Hold Me (Promise Me Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  Did it bother me? Only a little.

  I ran the brush along my temples to the tips of my lackluster hairdo while surveying myself in the mirror. Dark circles and heavy bags under my eyes threatened to drag me down to the ground. Ugh. Was it anxiety, or was I really beginning to look older than my age?

  “He offered the use of his band for our wedding ceremony.”

  “He wants to do the music for the wedding?” Duncan clarified.

  “So he said.” I set the brush down and rubbed my temples. Flicking the lights low, I returned to the bed and snuggled next to Duncan, the covers up to my neck and the rest of me naked.

  His arms wrapped around me and I sighed contentedly. “He mentioned it the other day. Said he has a band and would be honored to play for us. They’re called something like...the Heartwood Harmonies? I can’t remember. He told me they’d be happy for the exposure and didn’t mind doing it for free.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Well…”

  “You said no?” Duncan exclaimed, pushing to a seated position. “Come on, Izzy!”

  “I didn’t say no. I said I had to talk to you first.”

  His hands went to his temples—such an effeminate gesture for his macho physique. Especially considering the naked torso and shorts stretched to their limits over muscled legs. “I say yes! What an awesome offer. Now we can use the extra money for something else.”

  I didn’t want to rethink my original idea of a small affair. I still wanted to save myself the headache of wedding planning, not to mention the unnecessary expense. Too many people to contact and items to check off the list. Frankly, I was becoming tired of lists.

  “We’re in this together.” I took his face in my hands. “You may be paying, but I have a say in this too.”

  “We need to be able to talk about this without getting into an argument.” Duncan looked thoughtful in the dim light.

  “What can we do?” I wanted to know, apprehensive of his answer.

  He recognized my tone and plopped back down with his hands clasped. “I know you’ve wanted something smaller…”

  “I sense a but coming.”

  “…but I think we would be better served going grandiose and unforgettable! I don’t want to look back and remember you and me waiting in line at the courthouse.” Duncan’s face glowed.

  Some men liked big. Extravagant. I should have realized this about Duncan, given his penchant for tailor-made clothing. And the bouncy castle when we first met.

  “You don’t want to scale it down? Something in the middle?” I grasped at straws.

  “Hell, no! The bigger the better. It will be a great way to show the world how much we love each other.”

  “I don’t need a wedding for that. And we certainly don’t need to spend money to prove our love.” I chewed on my cuticles until they ached.

  “Are you still worried about our finances?”

  “Yes. I made that clear before dinner.”

  There were too many thoughts racing around in my subconscious to focus on a single worry. I lay awake in bed each night with my gaze plastered on the ceiling before getting up a million times to use the toilet. Or get a drink of water. Or stare out the window into the empty hush of the parking lot.

  “I told you to stop thinking about money,” Duncan announced as he heaved himself up and crossed to the bathroom, affording me a fabulous display of his rear end. “I have enough to take care of the wedding plus a little extra for a honeymoon.”

  Of course I wanted a honeymoon. A vacation was the cherry on top, the best part of going through the headache of a wedding and reception. I also knew that at this point in our lives there were other, more serious issues to think about than the vacation I desperately needed. Which meant I had to put my desire on the back burner.

  “It’s supposed to be the bride’s family paying for the wedding. Not the groom. This goes against tradition,” I said, shaking my head.

  Of course, my parents couldn’t be bothered with any of it. Once they hit the magical age when social security kicked in, it was goodbye normal life and hello open road. I doubted if they even realized I had a fiancé. My emails went unanswered and my calls to a full voicemail box. They were having too much fun to bother with anything, or anyone, else. Guess the fights ended the moment the mortgage payment disappeared and retirement beckoned.

  Duncan shot me a look over his shoulder. “Since when do you care about tradition?”

  Never. Always. More than he guessed. I liked to consider myself out of the box, although truth be told, I fit comfortably in the mold. Being normal was the new quirky. And wanting to be independent and pull my own weight fit with the image.

