Matter of Choice (12 page)

“Pity.” A groan slipped past her lips. “That’s not good either.”

“You’ve got to open your eyes. You’re not seeing the forest, you know that?”

“I guess I’m seeing a few more of the trees right now though.”

The waitress came in, dressed in a black suit and white apron, hair tied back into a ponytail, face a young twenty-something brilliance. She took their orders for appetizers and main entrées, announced the meal would be served in approximately thirty minutes. Taking the menus, she invited them to step out onto the terrace before exiting the room an
d closing the doors behind her.

Triston regarded Shannon, an eyebrow raised. “So what do you think? Would you like to step outside, or would you prefer to stay here and talk?”

Shannon took a second, thoughts and considerations bombarding her mind from every angle. But in the end, there was no reason not to, and glancing back at Triston, his eyes bright with hope and a sliver of expectation, the words came easy. “We can go outside if you’d like.”

He nodded, pushed the chair back quietly and stood, making his way to slide her chair backwards. “Shall we?”

Outside, with the sun beginning to settle behind the furthest horizon, the faintest glimmer of stars breeching the fading light, the atmosphere dripped in romanticism. Shannon leaned against the railing, keeping her attention distantly removed from the man next to her. His very presence unnerved and draped her in comfort at the same time, and she couldn’t reconcile the emotions.

Triston settled his back against the white wooden barrier, arms crossed ag
ainst his chest, studying her.

She tilted her head, redirected her attention away from the scenery to meet him. “You’re staring at me.”

“Admiring you.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “How do you do that? How do you always know the most flattering thing to say? Like you’re trying to speak directly to my heart?”

He smirked. “Is it working?”

She sighed heavy, her face hardened. “Triston, you can’t …”

He turned to take her hand. “Why not, Shy? Why can’t I tell you how wonderful you are? I can’t understand what Greg is thinking, how he could play the games he’s playing. I don’t care what his excuse is. I don’t care how sick he is or what happened to him. No man … wait, any man would look at you, standing next to them, standing firm, and see what a miracle it is for you to even
be
there. All the excuses in the world don’t dismiss his behavior.”

Tears threatened to well over as she lifted her gaze towards the sky, blind to the blushed horizon and glimmering speckles overhead, her effort to blink the emotion away failing. “I don’t know anymore, Triston. I’ve been, marriage vows are, they’re serious, you know. They’re supposed to be forever. I never imagined, in all of my worst nightmares, Greg and I would be here now. I wanted it to be forever. I wanted the dream to come true. I couldn’t turn my back on that.”

“So when you found out it was your best friend he was sharing his time with, something changed?”

She wiped away the lone tear that found its freedom with brushing fingertips. “The thing is, Triston, all those other women, they may have never known I even existed. Greg probably never even told them he was married. He doesn’t remember that he is. But Lauren, she knew. Of course she knew. She worked at the hotel as my head housekeeper, and even before that, she was my best friend. We’ve known each other for years, long before the accident even happened. How she could do this? And how she could allow him to do it?”

Triston scoffed, “So it’s her fault?”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s her fault. And his too. It doesn’t matter, Triston. I can’t do this anymore. I’m, I’m worn out.”

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms tight as she pressed into his shoulder.

“I’m here for you, Shy.” His lips moved against her hair, strands dancing around the inviting mouth. “And I’m not going to let this guy hurt you anymore. If I have to live here at the hotel until your divorce is final, I’ll do that.”

She pushed away, the contradictions in her chest heavy and foreboding. “And then what, Triston? You have a business to run, you’re not moving here anymore than I’m moving away from this place. You’re talking about six months or longer. I don’t know what Greg is going to do, if he’ll fight this. You can’t put your life on hold for me.”

“I think you’re underestimating my commitment here.”

“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Am I?” He leaned forward, a knuckle cupping her chin as he edged it upwards and softly pressed his lips against her hesitant mouth. Every fiber wanted to resist, to push away, but the touch of skin pressed together felt too good
, and she deliquesced into him.

Slowly, they parted, her voice hoarse. “We shouldn’t …” She couldn’t bear to open her eyes. She didn’t want to see the expectations and hope she imagined to be shimmering in his gaze, or reveal the shame and uncertainty she knew was in hers.

He pressed a finger against her lips, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, his breath intoxicatingly warm. “Don’t say ‘we shouldn’t’ anything. Open your eyes, sweetheart, look at me.” He paused, and she could feel him back away. Setting her jaw firm, her lids eased open to stare into Triston’s gaze mere inches away. “It was one kiss, Shy. That’s all. And I won’t go further than that until you’re ready. But to make it clear, I love you. It might seem impossible, it’s been years and we haven’t spent much time together since I came to the Grande. But I realized this afternoon, when I took a jog down that path we walked … I loved you in high school. Honestly, truly loved you. I screwed it up. But the love never really went away.”

