Lovestruck Forever

by Rachel Schurig

  After she finished in the bathroom, she joined me at the closet. “Let me guess—you’re stressing about your outfit?”

  I admitted that I was and she listened while I outlined my doubts, her arms crossed seriously. “I think your green dress is nice,” she finally told me. “But if it doesn’t inspire your confidence, it isn’t going to do you much good. How do you want to feel today?”

  I thought about that. “Confident. Sophisticated. Professional—less green and amateur than I really am.”

  She nodded. “We can do that.”

  Sofie spent the next ten minutes pulling clothes from the closet and mixing and matching before she was finally satisfied. “Okay, this is my skirt, but I think it will fit you.” She made a face at me. “Though your hips are much smaller—you might need a belt.”

  I rolled my eyes. “My hips are so not smaller than yours.”

  “Whatever.” Her expression turned sad. “They will be soon, that’s for damn sure. I’m getting gigantic.”

  I slung an arm around her shoulder. “I think you look great. You have that pregnant lady glow.”

  She made a big show of rolling her eyes as she ducked out from under my arm. “Try that on. We still need to do your hair and makeup and running late will only make you more nervous.”

  The outfit she had picked for me was a knee-length black pencil skirt and the white linen button-up that I had brought in case I decided on my suit. Unlike my somewhat shapeless suit, the shirt and skirt combo hugged my curves. She insisted I unbutton the first two buttons, just enough to show my collarbones. It was a simple look, so much that I worried it was too boring. “What do you think?” Sofie asked, appraising me. “I think you look great—really sophisticated and clean. How do you feel though?”

  I looked at myself in the mirror. The skirt had a high waist, cutting me off right at the narrowest part of my waist. “I feel skinny,” I said, laughing a little. “And you know how rare that is for any girl in our family.” I squinted at myself a little. “Do you think it’s too simple?”

  Sofie shook her head. “We’ll add some boho jewelry to liven it up. And maybe let your hair run a little wild.” She winked at me. “That should add some personality.”

  I decided to trust her. “I put myself into your hands.”

  As the clock inched forward, I once again found myself grateful that Thomas had rearranged my travel plans. Sofie, an expert at dealing with curls like mine, carefully dried my hair with a defuser, somehow making it look soft and frizz-free while maintaining the curls, a trick I had never quite mastered. She was much better at applying makeup, too. I usually stuck with a little concealer, mascara, and lip gloss, not really liking the overly made-up look. But Sofie carefully applied eye-makeup, bronzer, and lipstick. When she was finished, I marveled that she had somehow managed to make it look like I was barely wearing anything—yet I still looked a hundred times better than normal.

  “What do you think?” she asked once she was finished. She had lent me a long silver necklace of oddly shaped fragile chain links, deciding the boho look would be too much, and had left my hair soft and free around my face.

  “Perfect,” I told her. “This is just how I want to look today.” I turned to wrap my arms around her. “Thank you, Sofie. God, I’m so glad you’re here with me!”

  She squeezed me back. “It’s the least I can do, considering how much you guys are helping me.”

  Our hug was interrupted by a knock on the door. “I bet that’s your mom coming to check on you,” Sofie said. “You get it. I still have my pajamas on.”

  I ran to the door, throwing it open with a smile, eager to see my mom. Instead, I was smiling at a bellhop, whose face was almost completely obscured by a giant bouquet of roses. “Miss Medina?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I squeaked, totally taken aback by the massive arrangement.

  The man held the flowers out to me. “These are for you.”

  I took the cut-glass vase. It had to hold at least three-dozen roses. Belatedly, I realized that I should tip the guy. “Hang on,” I said, looking for a surface big enough to hold the flowers. “Let me grab my purse—”

  “It’s taken care of, Miss Medina. You have a good day.”

  Before I could argue, he was turning to go, leaving me in the doorway holding the flowers.

  “Holy crap,” Sofie said, coming out of the bathroom in her sundress. “Where did those come from?”