  “If August has agreed to play—which sounds like a great idea—then half of the battle is done,” Duncan said in an attempt to appease me. “You can handle a little flower arranging and venue hunting. Women love those things. We need to make this a day we won’t forget! Don’t spare any expense.”

  Duncan assumed I liked to attend to those details because of what I had between my legs. “I can handle it, of course. I just pictured a smaller occasion for us, in a more intimate setting,” I said. “I don’t understand why you’re getting carried away. You’re giving me a migraine.”

  Weren’t men supposed to prefer a simpler affair? The less hassle the better, I’d assumed.

  “With everything going on, I really don’t want to be roped into a big fantasy wedding where people spend way too much and only have a picture or two to show for it,” I continued. “Ugh, my head.”

  “And memories, honey,” Duncan said. “A bunch of wonderful memories and their friends and family around them sharing in the fun.” He shrugged into one of the hotel-provided terrycloth robes and strutted around the room like a show pony before retiring to the bathroom again. “I’m going to blame the wine for your unwillingness. You put whatever money you have saved into the wedding, and I’ll take care of the rest. We need at least a hundred guests.”

  I gagged. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I have a large extended family. We’ll talk about this in the morning when you aren’t so fuzzy in the brain.” He closed the door behind him though I caught the murmured sentiment of “women love weddings.”

  “Sure, blame it on the wine,” I mumbled. With the rest of my buzz melting away, I was left with the stark reality of the evening and how I’d acted at the restaurant. As my grandmother used to say, I’d behaved abominably. I shuddered, hearing her voice echo in my head.

  I clenched my hands at my sides and wondered what I had to do to erase this night from history.

  And who cared if August had a date? I didn’t have to like every woman he shacked up with. He had his prerogatives, as I had mine, and had I listened when he complained about my choice of partners? Hell no.

  I moaned and rolled my head on the soft pillow. “So,” I said, raising my voice to be heard, “what did you think about dinner tonight?”

  Duncan’s reply came slowly and sounded spoken through a mouth full of toothpaste. “About what?”

  “You know what. And who.”

  He guffawed. “August and his lady friend? Is what you’re talking about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It was a little weird for me at first, but you know what? The more time we spent with them the easier it got. They are a cute couple.” He opened the door a crack and I caught the hint of a smile. “I thought Leda was gorgeous, and one smart country girl.”

  “Smart? Gorgeous?” I sat up, my eyes bugged out. “Maybe you had more to drink than I thought, because you obviously didn’t see what I did.”

  “The more you get to know her, the quicker you’ll change your mind. I realize you didn’t hit it off with Leda, but sometimes it’s hard to hit it off immediately.” Duncan rinsed his mouth and popped his head out of the bathroom, the water still running “You don’t operate the same way I do.”

  “That isn’t true!” I insisted.

  “Isn’t it
? You’ve always had a hard time finding friends you didn’t want to murder.”

  I found it hard to defend my position when I knew Duncan was right. I had a tendency to not only compete with other women but throw out nasty, passive-aggressive barbs which could quickly sour a friendship. Men were simple in comparison, even outside of a physical relationship. I mean, take August and me, for example. We met as children and connected in an instant. I’d never been able to recreate that kind of bond.

  At least with men you knew what you were getting into. The comparison hardly made me rethink my opinion of the infamous Leda.

  Duncan wiped his mouth. “I think you need to trust your friend. Give the woman a chance, Isabel. You may find you have more in common than you think. And you need a confidant just as much as I do.”

  “I have you.”

  “Yes, but outside of the two of us, we’re an island here. I’ll take a friend where I can find one. And Leda and I clicked right away.”

  I shook my head and plopped down onto the pillow again with the pliability of a rag doll. Strength sapped from my limbs until I found it hard to move. Funny what a little jealousy and sex will do to a body. “I think it’s strange, how you and she are best buds now.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve seen stranger. Besides, she’s a great gal,” Duncan replied as he returned to bed. “I’m not getting up in arms because you’re friends with another man, am I?”

