Take a Bow (The Perfect Plans Series Book 2) (35 page)

“ALEX,” I MOAN, my eyes closed in the pleasure of his perfect kisses along my neck. No…why are you here? How could you run to her?

Turning around, I see him on the bed, his hands gliding along my trembling body, smiling, gliding his lips along my skin. I look so happy, but I feel…pain. Agonizing pain. My heart is breaking as I watch our tender, sensual embrace
.

A bird chirps, my eyes closing at the sudden hum, before opening to the evil sneer of Helena Adelaide, held in Alex’s arms. It’s
her
flesh he’s devouring,
her
body he’s worshipping.
“
No. Why Alex? To get back at me...?”

My eyes flash open to darkness, my breaths coming in a pant, my heart aching with each beat. It was just a dream.
No
. Not a dream. Biting reality haunting me in my sleep. It’s pain very, very real.

I jump at the chirp of my cell phone, its reminder alert of a recent message sending it vibrating along the top of the nightstand. Begrudgingly, I reach for it, the bright light burning my eyes as they adjust to the screen…A text from Alex
. Why? Why is he doing this?

Subject: I’m trying

Please answer my calls. We need to talk about Andrew. About everything.

Everything?
No need to explain
everything
, Alex
…
I know what you did
. And I’m not ready yet to
talk
about it, let alone listen to him fill me in on something I already know. It’s painful enough without his words. His guilt - if he even has any.

I’ve ignored his repeated calls, finally switching the phone to mute before falling into bed. Since I’m not ready to hear anything he has to say, it wasn’t too difficult - painful with each ringing stab to my heart, yes, but the pain quickly recoiled into resentment. Resulting in rage-filled painful glances towards my phone with each unanswered call. Stupid me for leaving his contact settings for messages on over-ride.

What could he possibly have to say anyway? Would he even
tell
me that he was with her? Or would he leave that part out? If he did have the balls to admit it, would he tell me that he ran to her just to get back at me? Ironic since he questioned if that’s why I kissed Andrew.

Screw him
, I grimace a little at the harshness of the thought. Yes, my reasons for visiting Andrew that night
were
innocent, but I’d be lying if I said the question of why I crossed that line wasn’t lingering at the hands of Alex’s suggestion. Was I desperate for an escape? Or simply trying to hurt Alex in return? Maybe both.

Well, cheers to Alex for shining light on the double-edged sword - its razor edge now dripping with the blood of my broken heart.

“WHY DID I agree to get married in London again?” Stacey pouts dramatically, fluffing her mane of red tousled curls, cringing at her reflection. “Damn humidity in winter. I mean, what the hell, Abs?” she spins around holding up her mass of hair on either side. “If I’m going to look like the goddamn Lion King, I could
at least
be sitting on a beach getting drunk before I pledge an oath to the last man that will ever stick his tongue in my box.”

“You mean the man you love dearly?” I smirk.

“Yeah, that too. I’m marrying him aren’t I?” she shakes her head in exasperation, her expression screaming,
DUH
.

“Stace, your hair will be perfect.
You
will be perfect. You have a full staff, for heaven’s sake, coming to transform you into the most beautiful bride Thomas has ever seen. Stop freaking out.”

“I. Am. Not. Freaking. Out. I’m getting married.
I’m getting married
. Oh. My. God. I’m getting married,” she’s suddenly panting and gasping for air, stumbling to sit down.

“Okay, just breathe.
In
…and…
out
,” I demonstrate for effect, as though that’s going to make a difference.

“Fuck you, Aby.
You
breathe. I’m freaking out here!”

“You just said you weren’t!” I glare at her in panic. Frantically turning towards the bar, I start opening and closing cupboards and drawers in search of something to help her.

“I lied!” she shouts. “What the hell are you doing? I need help here.”

“I’m
trying
to help you. I’m looking for a paper bag or something, you’re hyperventilating!”

“A paper-fucking-bag? Listen, bitch, unless there’s a bottle of booze in it, you can stick the paper bag up your…”

“Stacey Stevenson! Bite your tongue.”

