has come about awfully soon and no one would blame you if you needed more time…”

  The fact she leaves her sentence suspended in midair has me wondering what exactly she intended to say. But there is no way I need more time to do anything. I love Lincoln, and I want to marry him. Yes, it’s sudden, but this is what I want. This is what we need.

  Yet you can’t stomach the thought of trying on a dress. Why? a small, bothersome voice says, playing devil’s advocate. That voice can go to hell.

  “I need to use the bathroom.” I shoot upright, sending the plates and silverware on the countertop about five feet into the air.

  “Holland…”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” Tell that to the rash spreading up my neck like an out of control wildfire.

  I don’t wait around for her reply. Instead, I push past the diners and practically run to the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. The moment I scamper inside, I take three deep breaths, afraid I’m on the cusp of passing out.

  Thankfully, no one is in here to witness my meltdown because I have no idea what’s wrong and how long this freak-out will last.

  Once my breaths have returned to a semi-normal pace, I amble over to the basins and turn the silver faucet to cold. My flesh is still burning up, so the cool water feels heavenly against my heated skin as I bend low and splash it onto my face.

  Bracing both hands against the white marble counter, I peer at my reflection in the mirror. I cringe when my mirror image reveals I look as crappy as I feel. “Pull it together,” I whisper to myself.

  I haven’t felt this anxious since…

  My hands begin to shake as I smooth out the already straightened wisps of hair brushed back into my chignon. I’ve changed into a black pencil skirt and a white silk camisole, but I suddenly feel like a stranger in my own skin.

  The seventeen-year-old Holland Brooks-Ferris would be shaking her head at me and scoffing—I’ve sold out, she’d say. I’ve turned into something I used to hate. My designer clothes are because of work, I reason with her, but in response, she flips me off.

  I suddenly remember the soccer mom who demanded I clean up her child’s mess when I worked at Paradisco. At the time, I thought I’d never turn into someone like her. And I haven’t—or have I?

  Sighing, I shakily hunt through my bag and try my best to reapply the makeup I scrubbed off. Mid lipstick stroke, a voice shrieks to my left, transporting me back in time.

  “Holland? Holland Brooks-Ferris?”

  With my lipstick still in hand, I turn slowly and focus on the pretty girl beside me. It takes me a moment to remember her face, but when I do, I’m suddenly sixteen again.

  I recap the lipstick, afraid I’ll detour from my lips and make a mess otherwise. “Oh my god, Chloe Helm?”

  She nods excitedly, her sea green eyes lighting up with glee. “Yes, it’s me. Holy shit! Look at you. I hardly recognized you.”

  You and me both, that niggling voice whisper-yells in my ear.

  Ignoring it, I smile, happy to see my high school friend. “I could say the same thing. You look incredible, Chloe.” Chloe was a little chubby in high school, not that it mattered to me, but now, she looks like a freaking supermodel.

  She brushes a hand down her red summer dress with pride. “Thanks. It’s amazing what being happy can do. Speaking of…” Her gaze drops to my hand which rests limply by my side. “You’re engaged?”

  “Oh, yes, I am,” I reply, snapping from my daze.

  “Show me!” she squeals, making grabby fingers. I offer her my hand. She examines my ring, whistling. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Lincoln O’Toole,” I reveal, not thinking it’s a big deal until her jaw drops to the ground.

  “Oh my god!”

  I recoil backward, a little overwhelmed by her excitement. If this much excitement was articulated in New York, we’d be questioning if the government laced the air with happy gas. “Yes, we’re getting married in three weeks.” I have no idea why I just told her that, but I suppose it’s normal behavior for a bride-to-be, right?

  The seventeen-year-old me shrugs.

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “I…um, nothing really.” Not my most eloquent moment.

  She clutches my bicep, her Tiffany bracelets jingling. “Come get a drink with me. I’d love to catch up. It’s been so long.” My hesitation may as well be written across the California sky. “Please. One drink.” For emphasis, she interlaces her fingers, on the cusp of begging.

  How can I say no? “Okay, just one drink.”

  She claps, jigging on the spot. “I’ve missed you so much. One of my favorite memories is the night we ventured into the woods, looking for Belle…”

  The memory slams into me, leaving me grinning uncomfortably because I think I’m seconds from throwing up. “Yeah, we were stupid kids,” I say, hoping I sound casual and aloof. “I just have to let my parents know we’re going out. I’ll meet you out there?” Chloe nods, her plump pink lips tipping into an energized grin.

  The moment I step from the bathroom, I take yet another breath to liberate my lungs. It seems to be all I’m doing these days. Even though I’m hit with a waft of burger and fries, it helps calm the nerves. The diner is hip and retro, everything you’d expect from an establishment located on the strip. It’s bustling with locals and tourists alike, all in good spirits, ready to tackle whatever the weekend throws their way.