“Triston.”

“Please, let me say this. It has been years, and we need to relearn one another in a lot of ways, but we talk and it’s like all those years never happened. I want to explore that place again with you, as two mature adults who know what the terrain of love is truly about, in all of its dips and heights. And I will wait six months, a year, three years, if that’s what it takes. That’s all that kiss was about.” He reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Okay?”

She nodded, hand resting against his chest, closing her eyes again. It was said eyes were the windows to the soul, and she knew, should he peer into them long enough, he would see how very much
she wished she wasn’t married.

Chapter Seventeen

Thursday morning rose with a bright sun and flurry of activity at the Grande Marquis. In seven hours, forty-five attendees, each an important name when compared to the typical Joe, would be arriving, and Shannon’s hair felt like it was on end as she looked at the clock on the computer monitor. A housekeeping team without an immediate manager, a special events team short one due to a family death, a menu missing an appetizer after a delivery truck was stuck in Jersey somewhere due to a ten car pile up. Disaster after disaster, too many people to disappoint. An account too crucial to injure. The weight burdened her conscience, her gut aware the majority of the fault rested on her alone. A night out with Triston and a head not ful
ly in the game was catching up.

He clouded her thoughts as she fought to categorize a kiss and evening far more romantic than any in recent memory. Triston played the role of devoted, attentive companion perfectly. She had to admit, it turned her head. Shannon stiff
ened. Just a little. Not much.

The phone rang and made Shannon jumpe
d, shaking her head in disgust.

She had to get it together.

Relief washed over her when she picked up a line to the back up supplier confirming the rush of ingredients for soups and salads would arrive within the hour. One issue off the list.

Another call and a secondary chef on his way in to assist the kitchen, a second solution.

Only a half dozen left to work through.

Shannon’s fingers glided across the keyboard, assigning rooms for housekeepers to clean, and two additional maids assigned to the banquet room to assist special events. A tap on the enter key and the printer came alive with schedules she could pas
s to the group of seven ladies.

Running fingers through her hair, she leaned back in the chair and smiled.
Back on
track, she thought, and enough time for appearances to ensure no one knew there was ever a hiccup.

Her eyes moved across the desk, past the name plate, pencil holder, and candy plate half full with Snicker Fun bars, settling on the wedding picture of herself with Greg. She reached for it, and reclined back, staring at the figures frozen in photographic time. The man, dressed in the tailor-made tuxedo Shannon knew now hung collecting dust in the back of his closet, looked incredible in all of his tall, dark and handsome reality. The woman, shining from head to toe in happiness, elegant in an Amalia wedding dress detailed in Swarovski crystals and detailed embellishments. They both looked as though they had the world at their feet, everything at their beck and call. With money, successful careers and beauty, she figured, as her eyes remained locked on the image, by the world’s standards, they did. Then.

She reached down and opened the drawer at the bottom of her desk, tucked the gold frame facedown on the pile of paperwork she rarely visited. Whatever that young couple boasted, it was gone, and after the night she spent with Triston, she was all the more certain it was something the couple in the photo would never see again.

As her fingers traced her lips without touching the delicate surface of skin, she wondered how long the memory of the kiss would linger along her mouth. She rose and circled the desk to the window, mind trailing as her arms wrapped tightly against her shoulders. The kiss shouldn’t have happened, but it did. The divorce shouldn’t be happening, but it was. She knew, as her eyes fixed on the familiar distance, none of it made any sense. Yet, when Triston’s name floated across her thoughts like a beacon of light in the darkness, it was him her every fiber gravitated to. Like static electricity and waking waves across the beach. Gentle, magneti
c, undeniable.

“I am not falling in love with him,” she spoke the words in the empty room, the sound of her voice hitting the windows panes and falling dead. Her heart didn’t believe them
, and her mind didn’t like it.

Her mind was losing the debate, and a yearning to call him swallowed her into a swirling abyss. Shannon’s gaze shifted down to the window sill.
There was no turning back now.

