by Karen Cimms
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Sneak Peek
Broadway Beans
About the Author
Also by Karen Cimms
© 2018 by Karen Cimms
Cover Designer: Garrett Cimms
Interior Designer: The Write Assistants
Line Editing: Lisa Poisso
Proofreading: Lori Ryser
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Foreword
Mrs. February is the final book in the Calendar Girl Duet. It is not a standalone. You must read Miss February to fully appreciate these characters and their story.
Whitney Barbetti
and
Jenn Holter
For who you are and all you do, thank you.
You have made my life so much richer.
By plucking her petals,
you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
–Rabindranath Tagore
Prologue
November
Red pooled on the pad of my finger. It stung, but that sharp, tiny prick was nothing compared to the gaping hole that had opened up in my chest.
Roses. Red fucking roses.
Petals fell like teardrops, mocking me.
Red fucking roses. Arranged in the lavender glass vase I’d given her for her birthday to hold the deep pink roses she claimed were her favorites.
Just like she claimed she loved me.
The pounding in my head grew stronger. Bile rose in my throat.
All I could see was red.
Red.
Fucking.
Roses.
Chapter One
Fifteen months earlier
A kaleidoscope of soft pinks, blues, and peaches colored the sky, growing deeper as it met the steel-gray horizon. I kept the prickling tears at bay a little longer, my eyes trained on the brightest, deepest pink. The surf rushed the shore. As the churning foam inched closer, I dug my toes into the cold, wet sand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
Rain’s hand twitched in mine just as the sun broke the ocean’s surface.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
She threw her arms up in the air and squealed, sending a few curious sandpipers scurrying, then locked her fingers behind my neck and kissed me as if we were alone. Our friends and family responded with catcalls, cheers, and applause.
“Tell me you love me,” she said, her lips ghosting over mine.
“I love you.” I initiated a kiss of my own before sweeping her into my arms and carrying her into the surf far enough to get the bottoms of my rolled-up chinos wet, but not deep enough to damage her dress. After all, we still had a wedding brunch to attend.
“Over here! Look at me!” Antoine waved, his teeth flashing from beneath the gigantic zoom lens.
The only reasons I’d agreed to let him shoot our wedding were that one, he’d offered to do it for free, and two, he was gay. That didn’t make it any easier to be around a man who’d seen Rain naked. Damn that calendar shoot. Sometimes it made me want to poke his eyes out. But it was our wedding day; Rain was mine, and I wasn’t going to let the past bother me now.
I kissed her again, slowly this time. I’d be damned if I would kiss my wife on anyone’s schedule but my own.
Rain smiled against my mouth. “I know you don’t want to listen to him, but we both agreed we wanted a picture in the water with the sun rising behind us, right?”
I ran my nose along hers. “For you, I’ll turn. He better not think he’s bossing me around all day.”
“You have nothing to worry about—unless he asks you to take off your clothes.”
I turned against the pull of the tide, careful not to stumble against the undertow. “Don’t remind me.”
“Parfait!” Antoine cried from the water’s edge.
His assistant hovered behind him. Two cameras hung around her neck and several other pieces of equipment dangled from her hands. Her hair had been dyed a shade of hot pink that matched Rain’s nails and bouquet. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a random coincidence or if she’d done it on purpose.
“Do you really think Antoine’s French?” I smiled for his camera.
“Who knows?” Rain rested her head on my shoulder as instructed. “He’s an amazing photographer. You’ve seen the photos he’s taken of me.”
She had to be kidding. “Baby, I’ve never seen a bad photo of you. I don’t even think that’s possible.”
She kicked her leg out, threw her head back, and laughed. “That’s because I throw away all the bad photos.”
Three years we’d been together—since the very first time I’d laid eyes on her—and I’d yet to see her look bad even once. As far as I was concerned, she was perfect.
A wave sent chilly water up the back of my thighs. I hoisted Rain a little higher and hoped we could get out of the water soon. I had another pair of pants to change into, but I hadn’t bothered with an extra shirt.