  A thought occurs to me. I’ve never actually been out bar hopping in L.A. I left for Florida when I was seventeen, and even when I went to Stanford, the nightlife on campus kept me more than entertained. But deep down, the thought of venturing back out into the wilderness was far scarier than I cared to admit. I was happy to leave the old Holland Brooks-Ferris behind and focus on reinventing myself, which I thought I did, until I came back here and realized the ghosts of my past wouldn’t leave well enough alone.

  Chloe only had to say Belle’s name, and i
t was enough to transport me back in time. I remember his smell, I can taste his touch, but more than anything, my heart remembers how easy it was to love him, even when it shouldn’t have.

  My mom stares at me from across the room. Her concern and fear are palpable from here. Does she wish things were different? Is she wondering what her life would have been like if I were never born?

  Tears sting my eyes because a small part me knows how much easier things would have been if she’d just done what almost anyone her age would have done. She gave me life and all I seem to do is ruin hers.

  Pulling back my shoulders, I stage a smile, hoping the sadness doesn’t show behind my eyes. I have no idea what’s wrong with me, but it needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. “You guys wouldn’t mind if I went out for a drink with a friend?”

  My mom pales while my dad sits tall in his seat, his fists clenched. “Who?” And just like that, I’m seventeen again, reliving the worse night of my life.

  They’ve forgiven me for my sins once before, but I don’t think they’ll be so understanding a second time around. But they won’t have to. Whatever temporary insanity plagues me is no longer. I’ve come here to marry the man of my dreams and forget a small sliver of my heart still belongs to someone else.

  “Chloe Helm. We went to school together. I won’t be long.”

  My parents’ disposition instantly changes, their relief clear. “Of course, Sweetie. Go, have fun. Do you want to use the car?” My dad raises the keys.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll grab a cab. I’ll see you soon.” Bending down, I kiss my mom’s cheek. “Oh, and tomorrow sounds great. I’ll make a list of places we can visit. There’s a store in Bel Air I wouldn’t mind checking out. Lots of white and puffy tulle.”

  Mom’s eyes swell, and she nods happily. “Sounds wonderful. I can’t wait. Chloe can come along too. We can make a day of it.”

  I know what she’s doing. She thinks this change of heart has got to do with seeing an old friend and reminiscing. Not wanting to disappoint her further, I nod. “Sure, I’ll ask her.”

  Chloe emerges from the bathroom, searching through the throngs of people. I give her a small wave, my parents following my line of sight. Their shoulders relax when they see I’m telling the truth. No one is to blame for planting that seed of doubt but me.

  “Hello!” Chloe has always been sociable, and it seems even in adulthood, she can make friends easily.

  “Hello, Chloe. It’s so lovely to see you again. How are your parents?”

  “My mom is great, thanks. She’s opened a boutique in Beverly Hills. As for my dad, he’s onto marriage number five, with someone twenty years his junior, so I’d say he’s tired and probably broke.”

  I snort beside her, quickly covering my mouth to mute my outburst. Chloe was always full of spunk. Looks like some things never change.

  “Holland and I will be going dress shopping tomorrow. Please feel free to come along.”

  Chloe spins, eyes wide. “Wedding dress shopping?”

  I nod, needing a pep in my step. “We sure are!” I rein it in, however, because that’s pep jacked up on Red Bull.

  “Oh my god, you must come down to mom’s boutique then. I should have mentioned the store she opened was a bridal boutique.” Whatever gods are looking down at me are laughing rowdily at my expense.

  “Yay,” I reply with little to no oomph, but Chloe doesn’t seem to notice or care.

  “It’s settled then. Girls’ day out!”

  Both my mom and Chloe clap in excitement, while I discreetly check my glands as I’m running a fever and am certain I’ve caught Ebola.

  “Have fun, you two.” I can’t remember the last time I saw my mom so happy, but I suppose we have missed out on a lot of the girly stuff growing up. This will be good for her, and I guess I do need a dress. Two birds, one stone…

  “See you guys later.” I wave goodbye to my parents, pleased Mom looks so joyful at the prospect of spending the entire day shopping.

  Chloe loops her arm through mine, chatting a hundred miles a minute, while I allow her to guide me because I have no idea where we’re going.

  As Chloe details her job as a dental hygienist and the importance of flossing, my mind wanders to my mom. We haven’t really had a chance to do all the mother-daughter things most families do because I’ve lived so far away from her for years.

  Stanford was over six hours away from where we used to live. We visited one another, but my mother never smothered me. She let me spread my wings and fly. I don’t regret my decision because my early twenties were some of the best times of my life. I lived, learned, and I loved. But now, I realize, I’ve missed so much.

