What I did do was catch up with Sean’s parents, James and Leslie; Sean’s mother had laughed when I referred to her as Mrs. O’Rourke, then she called me Mrs. Sullivan, and everything got very awkward. Patrick did something useful for once, and mentioned that Sean’s twin daughters were so beautiful they would likely steal the show. We all went on about the safe topic of Penny and Ronnie until Emily joined us, with those pretty girls trailing behind her.
“Did you know that the designer has the girls wearing red and white dresses tomorrow?” Emily hissed at Leslie. “Little girls in red! At a wedding!”
“Britt’s dress has red accents,” I said. “Jorge wanted all of the dresses to coordinate.”
Emily gave me a look that could curdle milk. “What kind of a bride wears red?”
I looked at Emily’s bare ring finger, then at her daughters. “It was Jorge’s idea,” I replied. “Britt is lovely in red. She’s a model, did you know that?”
“She’s been modeling for years,” Leslie said. “Britt’s been a beauty since the day she was born.”
Emily opened her mouth, then seemed to reconsider her words and frowned instead. While she minded her girls, Patrick made his opinions known.
“She has a point,” he whispered close to my ear. “White would have been much more appropriate for a girl of Britt’s age.”
“Well, the decision wasn’t ours to make, now was it?” I countered. Britt had been very specific in that she did not want Patrick paying for any part of her wedding, and therefore exerting control over a day that was hers and Sam’s alone. The fact that Sam had recently inherited a great deal of money made that an easy decision for them to make. So I told Patrick that the kids had every aspect of their wedding under control, and that his only duty was to show up and offer his congratulations.
Of course Patrick couldn’t just abide by their wishes, and had mercilessly harassed myself and Britt until she allowed him to pay for the rehearsal dinner. Patrick was smug in his victory, and immediately selected the second most expensive restaurant in the area as the ideal location, and sent over guest lists and menu requirements. What Patrick did not know was that Astrid and Britt had visited the restaurant a few weeks before, and had had the menu—and guest list—completely revised. That’s my kid, the troublemaker.
Speaking of my kid, she picked that moment to bound over to us and hug her grandparents. Being that she had four boys and no girls, Sean’s mother had always doted on Britt, and Britt loved every second of it.
“We’ll be starting soon,” Britt said. “Come on, I want all of you to meet Sam’s parents.”
Since Britt was the bride she was in charge, or so she’d been telling us, and we all followed her into the reception area and toward two rather intimidating-looking people wearing full dress military uniforms. They were Sam’s parents, Laura and Thomas MacKellar, both of whom were Air Force officers. My parents and I had met them earlier, and Dad was telling Sam’s father stories from when he was a police officer. Lieutenant MacKellar was politely going along with it.
Suddenly, Sean was standing beside me. “Meeting some friendly folks?” he asked.
“Sam’s parents,” I replied. “Hang on, Dad’s telling them his war stories.”
Sean laughed, and I felt my heart clench in my chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, with Sean and I at our daughter’s wedding but not together. It just wasn’t right.
“Dad,” Britt called, rousing me from my ruminations. “Come over here with Sam’s dad. You two can dad together.”
Sean strode up to Britt’s side and immediately started joking and laughing with our daughter’s almost in-laws. Sean had always been so good with meeting new people, whereas I’d always wanted to run off and hide. When I was younger I’d taken for granted how I’d always leaned on Sean in social situations; after I’d married Patrick, and learned that I hadn’t wanted to lean on him at all, I became the quiet one at parties. Just another way I had disappointed the husband I’d never wanted, but had ended up with. Life is funny like that.
Sean and Sam’s parents seemed to hit it off, which was something Emily also noticed.
“Who are they?” she asked, jerking her chin toward my parents and the MacKellars.
“Sam’s parents, and mine,” I replied. “Britt’s always been a stickler for making sure all parties are properly introduced. I’m sure she’ll introduce you in a moment.”
