The Marriage Pact

by Pullen, M. J.

  Marci stared at her reflection in an old wooden mirror, watching the chaos behind her. They were in a small room off the upper chamber of Demosthenian Hall on the North Quad, which smelled like old books and furniture polish. Suzanne flitted around the musty room, pulling things out of boxes and making notations on her clipboard. Her mother was steaming the last wrinkles out of Marci’s dress and calling out advice to both Suzanne and Nicole, who wore matching blue dresses.

  Nicole’s daughter Ayanna, now four months old, also wore a tiny version of the same dress with matching bloomers. The dresses were lovely on the women, but against Ayanna’s soft brown baby skin, the effect was gorgeous. The cuteness of this was somewhat diminished by the fact that the baby was uncharacteristically inconsolable. Normally a calm kid, she screamed no matter what Nicole did—sitting, standing, walking, rocking, or singing. Nicole shushed her desperately and kept throwing apologetic looks at Marci. “I think she’s teething. She won’t be this way during the ceremony. I promise!”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Marci said. “She’s fine. Babies cry.”

  “You have no right to be so calm right now,” Suzanne said. “You are setting an unfair standard for brides everywhere.”

  Truthfully, Marci was amazed at her own sense of tranquility. She knew that she was supposed to be all keyed up about her wedding day, worried about the details, nervous about the rest of her life, and so on. But she just didn’t feel any of that. Even knowing that a couple hundred people were filling the University Chapel next door did not weigh on her the way she had imagined it would.

  It helped that Suzanne had every last detail handled—from start to finish. This wedding was the first she had agreed to plan in years, and she had gone to great lengths to make sure Marci had a gorgeous event with absolutely nothing to worry about. The Stillwells had contributed, too, by insisting on underwriting the entire cost of the reception at their favorite hotel in downtown Athens.

  “Robert’s stroke reminded us to celebrate today,” Kitty had told Marci with uncharacteristic candor. “Besides, we’re pushing all our fuddy-duddy friends on you for this wedding. The least we can do is feed them!”

  But Marci suspected that, most of all, her calm came from the rocky road behind her. She had known two loves in the last year, and experienced the worst heartaches of her life with each of them. She knew now how much it meant to choose Jake, and how close she had come to losing him forever. Now that they were together, the last six months had been the best of her life. Planning the wedding had been fun, but to her it was only one day of many with the man she had loved for so long, and grown to appreciate so fully.

  She had heard from Doug very little since the Hyatt. He had waited a few weeks before calling her, and then had only left messages checking to see how she was doing. She only called him back once, to let him know about her engagement and ask him not to call again. He had respected her wishes for the most part, breaking the silence only to send her a wedding gift.

  The return address label read “The Stantons.” So he was back with Cathy. Or maybe he’d simply used an old address label. When she opened the box, she found a beautiful and expensive monogrammed desk set with her new initials stamped into the soft leather pieces. It also included customized stationery (also for Marci only) and a Mont Blanc pen just like one she had admired in Doug’s office, only in a softer, silvery pink color.

  Clearly it was a very personal, pricey gift, that had nothing whatsoever to do with her marriage. She was touched that he’d thought so much of her, but angry that he was clearly ignoring the new husband with whom she would soon be sharing her life. Just like Doug, it was generous and selfish all at once. How could she keep it and not think of him every time she went to her desk?

  She debated whether to show it to Jake, hide it in a closet somewhere, or even mail it back to Doug with a polite refusal. Ultimately, she stuck with her policy of always being honest with Jake, almost tearful when she showed him the expensive gift and told him why she didn’t want to keep it.

  Jake pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. “Do what you want, sweetheart. But if I were you, I’d keep it. It’s a nice gift from someone who you once cared about; it doesn’t change who we are now.” She snuggled closer to him, relieved and grateful, more sure than ever that she’d made the right choice.

  A few days later, she had opened the new stationery, which really was quite lovely, and written the last communication she would ever send to him:

  Dear Doug,

  Thank you for your beautiful wedding gift. It was so nice of you to remember us at this special time in our lives.