  “No, you just beat the crap out of him.”

  “And apologized. I’m sure, in your mind, he’s a great guy.”

  “Yeah, a great guy,” I repeated, to see if I could make it stick.

  The next morning at work, I was on the phone with the local florist to see what they had on sale in terms of arrangements. My foot tapped against the linoleum of the kitchen while I kept an eye on the pot of simmering tomato basil soup.

  Call the shops in town, Duncan said. It will only take a minute.

  “Tell me you have more than daisies,” I begged the rough sounding woman on the other end of the phone. “Please. You have to have other flowers in my price range.”

  “Sweetie…” I could tell she was trying to be patient. “With the budget you gave me, the only idea I can suggest, if you want variety, is going to the side of the road and searching for wildflowers. Otherwise the cheapest option we have is a mug arrangement with daisies and carnations for $25 apiece.”

  My fingers massaged my temples as steam figuratively shot out from my ears. “I am not going to pick flowers from the side of the road,” I ground out. “I need you to tell me what you have inside my price range. What if I increase the budget?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation from carrying over the phone.

  “Honey, I am telling you again, I don’t have any arrangements available! Even if you had a larger budget, which from the sound of it you don’t, there is nothing in season right now fit for a wedding of your size. You said your fiancé wants over one hundred people?”

  A more unwilling woman I’d never met. “You are supposed to help people!” I yelled to her instead of goodbye. I hung up and returned to my cook station feeling my mouth turn down in a perpetual scowl.

  Yes, Duncan told me not to worry about the budget. He would handle the brunt of the responsibility where money was concerned and I should focus on the wedding details, which irked me to no end. But I had yet to tell him about the tiny—sarcasm intended—issue with the house.

  Hank had called earlier right as I stepped out of the shower; Duncan was already on his way to the office with a full schedule ahead.

  “Uh, yes, Miss Cook. I hate to spring this on you first thing in the morning, but I have some bad news. A few of the boys used the toilet on the job and we discovered your septic system needs to be completely replaced.”

  I closed my eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”

  “There’s a mess in the backyard, if you know what I mean. Now, I have people who can do the job, but it pushes our schedule out of whack and our budget way out of proportion. I don’t know where you can find the money but it’s a necessity, although an expensive one. The system is old and overworked. Ready to go any day, as a matter of fact. Like a ticking time bomb.”

  “Do I want to know the cost?” There’s the return of my tension headache.

  “We’re probably looking at about ten thousand dollars more, if nothing else goes wrong. There are some issues with the heating unit I want to investigate.”

  My heart stopped. Literally ceased to beat for ten seconds as I processed his words. The universe wanted me in an early grave and Hank held the shovel. Where in the blue blazes of hell would we find the extra cash?

  So, with the threat of bankruptcy looming over my head and Duncan pushing for a bigger wedding, I schlepped off to work, my cup overflowing.

  Beulah interrupted my reverie with a phlegmy clearing of her throat. “Hang up right now.” She gestured for me as I scuttled over. “I shouldn’t have let you use the phone in the first place. Now we’re late for our smoke break.”

  “You get enough breaks,” I responded heatedly. “I had some business to take care of.”

  “Ooh, kitty is growing claws over there,” Kelly remarked.

  Beulah put the finishing touches on a fruit tart and didn’t seem to mind my quip. “Yes, well, I’ve also been here for the last ten years. You haven’t. That means when I speak, you listen.”

  I rolled my eyes and grabbed a knife, contemplating unspeakable things. “At this rate, I’ll be here just as long.”

  “Show some respect, girl. I need you to finish the corn chowder,” Beulah continued. “Think you can handle it?”

  I didn’t take orders well, it seemed. With everything else going on I had the overwhelming urge to wrap my hands around the older woman’s neck and squeeze until she stopped squawking. Geese made less noise than Beulah.