Our gazes dart towards the voice to find Stacey’s mother, Evelyn, standing in the entrance of the suite. She looks as beautiful as always, despite her customary low-maintenance appearance. Evelyn was never one to take the time to wear make-up or do anything special with her naturally stunning tresses, yet her natural beauty always shines through. She’s the polar opposite of Stacey that way, though their striking resemblance is uncanny. They share the same brilliant emerald green eyes and figure, but Evelyn is taller with lighter, strawberry blonde hair, next to Stacey’s bright copper tresses.

“Mommy!” Stacey jumps up, running to hug her.

I can’t help but smile at their loving embrace. Evelyn is the only family Stacey has in this world. That I know of, anyway. It’s been just the two of them since they moved to Toronto when we were in high school, neither having ever spoken of Stacey’s father. And I’ve never crossed the line she suggestively drew to warn that the topic was off limits. Though I have to be honest, I’ve always wondered if it played a part in the obvious ‘daddy’ issues that plague Stacey.

“Why is my beautiful baby girl so upset on her wedding day?” Evelyn pulls back, looking into Stacey’s eyes. “I don’t know how you put up with her, Aby, sweetie,” she winks at me, walking over to give me a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Mrs. Stevenson,” I smile.

“Ahhh,
hello
? Bridezilla over here! Woman. In.
Crisis
…” Stacey displays her best damsel-bitch-in-distress neck crane with exaggerated eye popping for extra effect.

“Crisis?” Evelyn looks concerned, gazing back and forth between us. “What’s happened? Is everything on schedule with the wedding?”

“Everything is fine. Perfect actually,” I glower at Stacey, to which she rolls her eyes. “Stacey is just having a minor panic attack it seems.”

“Baby,” Evelyn puts her arm around Stacey, guiding her to sit down. “This isn’t like you. You’re the
queen
of control,” she smiles encouragingly through her playfully loving sarcasm, cupping Stacey’s face to look into her eyes. “What can I do to help?”

“You just did,” Stacey smiles, hugging her mom. “I’m just so glad you’re here. You always know exactly what to say,” she adds, pulling back to look at her.

“I barely said anything at all,” she laughs. “And where else would I be?” She kisses her cheek.

“It’s not what you say, Mommy, it’s what you
do
. But actually, where you
should
be is down in the spa. It’s a gift from your soon-to-be son-in-law, Mom. You can’t blow it off. Pamper yourself this one time, okay?”

“It’s
your
day, Stacey,” Evelyn’s brows scrunch in gentle defiance. “I don’t need…”

“Mom. This is non-negotiable. I want my mother to look and feel amazing on my wedding day. You already have the look part down pat. So for just
one
day, play with that and get all dolled up. For me?
Please
?” she pleads dramatically with an exaggerated wide smile.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that don’t you?” she shakes her head. “I suppose I should at least try to do justice to the incredible dress you picked out for me. Mascara and all?” she grimaces.

“And all,” Stacey warns lovingly.

“Okay,” she kisses Stacey’s cheek again before standing. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours. I would really like to be here when you put on your dress, okay?”

“Of course, Mom. Now go. Enjoy,” Stacey scoots her towards the door. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ve got Abs,” she looks towards me with her tag-team grin.

“I’ve got her covered.” My well plastered, forced smile falls the minute the door closes behind her. I’m sensing the impending return of Bridezilla any minute. “Ummm, you just brushed your Mom off like a dusty rug. What was that?” I question as she turns to face me.

“That, my little gumdrop, was me getting rid of the only person I know that can passive-aggressively talk someone down off a ledge, while leaving them shaking their head as to exactly just how she did it.”

“So…you’re okay then?”

“Well, that’s the catch. My mom rocks, but I don’t want to burst her bubble by letting her know that her charms on me are short lived. My metaphorical ledge is as inviting as a male stripper waving his dick and a shot glass at me. I could jump back on at any moment.”

“Great,” I grimace playfully. “Then as long as you don’t jump
off
it, we’ll be fine.”