Behind Antoine, Izzy and Rain’s mother were doing their best to keep our two-year-old from following us into the water. And standing far enough away from the others so as not to have to int
eract with anyone, but not so far off that they could make me any angrier than they already had, were my mother, my brother, Dylan, and his wife, Lorraine.
“Cut!” Antoine yelled, as if we were on the set of a movie.
I slogged through the surf and carefully deposited Rain on the sand beside Zac, who immediately held his arms above his head. I scooped him up and kept going, tossing him into the air and then catching him.
“Are you jealous that I was carrying Mommy and not you?”
He giggled and nestled his cool cheek against my neck.
“Pannycakes,” he said, tugging on my ponytail.
“Soon, buddy. We’re going to take a few more pictures, and then we’ll go have pancakes. I promise.”
Izzy, who was already holding her mother’s hand, tucked her other hand into mine. “I bet they won’t be as good as yours.”
I looked down at the other girl who’d won my heart and winked. “I should hope not. I make mine with love. I bet all they use at the Grand are eggs and flour.”
Wally and Diane were our official best man and matron of honor, but Zac and Izzy held the junior titles. Rain had wanted our children beside us as we exchanged vows, and I couldn’t have agreed more. Izzy had stood beside her mother, holding her brother’s hand. We kept it short and sweet, out of respect for Zac’s toddler-sized attention span. Other than pulling away from his sister to carry a broken shell to Dorinda, Rain’s mother, he’d been a perfect little gentleman.
I loved being a father as much as I loved my wife.
My wife.
I thought only women cried at weddings. I’d been in serious danger of having to give up my man card there near the end, but another glimpse of my stone-faced brother and his wife next to my mother took care of that. In fact, it took every bit of control I had not to march over there and tell them to go the fuck home if that’s how they were going to behave at my wedding. But it meant a lot to Rain to have them there. She would never admit it, but I knew this was the reason it had taken two years for us to finally set a date after becoming engaged on this very beach.
Two years of worrying that her ex-boyfriend, Preston Fucking Jamison III, was hovering on the sidelines. If Wally hadn’t told me Rain was dragging her feet because she was hoping my family would accept her, I would’ve still been thinking that. My self-esteem had taken a beating at the hands of my ex-fiancée and ex-best friend, and I don’t know how much longer I could’ve waited without thinking it was hopeless.
I tickled my son’s belly and turned to Rain. “So what do you think, buddy? Doesn’t Mommy make a beautiful bride?”
He dropped his blond head onto my shoulder and smiled at his mother.
Rain Storm Holgate was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, bar none. Today, she could have put Aphrodite to shame.
Her pale blond hair was curled into loose waves tumbling over her shoulders. Thick, dark lashes framed icy blue eyes, and her mouth—a mouth that could make me, a grown man, cry—was full and pink and pouty.
Her neck and shoulders were bare, and I wished everyone would suddenly disappear so I could bury my face against the hollow of her throat and work my way down to the swell of her breasts, straining against the ivory satin.
After two children, Rain still had the body of a Playboy centerfold, something I both loved and sometimes hated. We’d been together three years, and I still wanted to kill any guy who looked as if he was picturing her naked. The fact that she’d actually posed naked—a far cry from her beautiful bartender stint as Miss February a few years ago—meant there were untold numbers of men who’d seen her that way.
Not what I wanted to be thinking about on my wedding day.
I slipped a hand around her waist and tucked her into my side as our friends gathered around, calling out for “one more kiss.”
“Have I told you that you’re a beautiful bride, Mrs. Holgate?”
She tilted her face up toward mine, and her sensual mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Several times, Mr. Holgate.”
“I mean it, Rain. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful. When you stepped onto the beach on your mother’s arm, you took my breath away.”
Her smile dimmed a little, and I knew she was thinking about her father. I lowered my head so that my lips grazed her ear. My words were only for her.
“You know he’s here, right? With us.”
She nodded, and I pressed a kiss to her temple.