  Instead of giving into temptation, I picked up the nearest ear of corn and prepared to shuck. “Fine.” I wrinkled my nose at her. “And it will be the best corn chowder of your life.”

  “Watch it, sass-mouth.”

  “Are you two going to control yourselves while I bring in a crate of tomatoes?” Kelly gestured behind her to our walk-in cooler. “If not, I don’t want to miss anything.”

  “Go ahead.” There went the husk, catapulting across the counter. I slapped the knife down again. “We’re fine.”

  Kelly shook her head. “Somehow I doubt it.”

  Minutes passed in tense silence with neither Beulah nor I willing to speak. I’d have to work on my blinding retorts, since those seemed to be the only things capable of shutting her up.

  Kelly returned from the stock room minutes later with arms laden. “I need some help here,” she managed before her grip weakened. I rushed forward, taking the top three boxes for myself and giving her room to breathe.

  “Thanks. I don’t like to make multiple trips.”

  I was about to interject when the tinkle of glass on wood announced the arrival of a customer. Glancing up, I saw Leslie Gordon walking through the front door. Of course, walk was too tame a word for her, and strut didn’t do it justice. She let her hips lead the way, with each step more of a glide, those long legs eating up the ground before her.

  “Momma,” she trumpeted, and every store patron turned to look in her direction. She was dressed to kill in a Chanel knock-off the color of cotton candy. Tiny pearl buttons lined her front, the hem of the dress coming to her knees so each step had the material swirling around her legs like flower petals.

  Without thinking, I raised a hand to the hair hanging out of my messy bun in limp strands. I hadn’t bothered with makeup, so the blue eyes peering at me when I looked in the mirror were tired, uninspired. Not a smidge of concealer to brighten up the dark circles under my eyes.

  Though I tried hard not to care what Leslie, with her perfect face and makeup, thought of me, I did. Oh boy, I did. Mascara, eye shadow, liner, the works. Leslie wore it all and pulled it off brilliantly. Her ruby-red lipsticks
used to be the envy of every girl in our graduating class. From the looks of it, they still were. I noticed several female regulars turning away, crestfallen, as the shockwave of Flawless Leslie tore through them.

  Oh yes, I definitely cared what she thought. Another feminine phenomenon.

  Beulah bent over the partition, and she and her daughter exchanged two quick air kisses. “Sweetie, Mommy’s working. This better be important.”

  “I realize you’re working. I’m not blind.” Leslie flipped her hair over her shoulder. “I came to talk to her.” She used her chin to gesture in my direction.

  I told myself not to grimace. “Me?”

  She gave me a look that said I was stupid, and crooked a finger. “Yes, you. Come around out back so we can chitchat in private. There are too many ears here, Mommy Dearest’s included.”

  Beulah stared from her daughter to me and back again. “This is one mixed-up day.”

  She definitely had that right. I removed my apron, hanging it on the peg near the back door as Leslie navigated the kitchen. She took full advantage when I held the door open, breezing past so close I caught a whiff of her perfume.

  Magnolias and honeysuckle. It figured.

  I shielded my eyes against the harsh glare of the sun while Leslie sidled over to the cars parked parallel to the building. She hopped onto the hood of one and crossed her legs, a new-age bombshell without the hair.

  I tried not to let it bother me when her mahogany strands caught the light so the highlights glowed, while my own needed a good shampooing. Talk about the aristocrat and the pauper.

  “So, what is this about?” I asked, wiping my hands on my pants; strands of corn silk stuck to the material. “I’m in the middle of shucking corn and your mom is going to skin me alive if I don’t get back to it soon.”

  Leslie didn’t seem to care. “She’ll get over it. She always does, although she likes to boast and brag about her own superiority.” She studied her nails. “Do you like working here?”

  Wow, decisions, decisions. Insult my coworkers by saying how I really felt, or lie through my teeth… The latter it was.

  “Love it. Can’t wait to come to work every day.” I angled my body to lean against the siding, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s the best job in the whole world. Why do you ask?”