All I Ever Wanted (24 page)

Basically shoving Ian out the door, I once again closed it on his face.

“I'm leaving here in five minutes,” he said.

“Hush, you! I'm coming.”

Nineteen minutes later, I opened the door. He was still there, glaring.

“Thank you for waiting. But we have plenty of time, right? The wedding's at five—”

“The ceremony starts at five, Callie. It will take us an hour and a half to get to the hotel, where we have to check in, get changed, then go to the church, which is another twenty minutes out of town.” He fixed me with a look that said very clearly
I can kill you with my pinkie.

“Well, it takes that long if
you
drive,” I said. “Let me drive, and we'll get there in plenty of time.”

“You're not driving,” he said.

“Well, try not to stress,” I said, glancing at my watch. “We can still make it if we leave now. Don't be so tense.”

“I wasn't tense an hour ago,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, wait, I forgot something,” I said, dashing back into my room. He may have growled, but I emerged seconds later with a CD. “I made us a playlist for the ride.”

“Get in the car before I strangle you,” he said.

“Is that a romantic thing to say to your date?” I asked, heading him down the stairs. “It really isn't.”

“You're not my date,” he said, completely serious.

“Bye, Noah! Thanks for ruining my day!” I called through the kitchen door.

“You're welcome. Have fun,” he said.

Ten minutes later, Ian pulled onto the interstate.

“Sorry I was late, Ian,” I said contritely, since he hadn't spoken since my house. He didn't answer, so I took it upon myself to fiddle with the CD player. A disk slid out. “Mahler's Symphony #1? My mother plays this at the funeral home. Yikes, it's worse than I thought.”

His mouth didn't even twitch.

“Ian, please don't be mad at me,” I said. “I'm really sorry I lost track of time.”

“I'm not mad, Callie. I'm preoccupied.” He cut his eyes to me, then back to the road.

“Well, here's what I picked out for our little ride. I mean how many times do you have to go to your ex's wedding, right? So we have the classic ‘Love Stinks,' of course. ‘Nothing Compares to You' by that crazy Irish woman, ‘Love Lies Bleeding' by Sir Elton…oh, here's a personal favorite, ‘Shut Up' by the Black-Eyed Peas—remind me to tell you about my hip-hop class for senior citizens. ‘Good Riddance' by Green Day. I haven't actually heard that one yet, but I liked the title.”

Bingo. Got him to smile. Not much of a smile, but a little one.

“Shall I put it in?” I asked, holding up the CD.

“Sure,” he said, flicking on his signal and changing lanes. I complied, and the rather elementary chords of the J. Geils Band filled the car.

“So tell me about the groom,” I said, settling back and looking at my driver. He looked nice in profile, I thought. Definitely a rugged face, not quite handsome…but awfully interesting. “Have you met him?”

Ian glanced at me for a long moment—longer than I was comfortable with, since he was driving—then looked back at the road. “There is no groom,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I thought this was a wedding.”

“There is no groom.”

“But—”

Ian looked over again, his face grim.

I swallowed. “Oh. Oh, holy guacamole, Ian. Are you kidding me?”

“No groom.”

I fumbled in my purse for the wedding invitation he'd given me last week.

The pleasure of your company is warmly requested at
the marriage ceremony of Laura Elizabeth Pembers & Devin Mullane Kilpatrick, Saturday, September,
etc., etc.

“Devin's a woman?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God, Ian.”

“Yes.” He cut another glance my way.

For a second, I didn't say a word. No wonder he looked clenched all the time! No wonder he had issues with women! No wonder he didn't want a date! “So you never…”

“No.”

“And she didn't…”

“No.”

“How did you…”

“I found them in bed together, Callie.”

“Oh, Ian.” I reached out and put my hand on his leg. He glanced down, then at me again, eyes icy. Right. I carefully removed my hand—apparently there was a “no touching” rule in effect. Couldn't blame him. Crikey. Ian's ex-wife was gay.

Holy. Crap.