“I know.”
What she didn’t know, was that I had a special gift for her tonight. One that would show her the truth of what I’d just said.
Chapter Two
It had been a long, wonderful day. The best day.
We had to be on the beach in time to start the ceremony at six o’clock sharp so that we could be pronounced husband and wife at exactly 6:13 a.m., just as the sun rose. That had been my crazy idea. The memory of Chase sharing that first sunrise with me three years ago was still one of my favorites. Our family and friends may not have liked getting up that early, but Chase had loved the idea. And I loved him.
I’d made him wait long enough to accept his marriage proposal, and then even longer to finally set a date. When he told me his mother was wondering what we were waiting for, I was shocked. Finally, his family had accepted me. When I told him I wanted to get married at sunrise on the beach in Cape May, he insisted on August 15. We only had two weeks to plan, but we pulled it off.
And although we’d been living together for three years, after everyone headed home after the breakfast reception, we spent almost the entire day in our suite at the Grand, behaving exactly as newlyweds should.
I was exhausted—happy, but exhausted. We had an early dinner, and by the time we got back to our room, we could barely keep our eyes open.
Which is why I didn’t understand why Chase was waking me when it was still dark outside.
I growled and pulled the covers over my head.
“C’mon, babe. Wake up. It’s still our wedding day, and there’s one more thing we need to do.”
I forced an eye open. “Are you kidding me? We did that. A lot.”
Tugging at the covers, he laughed. “Not that. Something else. You need to get up and put your dress on.”
The bastard flicked the light on next to my head. The clock read 11:25.
“I’m tired. Can’t we do it in the morning?”
“No. It has to be tonight.”
I rolled onto my back and squinted up at him. He was already dressed and holding up my wedding gown.
“It’s a good thing you’re cute.”
“Cute? That’s all? Earlier you said I was handsome and sexy.” He pulled the covers off the rest of the way and lay my dress across the bed. “Now all I am is cute?”
“When I’ve been up since four in the morning, there are plenty of other names I’d like to call you, and none of them are ‘cute.’”
He chuckled. “Now, now.”
Grudgingly, I pushed myself up, wriggled to the edge of the bed, and held my arms up over my head. If he wanted me to get dressed, then he was going to have to get me there himself.
Without missing a beat, he dropped the dress over my head, tugged me to my feet, spun me gently, and raised the zipper on the strapless gown.
I yawned loudly. “Where are we going?” If he expected me to put on makeup at this hour, he was going to be woefully disappointed.
“Not far.”
I located my strappy silver sandals in the corner of the room.
“Nope. Flip-flops are fine.”
Too tired to argue, I slipped my feet into the white rubber thongs I’d worn to the beach earlier.
We stepped off the elevator a few minutes later into a near-empty lobby. “I should just make you carry me. Then I could go back to sleep.”
“If you insist.” He scooped me up as if I weighed nothing and set out across the lobby toward the front doors.
“The parking lot is that way,” I said, pointing to the right, but he kept on walk
ing.
We crossed Beach Avenue heading toward the ocean. The farther we got from the hotel, the darker it became. There was no moon, and the stars above us seemed endless. About a dozen feet from the water’s edge, Chase set me down. He pulled a large beach towel from the tote he’d slung over his shoulder before we left, spread it out on the sand, and pulled his iPhone from the pocket of his chinos.
Moments later, the piano intro to “My Future Days” by Pearl Jam, his favorite band, filled the space around us.
Goosebumps sprang up along my arms. It could’ve been from the breeze blowing off the ocean, but I’d bet anything it was the romantic mood my new husband was creating in front of me. “What are you doing?”
“Shh.” He held out his arms, and I stepped into them. “I loved everything about today except one thing—we didn’t have a first dance. I didn’t want us to miss that.”
The air was cool against my skin, but inside, I was soft and warm and gooey as a toasted marshmallow. I circled my arms around his neck, and he pressed a palm against my lower back. I’d never felt happier or more content.