*

The lobby was buzzing with movement. People checking in, some looking to the makeshift poster set up next to the front desk directing them to the banquet room, signage which should have looked more professional than black letters designed by a Sharpie marker and photo printed and glued by Naomi an hour earlier. Kitchen staff trotted back and forth from the laundry room to the restaurant, and down to the banquet room. Housekeeping flurried to complete last minute vacuuming, dusting and polishing throughout the lobby. Maintenance men with smart phones plastered to their ears struggled with a sound system content screeching in response to the vaguest whisper. Shannon stood at the cross-section of the hallways, greeting and directing traffic, throat constricting with each obvious flutter of disorganization. Even the day of their grand opening ran smoother, and adding insult to injury, she recognized the discreet shared glances between guests as they, too, noticed every blunder made by hotel employees. If Shannon had learned one thing over the years, once an event started out badly, it only got worse. She shivered.

As the crowds began to filter out of the lobby, Shannon made her way to the banquet room, hoping against hope there were no other mishaps. If the rest of the banquet went well, the morning’s issues could be ignored, or at the very least, easily dismissed. At this point, she was sure it w
as the best she could hope for.

Quiet hallways free of mingling guests boded well. Years of experience taught her if guests clustered in the common areas, something usually was wrong with their accommodations. Nearer to the banquet room, the low buzz of friendly conversation eased her mind further, a peak through the cracked door relaxed the tension high in her shoulders. The events team had pul
led everything off beautifully.

Nine tables with five place settings each scattered across the room dressed with crisp white tablecloths, all freshly ironed, and peach plates splashing a hint of color. Fresh cut flower arrangements added a subtle aroma with lilies, peach roses and greens and decorated the center in full elegant arrangements. Each chair covered in white satin covers added elegance in
a room already rich with taste.

A center table stretched across the far wall, complete with a photo display and a small assortment of door prizes. The one remaining issue appeared to be the sound system, and she could see the maintenance manager and Rick Stockard working feverishly to resolve the issues. The guests in the room seemed undisturbed by their presence or the technical difficulties, at least for the moment. Hopefully, before the guests became agitated, the two men would have the
technical difficulties solved.

“Party going on?”

Shannon ducked out of the room to see Greg standing next to her, the liquor on his breath curling her nose.

“Only a private meeting. It’s nothing you would be interested in.” She stared into intoxicated pupils, and wondered where the concern was as only a sickening disgust rose from her stomach like bile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

His eyes darkened, the lines of his angled jaw tightening. “Baby, nobody tells me where I should or shouldn’t be.” He stepped forward, his shoulders widening with aggression.

“I’m telling you, as the hotel manager, you have no business in this part of the hotel. I must ask you to leave so as not to disturb my other guests.”

“I don’t care who you are. I go anywhere I want to go, and no one, especially not some
woman
, is going to tell me I can’t. Move out of my way.” He took another step forward, towering over her despite the mere three inch difference between them.

Her breath hitched, eyes wide, yet she held her ground. “No, I will not have you disturbing my guests. Please leave the hotel, or I’ll be forced to call security.”

He snorted and chuckled. “You’ll call security on me? Like anyone in security scares me? That Stevens Rent-a-Cop, he’s a joke. I said,
Get out of my way!
”

The hands which had spent the better part of ten years caressing her skin, holding her with happiness and in sorrow, shot out and grabbed her shoulders, his grip hard against her skin. She yelped, then screamed as he pulled her off her feet, glaring with angry eyes, and threw her against the wall. Unable to gain her balance, Shannon shrunk to the floor in a crumbled heap, staring as Greg turned away without a second look and strode into the banquet room. Tears spilled down her cheeks as his booming voice blasted through the air, and terror struck as Rick looked up, past Greg to meet her with eyes morphin
g from startled to acrimonious.

Shannon’s voice didn’t find its way out of her mouth in time to stop Rick from barreling towards Greg, arms wide and ready to tackle. Shrieks and gasps ricocheted out of the banquet room and bounced off the walls, bee stings pummeling Shannon as Greg glowered at the teenager. A single hook landed hard and precise against the boy’s temple, sending him sprawling to the ground. Senators and chair people rushed to his side, and others wrapped their arms tight against Greg’s drunken rage, encasing h
im with immobilizing restraint.

Shannon stumbled to her feet, rubbing both shoulders with crossed arms where angry bruises bubbled to the surface. Senator Johnson rushed to her side, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her as one of the chair people yelled out, “Someone call an ambulance! The boy’s unconscious.”

Another yelled out, “Someone call the police!”

Several angry eyes glared at Shannon, while another voice, Megan Savoe Shannon thought, ordered f
or the banquet to be postponed.

Legs wobbled as she sunk to the ground next to her employee, a hand reaching out to brush hair away from his forehead and grazing the swollen lump where Greg’s fist left its mark.
Her responsibility. All of it.

And she failed.