Sam and Britt and all the assorted parents laughed at something Sean had said, and Emily shook her head. “I bet they’re asking him about Britt’s name,” Emily said. “Sean comes up with some odd ones. I mean, who names their kid after an encyclopedia? A weirdo, that’s who.” She moved closer, and added, “He insisted on Penelope and Veronica for the twins, you know.”
“I named Britt.”
I hadn’t realized how loudly I’d said—no, declared—that I was responsible for Britt’s unusual name until every set of eyes in the room was staring at me. Sean, in his smoothest move yet, smiled and strode toward us.
“That’s right, you did pick our girl’s name,” Sean said, then he hooked his arm through Emily’s elbow and brought her over to meet Sam’s parents. I clenched my fists so hard my nails cut into my palms, full of irrational anger and jealousy. Of course Sean introduced Emily to the MacKellars, she’s his girlfriend. The mother of two of his children. Sean and I had only had one.
“Is something wrong?” Patrick demanded.
“My neck’s bothering me a bit,” I lied. I felt no guilt about lying to Patrick. After all, he’d been lying to me since the day we met.
“You spend far too many hours hunched over that laptop,” he said. “You should get out more.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Oh, look, another lie. Ever since I’d purchased that laptop, and Patrick discovered that I’d started writing again, he’d been suspicious of what I was creating. Was I committing his legal antics to paper? Penning a memoir about our loveless marriage? I had assured him time and again that my writing was just something I did to pass the time, but I knew he didn’t believe me. I often wondered what he’d do if I submitted any of my pieces for publication, and if he would somehow stonewall the process.
A few months ago, I’d been out shopping alone and bought a few memory sticks in cash; if I’d charged them Patrick would have asked why I bothered purchasing them when his office manager could just send some over for me. When I got home I uploaded my files onto one of the devices, and the next time I saw Britt, I handed it off to her. It was now sitting in my safe deposit box, the one place I was reasonably sure Patrick couldn’t access, just waiting for me to do something with it.
Maybe I would call my publisher and ask if they were acquiring memoirs…although, what I was writing wasn’t exactly a memoir, more creative nonfiction. After Britt had read the first few chapters, she described it as a princess trapped in the wrong castle with the wrong prince, and with no way to get over the moat or past the dragon. That description was frighteningly accurate.
God. How had this become my life?
I turned away from my husband, and saw someone who looked just as uncomfortable as I did, if not more so: Patrick’s niece, Melody Moore. Melody was Patrick’s sister Elizabeth’s only child—Patrick’s deceased sister, that is.
Liz had gotten married at a rather young age to an international sales representative who traveled constantly. As such, Melody had hardly known the Sullivan portion of her family until after her mother died when she was thirteen. For reasons that I’ve never fully understood, after her mother’s death, Melody’s father sent her to live with her grandparents, and somehow Patrick assumed the role of father figure. Patrick caring for his niece is quite possibly the only decent thing he’s ever done.
Since they were so close in age, after Patrick hauled us to the big house in New Rochelle, Britt and Melody had become fast friends. They lost touch for a bit after Britt dropped out of college, but they’d reconnected after Melody left her husband. If there was a comm
on theme in the Sullivan family, it was that sooner or later all the women were sick and tired of dealing with their husbands. I know I sure was.
Since I knew she wouldn’t come near Patrick, I walked over to Melody. “Avoiding certain people?” I asked.
“No more than you,” Melody replied. “Emily seems a bit socially awkward.”
I made a face and Melody reciprocated. “I guess Britt’s father’s success with women is fifty-fifty, then,” Melody said.
I looked across the room toward Sean, and wondered if his success rate was really fifty-fifty. Maybe it was more like sixty-forty, or ninety-ten. Not that how much he’d dated after we broke up was any of my business. I’m the one that had gotten married to someone else.
“Patrick will never be half the man Sean is,” I mumbled. Melody raised an eyebrow, so I shook my head and tried to get myself back to reality. “How have you been doing?”