  All the best,

  Jake and Marci

  Now that the day was here, Marci felt as though all the previous chapters of her life had already drawn to a close. She let her mother, best friend, and sister fuss over her makeup and dress and flowers. As soon as she’d been wrangled into her soft ivory dress, Beth and Leah—wearing identical dresses to Nicole and Suzanne—came up the rickety old stairs with their daughters, the flower girls. Jasmine and Caitlin wore ivory dresses with indigo ribbons around their waists and streaming from their hair.

  “Aunt Marci!” Jasmine cried excitedly. “We get to ring the chapel bell after the wedding! Both of us get to, but I’m letting Caitlin go first because that’s the nice thing to do!”

  “Really? That’s wonderful!” Marci said. She smiled at Leah, who shook her head in amusement.

  “Time to go, ladies!” she heard her father call from below. “Let’s have a wedding!”

  As Marci navigated down the stairs of and into the bright sunshine, she allowed thoughts of Doug to fade into the rustle of the late-summer breeze. The chapel, nearly two hundred years old, loomed in front of her with its Greek columns and antique white exterior. She had walked past it thousands of times during her undergraduate years, sat on its steps to chat with friends or eat lunch, and been inside for a few concerts and other assemblies. The building was as familiar as her dorm hall or the quad itself.

  Today, however, she was seeing the old building for the first time. It was acquiring significance in her life that would be recalled every time she looked at a photo album, came to a football game, or told the story of her wedding. Inside, she knew, waited worn red carpets, theater seats, and a rounded stage. Behind the stage would be a famous oil painting of the inside of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. There would be candelabras and flowers, and Reverend McClosky, waiting with the groomsmen. And standing off to one side, probably fidgeting, would be her old friend and future husband.

  The majestic trees of the North Quad swayed and Marci inhaled deeply. Suzanne squeezed her hand as the bridesmaids lined up. Her father took her arm in his. Marci realized she wanted to leave all of her history, even with Jake, here on the granite steps. She wanted her life to have new significance, too.

  As Marci began the walk toward her new life, it was with the fullness of a truly open heart.

  Acknowledgements

  I have been blessed with an incredibly loving and supportive network of friends and family, all of whom contributed to this book in one way or another. Thanks to all the early readers and editors who helped make the book better, especially Kristal Goelz, Ryan Van Meter, and Carla Birnbaum. I am also grateful to my family for their support, and my husband for his infinite patience and encouragement. --MJP

  Cover Art by Marla Kaplan. www.marlakaplandesign.com

  “Valentine” lyrics ©1999 Songs Music Publishing LLC, Rhett Miller, Murry Hammond, Philip Wayne Peeples, Kendall Bethea. Used with permission. www.old97s.com

  About the Author

  M.J. Pullen studied English Literature at the University of Georgia in Athens. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and two sons. This is her first novel.

  www.facebook.com/MJPullenBooks

  www.mjpullen.com

  Twitter: @MJPullen

  Continue reading for an excerpt from the sequel to this novel, Regrets Only. (Available August 201
2).

  Excerpt: Regrets Only

  M.J. Pullen

  August 2012

  And then, after a quarter of an hour's conversation, let the lady release the gentleman from further attendance, by bowing to him, and turning to some other acquaintance who may not be far off. She can leave him much more easily than he can leave her, and it will be better to do so in proper time, than to detain him too long. It is generally in his power to return to her before the close of the evening, and if he is pleased with her society, he will probably make an opportunity of doing so.

  —Eliza Leslie

  The Ladies' Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners

  or, Miss Leslie's Behaviour Book

  Chapter 1

  Atlanta, Georgia—March 2008

  Suzanne Hamilton toyed with a cherry stem while she waited for her date to arrive at the restaurant. She’d ordered a cosmopolitan on a whim after getting a message that Rick would be late, and wolfed it down far faster than she intended. Never more than one drink with dinner, her mother’s tinkling Southern drawl reminded her. And for heaven’s sake, Suzie, order a salad. Men don’t want to marry a girl who eats like a wild boar.