  I set the vase down on the table between our beds. “I’m guessing Thomas,” I told her, searching through the flowers for the card. I found a small piece of card stock and pulled it free. I have every confidence that you’ll do amazingly well, it read. I’ll be thinking of you all day. Good luck, love. Thomas.

  “Aw,” Sofie said, reading over my shoulder. “That’s sweet.”

  I ran my fingers over the letters, feeling better than I had since I woke up. If I was honest with myself, part of my nerves could be attributed to the fact that Thomas wasn’t here with me. I immediately realized that he would have anticipated that fact—that he had gone to these great lengths to get my family here just to lessen my nerves. These flowers, this reminder that he was thinking about me, that he knew how important this day was for me, made me feel so much better about things.

  “Crap, is that the time?” Sofie cried, looking at the alarm clock now mostly hidden behind flowers. “We’re supposed to be meeting your parents downstairs for breakfast.”

  She ran back to the bathroom to finish getting ready, and I sank onto the bed, the smell of roses thick in the air. I pulled out my phone and immediately started tapping out a text.

  Thank you so much for the flowers and for this entire trip, I wrote. I wish you were here but now it feels almost as if you are.

  I waited for his response, but my phone remained silent. He must be shooting, I thought, slipping my phone into my purse. I ran my fingers over his words one more time, trying to take strength and courage from them. I could do this.

  By the time we got down to the restaurant, my nerves were coming back. My parents were waiting for us at a table for four, and both stood to hug me when we approached. “You look lovely, Lizzie,” my mother said, squeezing me tight. “Oh, I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mama.” I hugged her back. “I’m so nervous my knees are shaking!”

  She released me so that my dad could hug me as well. “You’ll do just fine. Nothing to be nervous about.”

  “You should have seen the bouquet Thomas had sent,” Sofie said as we all took our seats. “I think he bought the entire flower shop.”

  “Our whole room smells like roses,” I confirmed, trying to dredge up the feeling of peace I had experienced while reading Thomas’s note. I stared down at the menu, wondering how I was going to manage to eat.

  Sofie, on the other hand, had no problem with her appetite. She had finally left the morning sickness of the first few months behind and seemed eager to eat everything she could get her hands on, ordering French toast, eggs, and bacon. When I failed to do much more than pick at my muffin, she ended up finishing that as well.

  “You should eat more,” my mom said, frowning at me. “You’ll need your energy.”

  “I’m fine,” I assured her. There was just no way that I was going to be able to take another bite with my stomach currently doing backflips.

  Seemingly content to keep my mind off things, my family spent most of breakfast discussing their plans for the day. Thomas had arranged a harbor tour before lunch, and secured tickets to both Ellis Island and the World Trade Center memorial. I wished I could join them—at that moment, their plans seemed much more preferable than my scary meetings.

  When it was finally time for me to leave to meet Ciara, I stood on shaking legs. My dad paid the bill so they could all walk me out to the lobby. “Good luck, chica!” Sofie said, hugging me. “You’re going to be fine.” She held me by the shoulders, giving me a stern look. “Don’t play with your hair, you’ll make it frizz.�
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  “Got it.” I turned to my dad who also hugged me.

  “We’re very proud of you, sweetheart,” he told me. I closed my eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of him—a combination of ivory soap and peppermint—and feeling incredibly grateful that we had patched things up.

  My mom looked a little teary when I turned to her, but when her eyes met mine, they were intense, fierce even. “You are going to do so well. I know it, Lizzie.”

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  She took me into her arms and I closed my eyes. When I had met with the Ellen Jacobs back in Los Angeles, I had wished so desperately that my mom could be there to wish me luck. There was something about her embrace, about the certainty in her voice that gave me strength. I squeezed her tightly and she held on for a long time.

  “I’m so proud of you, Elizabeth,” she murmured, her hands smoothing my hair. I pulled back to look at her—all traces of tears were gone now, her gaze sure and steady on me. “Go get ’em.”