Melody shrugged. “The same, I guess. Darryl still doesn’t want to grant the annulment, and since Uncle Patrick is refusing to get involved, and I can’t afford a lawyer of my own, I’m stuck being married.” Melody looked down, fidgeting with her hands. “I’m even getting mail addressed to Melody Vindale. I don’t want to be Melody Vindale. I was hardly even Melody Moore.”
“I’ll talk to Patrick,” I said. “And didn’t your father set anything up for you?”
Melody nodded. “There’s life insurance and stuff, from my mother, but I don’t know how to access any of the accounts. Uncle Patrick always took care of that.”
My eyes narrowed as I looked across the room at my husband. “Yes, he’s quite helpful that way,” I said. Just then Sam announced that the rehearsal would be getting underway, and that we should take our places.
“Don’t worry, Melody,” I said. “As horrible as Patrick can be, you’ll get out from under him, and Darryl too. I’ll help you, any way I can.”
Melody smiled. “Thank you. But what about you?”
Almost without realizing it, my gaze found Sean. He looked so happy, surrounded by Britt and Emily and the twins. “I wish I knew.”
Chapter Four
Sean
Present Day
After Britt and her wedding party ran through the ceremony a few times, we all migrated to the fancy restaurant Patrick had picked out like a pack of wild animals. If the waiters were expecting people like him, they would be in for the culture shock of their lives.
One thing that had been made abundantly clear during the rehearsal was that no one wanted Patrick there or at the wedding―not Britt, or Sam, or even Cin’s parents, who were the two sweetest people to ever walk the planet. Despite Patrick’s position as Undesirable Number One, he had been trying to exert his influence over various aspects of the wedding, but Britt had blocked him at every turn. That’s my baby girl, able to outsmart any evil mastermind.
Then Patrick had started making Cin’s life miserable—Britt’s words, not mine—and Britt caved. She granted the old bastard one gesture of goodwill, and allowed Patrick to pay for the rehearsal dinner. After all, it was just a dinner. What could really happen?
In true New York lawyer style, Patrick had arranged for the dinner to be held at a legendarily expensive place, one that had been featured on that snooty food channel a few times. Since Patrick was footing the bill for the dinner, I would be ordering the priciest entree on the menu, maybe two of them. And dessert.
When we pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot—a little bistro called Thirty-Nine and Twelve—it turned out to be a nice place. It was right on the water, and while it had cloth napkins and polished wood furniture, it felt more like a seafood shack than a fine dining establishment. From the quick look I got at the front room, it also had a pretty extensive bar, which was most serendipitous. If I was going to endure my baby getting married while Cin was standing at another man’s side, alcohol would be needed.
“Dad,” Britt whispered, pulling on my arm. I guess I’d been staring at the bar a bit too longingly. “Why are you staring off into space?”
“Just thinking, pumpkin,” I replied.
“Pumpkin?” Astrid, Britt’s best friend and maid of honor, repeated. “Do you have any other vegetable-based names I should know about? Spaghetti squash, maybe?”
“No picking on the bride,” Britt said. “Don’t you have a date with Donnie?”
Astrid made a face. “He said we couldn’t get together until after dinner.”
Britt bumped her shoulder against Astrid’s. “Oh, an after dinner date.”
“You hush, vegetable girl,” Astrid said.
Melody called Astrid to her side, where the two of them bent their heads together and whispered furiously. After she was gone, I asked Britt, “Your maid of honor has a date the night before the wedding?”
“It’s cool,” Britt said. “Donnie—her date—is the chef here. And he luurves Astrid.”
I shook my head. “Can’t argue with luurve.”
“That’s right.” Britt steered me into a banquet room in the rear of the restaurant. Inside was a long, shiny table that could have seated me, all of my brothers, and their wives and kids, and that’s saying something.
“This is us,” Britt announced. “Your place is marked, Dad. Enjoy dinner!”