  She caught herself clicking her shoes together under the bar and hurriedly changed positions. The new Beverly Feldman pumps had been special ordered from New York and had to stay scuff-free until at least after the Dylan Burke benefit at the High Museum. It wasn’t the three-hundred dollar price tag that concerned her so much as having to admit to her assistant Chad that he had been right, that she should save them for the gala.

  The bartender approached her. “Can I get you another, Barbie?”

  She shook her head, ignoring his attempt at humor. Tall and thin (and tonight with her long platinum blonde hair in a ponytail), she knew she should be flattered by the comparison to a doll, but she wasn’t. He returned to drying glasses and talking about football with a large man in a suit at the other end of the bar. Restless, she pulled out her phone and dialed Marci.

  “Hey,” her best friend greeted her after two rings. “What are you doing calling on a Friday night? Don’t you have a date?”

  “First of all, 6:30 is not Friday night. It’s happy hour. And, I do have a date; he’s just running late.”

  Marci did not answer immediately, and Suzanne could hear Marci’s husband Jake whispering in the background. “Right…okay,” Marci said finally, sounding distracted.

  “Hello?” Suzanne said.

  “Sorry, honey. Jake says ‘hi.’”

  “Hi, Jake. Look, Marce, you’ve got to keep talking to me until he gets here. Sitting alone at the bar is just so pathetic.” Two seats away, a man writing in a spiral notebook shot her a withering look. “Sorry,” Suzanne mouthed to him.

  “So who are you waiting for? Is it the basketball player? What was his name?”

  “Damian. And, no, I stopped seeing him weeks ago.”

  “Oh, no! I liked him!” Marci protested. Then, to Jake, “She broke up with Damian.”

  In the background, Suzanne heard Jake’s familiar voice, sounding disappointed. “Aw, man. Ask her if I still get my tickets.”

  “No!” Marci squealed, in that flirty way girls do when they are pretending to rebuff the attention of an attractive man. Suzanne heard a soft smacking sound that she could only guess was Marci hitting Jake in the chest or shoulder, followed by rustling and giggling. “Ow, Jake, quit it. I am trying to talk to Suzanne. STOOOOP.”

  Ugh.

  Suzanne held the phone away from her ear and stared up at the track lighting over the bar. Fucking newlyweds. You would think after three years of marriage they’d be past this intolerable stage by now. Finally she said in her least sincere sweet voice, “Alrighty, then, I can hear that you guys are busy, so I’ll just let you go.”

  “No, Suze, I’m sorry. I can talk.” Marci sounded genuinely apologetic. “I’ll banish Jake to the office. What happened with Damian? He seemed so great.”

  “Nothing happened. He’s too young for me, for starters.”

  “Oh, come on, he adores you. And he was only, what, five years younger?”

  Thirty-three minus twenty-two… “Nine. Wait, no! Eleven.”

  “Oh, really? And playing professionally already? Well, I still think you should’ve held onto him.”

  “Thanks for your input.” Suzanne was colder with her best friend than she intended. She was thrilled, of course, that Marci and Jake were finally together after all these years. But it was beginning to feel more and more important to them that she, too, should be happily paired off. “Trust me, it wasn’t going to work out with Damian.”

  “So who is it tonight, Alex Rodriguez?”

  “Oh, I’m working my way through the entire Yankees roster tonight. That’s why I have to start so early.”

  Marci’s laugh was real, and Suzanne smiled too. “Actually, his name is Rick, and I met him at that big conference I planned last month. He’s in medical sales. We’ve only been out a couple of times, but he’s very cute.”

  “Awesome,” Marci said. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

  “Yeah, I think he has potential,” Suzanne said in a noncommittal tone. “He’s so different from anyone I’ve dated recently. I mean, he does have a little of that ‘aging frat boy’ quality about him, but it’s not terrible. He’s just a little laid back. But smart and funny.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Marci muttered, obviously not listening.