  It was a cheesy line, the kind of thing only a parent could get away with, but it somehow made me feel much better. Strong. I smiled at her and nodded. “I will.”

  ***

  By the time I got back to the hotel that afternoon, I felt dazed and overwhelmed. Ciara had arranged four different meetings for us, with two more scheduled for the following day. The editors came from both large and medium-sized publishing houses, but all of them had been identical in their approach—they had all raved about my book, pitching me their plans for how we could make it a huge hit. I was relieved that not one of them mentioned any kind of tie-in with Thomas’s career, but didn’t fool myself—I knew I more than likely wouldn’t be getting this kind of reception if it wasn’t for the fact that a photograph of Thomas and me had graced the cover of several weekly entertainment magazines just last week with news of our engagement.

  I tried not to let those thoughts get the better of me, though. There was way too much to focus on without worrying about those kinds of things. Every editor we met with wanted to give me detailed explanations of their process and their marketing plans. I found myself hoping that Ciara was doing a better job of keeping it all straight than I was.

  “This is good,” she had told me in the taxi as we left the last publishing house. “They all seem very committed.”

  “Really? They don’t give that spiel to everyone?”

  She grinned at me over her Blackberry. “They give some kind of spiel to everyone. But not like that—they’re courting you, Lizzie. It’s a good thing.” She returned her attention to the Blackberry, a satisfied expression on her face. “It should be quite interesting to get the offers in.”

  I fiddled with Sofie’s necklace. “And when do you think that will be?”

  “I’ll let everyone know we’ll accept offers on Friday, extending to Monday if response is good. Then you’ll have a few days to decide.”

  I looked out the window at the teeming streets of Manhattan as we slowly made our way down Madison Avenue. It was nice that she was so confident, but I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe she had it all wrong. Was there really any chance that these publishing houses would actually make an offer on my book?

  My family was still out when I got back to the hotel, and I reveled in the chance to relax on my own, to get my thoughts in order. I pulled off the uncomfortable heels Sofie had lent me and stretched out across my bed, staring at the flowers on the nightstand. I had to admit that today had gone much better than my prior brief experience meeting with editors. That day had ended with Thomas and me having a major fight as I accused him of arranging the entire meeting.

  A knock on the door startled me. I pulled myself from the bed and went to look through the peephole. My father stood in the hall, waiting for me to answer the door.

  I quickly unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. “Daddy,” I said, surprised. “I didn’t think you were back yet.”

  I moved out of the way so he could enter the room. “Thomas booked a pedicure for your mother and cousin at the hotel’s spa,” he said. “I thought I’d come up to see if you were back yet.” He looked around the basic room, shaking his head slightly. “I would have thought he’d splurge on the suite for you, not us.”

  “He wanted to do something special for you,” I said.

  My dad’s face grew very serious. “Please make sure he knows he doesn’t have to try to impress us, Lizzie. He’s going to be a member of the family.”

  I squirmed a little, uncomfortable. I had been wondering if my dad would be turned off by the amount of money Thomas had clearly spent. “He knows that, Daddy. He just…he would consider it a sign of respect. Putting the two of you in a suite. I swear he’s not trying to be flashy.” I swallowed hard and fidgeted with the cuffs of my sleeves. “I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “No, Lizzie,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean that.” He peered into my face. “You look exhausted. I haven’t even asked you how the meetings went. Come on, let’s go downstairs and get some coffee, and we can talk about it.”

  “That sounds great.” I allowed him to steer me from the room. In the hallway, he took my hand and slipped it into the crook of his elbow.

  “Your mother and I are having a wonderful time,” he said, pushing the button for the elevator. “I didn’t mean to sound as if that wasn’t the case.”

  “I’m glad, Dad.”

  The elevator arrived, and I could tell he was watching me as we entered. “Does the money issue bother you?” he asked.

  I nodded, not meeting his eyes. “It’s always been strange for me, since we first started dating.”