There was an exit for a rest stop up ahead, and Ian pulled off the highway. He parked the car carefully between the lines, despite the fact that there was no one else around, shifted into Park, then turned to me, his face expressionless. His hands still gripped the wheel.

“We met at Tufts. She was in law school. My first real love, everything I was looking for and all that. We dated for two years, got married after graduation. Devin was her friend from high school. She was in our wedding, ironically. About three years into the marriage, I came home early one day, and there they were. Any questions?”

A zillion,
I thought, but I only asked one. “Do you still love her?”

“Would I be going to her wedding if I hated her?”

“Well, yes, absolutely,” I said. “You could make a scene, have a hissy fit, get drunk, grope your ex-mother-in-law.”

He gave a reluctant grin, and my heart twisted a little. “I don't hate her.”

“You didn't answer the question.” I felt my cheeks warming.

He looked down. “Sure. I married her. I'll always love her a little.”

“And why
are
you going to the wedding, Ian?” I asked.

He sighed and put the car in reverse, backing out carefully. “Damned if I know. Closure, I guess.”

We pulled back on the highway. Man. Ian McFarland had caught his wife cheating on him, and here he was, going to her wedding.

For some reason, that made my heart feel a little bit too big for my chest.

 

I
MADE
I
AN WAIT YET
again once we got to the hotel…not on purpose, honest, but I felt I needed to start my hair from scratch, so that required another shower. Plus, I wanted to look incredible. Ian might not know it (or want it) but I was about to be the best date he'd ever had, and part of that involved being gorgeous. So I fussed with my hair, used the big curling iron to make it swingy and smooth. “Callie, time's up!” Ian called from the hall.

“Two minutes! Almost ready, Ian,” I lied. Did my makeup to perfection, smoky eyes, easy on the lip gloss. A little perfume at the old pulse points. My grandmother's pearl necklace and matching earrings. Then I put on the dress. It was long. It was red. It showed off the girls. And
yes, my shoes were
begging
for it, slutty little strappy purple (I know!) things with three-inch heels. Oh, mommy!

“Callie, this time I'm really leaving without you.”

“You definitely don't want to do that,” I said.

“We're late. Again. You have five seconds, Callie, and if you're not with me, that's probably not the worst thing in the world. Five…four…three…”

I grabbed my little sparkly evening bag “…two…” glanced once more at myself in the big mirror “…one…” and opened the door. “Hi.”

Oh…God. He was in a
tux.
I'd sort of forgotten to think about that. He looked like an assassin about to infiltrate a state dinner…tall, blond, dangerous, and heavens, it was a turn-on! Those eyes of his were staring back at me, and you know what, it had been a
long
time since I'd had sex, and could we please just do it right here in this hallway? Holy. Guaca. Moley.

His eyes drifted down, slowly, assessingly, then back up, pausing at the girls for a gratifying heartbeat or three, then continuing up to my face. “Let's go,” he said, then cleared his throat.

I snapped out of my haze of lust. “‘Let's go,' Ian? Can't you do better than that? Here, I'll give you an example.” I smiled and let my eyes drift over him once more.
Frrrroooww!
“Ian, you look…amazing. Wow. Okay, now it's your turn.”

He almost smiled. “You look pretty. Let's go.”

I sighed. “You're a work in progress, Ian McFarland.”

Still, it was kind of a thrill, walking through the lobby of the prettiest hotel in Montpelier. Heads turned, people smiled, and I felt very Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman,
minus the prostitute factor.

Ian was quiet in the car. His GPS system guided us past the gold-domed Capitol, the charming brick buildings, inviting shops and luscious smells of downtown Montpelier.

“Nervous?” I asked as we drove over the bridge.

“Yes,” he answered.

“I am still totally game to pretend to be your girlfriend,” I reminded him.

“No, thanks,” he said.

“That's so insulting. And to think I wore this dress for you.”

Ian was not amused. His eyes looked tight, if such a thing were possible. “Sorry,” I muttered, adjusting my bracelet. “Just trying to lighten the mood.” I glanced at the little GPS system, which was one of those handheld thingies. “Can I look at this?” I asked. “I've been meaning to get one.”