  “So for our third date, we’re going to get hammered and get matching tattoos,” Suzanne said. “I’m thinking about a full sleeve with a Wizard of Oz theme. Munchkins everywhere. Do you think I can still wear a strapless gown to the gala?”

  “Sure, sounds fun.”

  “MARCI!!”

  “Oh, God, Suze, I’m sorry. Jake just…”

  “It’s okay,” Suzanne lied. “Rick is here so I need to run.”

  “Okay, sweetie, I’ll talk to you—”

  She snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bar. The guy with the notebook rolled his eyes. Before she could respond, the phone rang almost immediately. “No, Marci, I am not mad at you,” she answered.

  “That’s a relief.” Chad sounded less than amused. “I have the Friday wrap-up before I go. I’m off tomorrow, right?”

  “Yep. Big plans tonight?”

  “No. Just some party David is dragging me to. But of course, thanks to you I don’t enjoy parties anymore. I’m always noticing that the drinks are watered down or the cocktail napkins don’t match the theme. God, I have to get another job.”

  “Love you, too, Chad.” Suzanne said. After four years together, they both knew the only thing Chad liked more than working for her was complaining about working for her.

  He let out a deep sigh. “So, anyway. Betsy Fuller-Brown called about meeting next week. She wants to go over the schematics for the Firefly Gala on Monday afternoon. Your calendar was clear, so I told her you were available. Meeting at Rathbun’s at four.”

  “Perfect, thanks.” Suzanne loved that Betsy, the hummingbird-sized development director at the High Museum, always wanted to have their lunch meetings at a steakhouse.

  “Couple of potential new projects. UPS is having some formal thing at the aquarium; they apparently really liked what you did for them last year.”

  “We,” she corrected.

  “Hey, you’re the face of this operation. I’m just the hired help. Anyway, the other one is an Internet company I’ve never heard of, doing an IPO party. Have we ever done that before?”

  “Eh,” Suzanne said. “I have. Those things are so hit or miss. Sometimes they get a little theme-crazy. We’ll look up their executive team. If there’s anyone exciting, we’ll send them a high bid and make it worth our while.”

  “Cool. Your mom called,” Chad went on, “to ask whether you were going to ride with her to the League Annual Meeting or drive separately. I thought you weren’t going?”

  “I’m not. It’s the day before the gala. I told her that.”
>
  “She called me ‘Christopher’ again,” he whined.

  “Sorry,” Suzanne said, waving at Rick as he entered the restaurant. He wore dark-colored khakis and a slightly-sweaty yellow golf shirt. She wrinkled her nose. To Chad she said, “Look at it this way: at least she’s moved on from calling you ‘that nice gay boy who works for Suzanne.’ That’s progress.”

  Rick approached, reaching for her, and Suzanne held up a finger. “Um, sure,” Chad said, unamused. “Last thing. That girl Penny called again about internship opportunities. What do you want me to tell her?”

  “Oh, right, I forgot about that,” Suzanne said. “What do you think? Do we want an intern?”

  “By ‘intern’ you mean some clueless person who would follow me around all day asking stupid questions and getting in the way?”

  Suzanne laughed. “Probably. Though she might be good for some of the grunt work.”

  “Not worth it,” Chad said. “This office is small enough already.”

  “Fair enough,” said Suzanne. “Okay, I gotta run. Call her back Monday and give her our sincerest regrets. Don’t worry about Mom; I’ll handle that one myself.”

  “Yeah, you seriously don’t pay me enough for that one.”

  “I don’t pay me enough for that, either,” she said, and hung up. She kissed Rick on the cheek and followed him to a table.

  During dinner, Rick talked about work while Suzanne toyed with her Cobb salad. From what she could tell, he really seemed to love his job. A particular type of personality was required to be successful in sales—bombastic, friendly, guileless—and Rick fit the part. All this, along with a seemingly genuine interest in every single word she said, had drawn her to him when they met a couple of weeks before. He was such a gentleman that he had even pretended, briefly, to be surprised when she suggested they go back to his hotel room just a few hours after they met.