  “Why?”

  I finally looked at him. His expression was genuinely curious. “Because you and Mama always raised us to take care of ourselves. To be self-reliant, like you guys are. I…I’ve never really been comfortable with him spending money on me. It feels too much like a hand-out.”

  Before he could answer, the elevator dinged and the doors opened to the lobby. We didn’t speak as we made our way to the restaurant where we’d had breakfast that morning. A waiter greeted us immediately, and my dad ordered us each a cup of coffee and a plate of pastries. Once the waiter had gone, my dad folded his arms on the table, giving me a searching look.

  “Lizzie, your mother and I raised you and your brothers and sisters to take care of yourselves.” I looked away, feeling like my fears were confirmed. He didn’t approve of Thomas’s money, either. But then he went on. “We want you to be proud of yourselves and what you’ve earned, but you need to remember that pride can be a sin.”

  I looked up at him, surprised.

  “Once the two of you are married, you’ll be a family. What’s his will be yours, and vice versa. You can’t go around resenting his money—that will lead to serious problems in your marriage. I don’t want that for you.”

  “So…you’re saying I should just shut my mouth and let him spend money on me?” I asked. He chuckled.

  “I wouldn’t say it quite like that. But I think Thomas has proven that he’s a levelheaded young man. He hardly seems like the type to be wasteful with his money.”

  “He’s not,” I assured my dad. “His apartment in London is about the size of our garage, and he’s been there for years.”

  “That sounds like him. Besides, wouldn’t you rather he be generous than stingy?”

  “Of course.” I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but Thomas was one of the most generous people I’d ever known. I couldn’t imagine anyone ever describing him as stingy.

  “To be honest with you, it makes me happy that you’ve chosen someone who can take care of you.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his patriarchal point of view. “I know,” he said, seeing my expression. “You can take care of yourself. But I’m your father. Of course I want what’s best for you. And it gives me comfort to know that you’ll never be without.”

  Our order arrived and we both busied ourselves adding cream and sugar to our coffees. “Look, Li
zzie,” my dad finally said. “Your mother and I are having a wonderful time here. We’re so grateful to Thomas for making this happen. I only brought it up because I want to make sure he knows he’s welcome in our family. He doesn’t owe us anything. Do you understand?”

  I felt like crying. I’d wanted to hear those words from my dad for so long. “I do, Daddy.”

  He smiled at me. “Good. I know I… It wasn’t right, the way I acted toward the two of you. I’ll probably always regret that.”

  The part of me that hated to see him upset wanted to tell him that it was fine, that I’d forgotten all about it, but the part of me that had cried countless tears over his disownment wouldn’t let me. Instead, I merely nodded.

  “I realize now that you were right—right to leave, right to go back to him. You’re supposed to fight for the people you love. I’m…I’m proud of you, that you were able to do that.”

  My head snapped up, shocked. I had never imagined I would hear him say he was proud of me for defying him. But his expression was solemn, and I knew he was telling me the truth.

  “I couldn’t imagine anyone better for you, Lizzie. I really couldn’t.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, hoping he could tell how much his words meant to me.

  He reached across the table to lightly punch my shoulder, more of a tap, really, the way he had since I was a kid. It was such a quintessential dad move, it made me want to cry even more. “Don’t you go getting sappy on me.”

  I laughed. “Okay, Daddy.”

  He grinned at me, and I could feel whatever resentment and anger that had remained since I left home melt away. I thought I’d forgiven him a long time ago, but now, for the first time, I realized that I really and truly could let go of the hurt of those bad months.

  “Now,” he said, reaching for a raspberry scone. “Tell me about your meetings.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Thursday, our last day in the city and my first day with no meetings, we picked up Callie at her office to join us for some wedding dress shopping. “I’m so excited!” she squealed once she’d hopped into the hired car. “I’m so glad Thomas thought of this—I would have been so sad if I missed you trying on wedding dresses.”