With that, Britt was off to see to her other guests. I looked over the seating chart, and nearly laughed out loud when I found my name. Britt and Sam were seated together at the center of the table, and Sam’s parents were placed at his right. By some act of fate—or more likely, act of Britt—Cin was seated on Britt’s left, and I was sitting next to Cin. Emily and Patrick were placed across the table from us. My daughter, she is brilliant and sneaky.
Patrick frowned when he saw his seat, but being that he was sitting right across from his wife, he couldn’t really say much. Emily made everyone aware of her displeasure at sitting across from, rather than next to me, by way of many longing glances and heartfelt sighs; she had tried skipping the dinner altogether, but my mother had graciously offered to take the twins back to the hotel room so Emily could relax. Not like the girls would have eaten any of this overpriced garbage, anyway.
Then the food started coming out, and I had to retract that garbage comment. For the first course, we all received leafy green salads along with glasses of Prosecco, and the waiter thoughtfully left a few bottles on the table. Then the waiter informed us that the chef—Donnie, who was apparently the maid of honor’s boyfriend or fiancé or something—had created a special tasting menu in honor of Britt and Sam’s nuptials, featuring all of their favorite foods. Moments later little plates of chilled oysters were delivered to us, along with crusty loaves of bread.
Cin looked at her plate and suppressed a smile. “What’s so funny?” I asked.
“Patrick hates oysters,” she whispered. “Hates all seafood, really.”
I glanced across the table and saw Patrick scowling at his plate. “Want to know a secret?” I asked.
Cin’s eyes sparkled. “Always.”
“So does Emily.”
Cin laughed out loud, making both Patrick and Emily shoot glares our way. I ignored them, and tried to figure out how I was supposed to eat a raw oyster. Man, those things were slippery.
As additional courses were delivered, it was obvious that the menu had a definite seafood theme; I wondered if that was coincidental, or if Britt had deliberately picked food that Patrick wouldn’t enjoy. I was betting on the latter.
All of the food, from the appetizer right through to the main course of some rice and shrimp dish, turned out to be great, but that wasn’t what I liked most about the dinner. Due to the width of the table, Patrick and Emily were so far away I could almost pretend Cin and I were still together.
“Your girlfriend is frowning at you,” Cin advised after I’d laughed at another one of her jokes.
“Wonder what I did to offend her this time,” I mumbled. I looked across the table at Emily; wow, that was some scowl. “Everything okay, Emily?”
&nbs
p; “Just wondering what you’re laughing about,” she snapped.
“Cin and I were just reminiscing about Britt’s childhood,” I replied. “Hard to believe our baby’s getting married.”
“Cindy, why don’t you regale us with some of those stories,” Patrick said—no, demanded. “I’m sure we’d all like to hear them.”
That man was a passive aggressive mongoose. Before Cin—no -dy required, thank you very much—could dredge up any suitably embarrassing stories, my future son-in-law decided to ask an embarrassing question of his own.
“What I’d really like to know,” Sam began, “is why the school library, of all places?”
“Sam,” Britt gasped, whacking his arm for good measure.
“Library?” Emily asked, then she glanced at me and Cin. “Oh, is that where you two met?”
“Not hardly,” I replied. “Cin and I grew up next door to each other. I remember when she was a kid splashing around in a wading pool, telling everyone she wanted to be a duck when she grew up.” While most of the table laughed, I gave Sam my sternest face. “Sam, I really don’t think that story is appropriate conversation for the dinner table.”
“It’s all right,” Cin said. “After all, it’s not like it was ever really a secret.” Cin glanced at her parents, then continued, “It was Truth or Dare.”
“Truth or Dare?” Cin’s mother, Janet, repeated. “You got pregnant over a game of Truth or Dare?”
“It was all Sean’s fault,” Cin insisted. “You see, he peed in my closet and wouldn’t admit it.”
All eyes turned to me, with everyone wearing expressions ranging from curiosity to disgust. “Seriously, Dad?” Britt asked. “That’s just gross.”
“What can I say, I had to go,” I said with a shrug.
Changing Fate (Changing Teams Series Book 3) Page 2