“Sure,” Ian said, taking a left as instructed.

I picked up the unit. Cute. There was an arrow at the bottom of the screen. I touched it. It showed our next four instructions. Yes, I definitely could use one of these things. Vermont roads were notoriously unmarked. I hit the button to exit back to the last screen.
Escape?
the unit asked. I hit
yes.

“When do I make the next turn?” Ian asked.

“Um, let me check here…oh. Oops, I think I…there's nothing.” Ian gave me the Siberian Freeze again. “I just touched an arrow,” I explained. “It asked if I wanted to escape, I said yes, that's all.”

“You canceled the instructions,” he said, pulling over a tad abruptly.

“Oh. Sorry,” I said. “I don't think I did, actually, but—”

He took the GPS from me. “You did,” he said. He
stabbed a few buttons with unnecessary roughness, I thought. Growled. Stabbed some more. Finally got it back.

“Don't touch it again,” he said.

“Okay, boss,” I said, sighing. “Sorry. Again.”

Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of the Universalist Unitarian Church of Willington. Cars lined both sides of the street, but everyone already appeared to be inside. The dashboard clock read 5:06 p.m. Shit.

Ian opened his car door and walked around to open mine. He looked fierce, and tension rolled off him in waves. “Pretty church,” I said, and it was, a large, classic white church with a steeple, the foliage glowing around it, pretty much what you see on every Vermont postcard ever printed.

The church lawn was a little soft; I had to tiptoe so my heels didn't sink into the earth.

“Can you…kick into gear or something?” Ian said, striving for patience.

“Sure, sure,” I said, almost trotting. We made it to the steps, and Ian ran up a few and held the door for me. Whatever his faults, he had nice manners.

I went into the foyer, Ian hot on my heels, then lurched to a stop, causing him to crash into me. “Callie,” he growled, then drew in a sharp breath.

Laura stood there, her back to us, peeking into the church through a slightly cracked door. She wore a calf-length white dress (Vera, I was thinking), and white roses twined in her pretty hair. At the sound of our little commotion, she whirled around, and her mouth fell open. No one spoke for a second. Until I did, of course.

“Hi there,” I said.

Laura's eyes filled. “You came,” she whispered. Clearly, she wasn't talking to me.

Ian swallowed.

The foyer was wide and bright. Three sets of doors led into the church. “I'll…I'll just find us a seat,” I said, drifting over to the farthest set of doors. Pulling on the handle, I found it was locked. I tried the next one. Also locked. The last set of doors would require me to push past Ian and Laura, who were just staring at each other.

Okay, I wasn't actually
meaning
to spy, but I seemed to be trapped here. Trying to be as discreet as a woman in a scoopalicious red gown could be, I crept over to the far corner and wished I could be invisible. It almost worked…I might as well have been a ninja on a dark night as far as Ian and the bride were concerned.

“I didn't think you'd come,” Laura whispered, the foyer acoustics letting me hear just fine. “And it occurred to me while I was on the way here that I…I wasn't sure I could go through with it without you being here. Without knowing you were really okay.”

Ian looked at the floor for a beat. Then he took her hand and looked at her. “Of course I came,” he said gently, and my eyes filled.

“I'll always love you, Ian,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You know that, right? I'm so sorry that—”

“Shh,” he said, wiping her tears away. Then he took her in his arms, her head fitting right under Ian's chin. “Don't cry, honey. Whatever you needed to say to me, you already have.”

Being the kind who wept at dog food commercials, I bit down on a sob. Such…
kindness!
God only knew what humiliation and heartbreak Ian had been through—cheated on, lied to, quite probably laughed at—yet here he was, forgiving her, releasing her from the guilt she still obviously felt, and giving her the blessing she seemed to need.

I wished my mother could see this.

Then Ian kissed the top of Laura's head and stepped back, still holding her by the shoulders. “You look so beautiful,” he said, smiling a little.

She took a shuddering sob.

“Oh, come on,” Ian murmured. “No tears. This is a happy day. Besides, you're running late.”

“Leave it to you to keep an eye on the clock.”