“Ha ha, whore. So, what about you? Are
you
fine?”

“Of course I’m fine,” I nonchalantly walk towards the armoire, fiddling with her wedding dress hung from the door.

“So, you’re trying to tell me that though you have yet to speak to Alex, you’re
fine
? I call bullshit, Abs.”

“And I call
shut-it
,” I turn to flash her a cautioning smirk, my inner actress quickly shifting gears to hide any signs of my instantly boiling blood. The past twenty minutes had been the first time since last night that I’d successfully silenced
their
giggles in the shower, or the constant replay of a naked Helena’s little peepshow. Not to mention the way she looked at me - the evil glimmer in her eyes haunted me all night, yet, in the cold light of day, I can’t help but wonder if I saw something more behind that eerie stare.

No doubt, Stacey’s Bridezilla attack played a large role in my short-lived distraction. Yet with her mere question of concern, the disgusting events are now back in full force, poking me square in the head once again.
Ugh. How could he?
I quickly turn my attention back to the dress, squeezing my eyes closed against the tears threatening to emerge.
Was it his turn to get back at me?

“How long have I known you?”

“Just let it go, Stace. Please.”

“I can’t, Abs. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re hiding something - especially pain. Your acting skills are useless on me, Scarlett O’Hara. You’re pining over your Rhett Butler, and you can’t fool me that it’s not bothering you.”

“What was it that Rhett said to Scarlett? ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn’. Irony is a bitch,” I whisper to myself.
A confusing bitch.
I know what I saw, but my heart is fighting to believe it.

“Stop mumbling. I
can
hear you, ya know. Alex certainly gives a damn. I know he’s angry right now, Aby, but he’s proven how much he cares.”

I cringe at her words, fighting my body’s urge to buckle to the floor and cry. Or throw up.
I thought he cared. I thought I trusted him.
I don’t know what to think anymore.

“And,” she continues, “…like me, he can see through you as well. Translation - he loves you as much as I do.”

Oh, God
. I exhale deeply, desperate to keep it together, bending to reposition her sparkly shoes for distraction. “Your theory is flawed,” I retort - with no intention of offering the razor-sharp edge of truth that if Alex truly loved me, he wouldn’t have been with Helena. “Liam never saw through me, and
he
loved me,” I deflect instead, turning to face her, my resurfaced anger controlling the breaking of my heart.

“Liam was in denial, hun. And nice try. Deflection doesn’t work with me either. Talk to me,” the concern in her gaze kills me.

“Stace, it’s your wedding day. Please let this go. It will still be here tomorrow.”
And the next day…and the day after that…

“Don’t make me hurt you. Do you really want me to splatter the blood of my Maid of Honor all over my wedding dress? Come on,” she takes my hand, leading me into the bedroom to sit on the bed. “I promise, dealing with your shit keeps me from losing
mine
,” she smiles wide, teeth and all. It’s a psychotic breakdown forewarning that I know she means.

Ugh
, I close my eyes on a deep breath. “Last night…Alex
was
home, but he wasn’t…alone.”

“What? What the hell do you mean? Did you talk to him?”

“He didn’t even know I was there.” My attempts to avoid her gaze are fruitless against the locked and mirroring movements of her head. “I heard laughter coming from the bathroom…from the shower.”

“Go on,” her jaw cocks at an eerie angle that matches the crazed look in her eyes.

“I heard the door opening, someone came out,” I lose focus, staring into space, fighting to keep the visual from resurfacing.

“Who, Aby? Who came out?” she grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her.

“It was Helena,” a tear slips down my cheek. “She was naked.”

“What? Holy fucking shit!” Stacey bolts upright, pacing erratically before looking back to me. “Alex wouldn’t do that to you.
Would
he?” she questions the air. “Oh, but that tramp would,” she folds her arms, retracing her circle of steps. “I bet she was just waiting, like the slutty vulture she is, to swoop down and…Oh, shit, Abs,” she rushes to sit down, taking my hands in hers. “I’m so sorry.”