  I don’t remember seeing the fine lines around her eyes when she laughs. I wasn’t there when she won a trip to Disneyland but decided to give it to the Donaldsons, our old neighbors who had a son with cerebral palsy. I’ve grown, but I feel like that growth came at a price. I knew coming back here wasn’t going to be easy, but I’m certain I’ve gotten an ulcer, and it’s not even been twenty-four hours yet.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

  “Yes. What? Hang on, no?” I reply in a rushed breath. I was barely listening to Chloe, once again lost in my head.

  Our arms are still thankfully linked because if I was left to fend for myself, I’d have knocked over a dozen or so pedestrians in my stupor. “I am just so happy you’re here. You just vanished. The school was rampant with rumors.”

  I gulp but keep my cool. “I bet. It wouldn’t be Harvard-Westlake otherwise.”

  Our heels click against the pavement, the bright glow from billboards and neon lights lighting up our path. “Where did you go?”

  This question was unavoidable, and I knew she’d ask me sooner or later. I figure I best answer it now and clear the air. “I went to Florida to stay with my aunt.” She nods. “I needed to get out of L.A. The air was toxic, and I mean that in every literal sense there is.”

  Chloe’s warm eyes soften. She knows exactly what I mean. She may not know the reason, but at one time or another, we’ve all wanted to get lost and never be found.

  Just as she opens her mouth, my cell chimes loudly, saving me from her twenty questions. Hunting through my bag, I’m thankful for the derailment.

  It’s Lincoln. “Hey.”

  “Hey babeee,” he slurs, hinting he’s completely shitfaced—so much for a quick catch-up.

  “Where are you?” My tone isn’t accusing, just curious.

  My question is answered seconds later when a riotous roar blares through the phone. I yank it away from my ear, the holler still echoing loudly. “Just some sports bar. We’re watching the game.”

  “Okay, so you’ll be staying a while.”

  “Um, yeah. The boys are all here—”

  I cut him off. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain anything to me. Have fun.”

  “Thanks, babe. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” The thunderous background chatter reminds me of all the football games I was forced to sit through.

  “Linc—c’mon, next round is on you!” says some cheapskate buffoon.

  Chloe smoothly steers me toward a darkened doorway as I attempt to keep walking straight. The gigantic bouncer extends his palm, a silent demand for ‘show me your ID.’ As I rummage through my bag, I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Tomorrow I’m going dress—”

  A deafening, “Touchdown!” followed by men hollering and hooting encroaches on my news.

  “Okay, babe, have fun, bye.”

  My mouth moves in wordless animation because I’m midsentence. The phone is still pressed to my ear, but the line is dead. Well, this is new.

  “Miss?” the annoyed bouncer snaps, jutting out his palm. Disgruntled patrons behind me announce their annoyance because I’m holding up the line. “Your ID.” He rolls his eyes, as the need to speak is obviously not part of his job description.

  I quickly compose myself and find my license. H
anding it to him, the Hulk Hogan wannabe, handlebar moustache and all, snatches it from my fingers. “I figured. I didn’t think you were asking for a clue, although, you could probably use one, seeing as it’s California law that you can’t carry a concealed weapon. I hope you have a permit, otherwise your boss is going to be pissed.” His hand shoots out to touch his badly concealed piece at the small of his back.

  I grin smugly, jutting my own hand out, demanding my ID back. He flicks it over to me, the corded veins in his neck threatening to pop. He doesn’t even bother looking over Chloe’s and moves to the side, allowing us entry.

  Chloe snorts while I brush past him, grinning smugly. He touches his earpiece, mouthing something into his microphone, eyeballing the hell out of me. I wave my finger in response. “You go, girl,” Chloe shouts into my ear to be heard over “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga.

  The song seems fitting as this bar is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Too caught up in my phone call, I paid no attention to where Chloe was leading me, but now that I’m inside, this place has my undivided attention.

  This luxurious lounge-meets-nightclub-meets-bar is sexy, grungy, and regal all at the same time. Red booths and plush tables are scattered around the darkened room, giving the venue an intimate feel. Gold and black velvet walls look plush and majestic, but to the left, a brick wall has one wondering if they’ve stepped into a different room.

  In the center of the dance floor is a podium with red velvet carpet. Sitting dead center is a shiny stripper pole.

  My eyes can’t take in the sights fast enough. The mixed bunch of patrons waiting by the bar, bopping to the music, come in all different shapes and sizes. Hipsters, valley girls, scene kids, and yuppies all play nice together, which is a first. It could be the copious amounts of alcohol flowing freely, however, because that bar is the biggest I’ve ever seen.

  Its mirrored countertop could add to the illusion, but the brick wall behind the bar has shelf upon shelf stocked full with every bottle of booze imaginable. The shelves are lit by bright fluorescent blues and pinks, the outlandish colors mingling with the enormous crystal chandelier hanging low above the bar staff’s heads as they work the floor with ease.