Candy Crush (35 page)

Her eyes finally fell onto her brother.
Laney was perched on one knee with Courtney on the other. Gabriella
rolled her eyes because she was pretty sure his hand was inside
Courtney’s shirt. Emmett laughed at something and Gabriella shifted
her glance to see who had caused him to laugh…

And she spotted her parents!

“Mom and dad?” she said, making it sound
like a question.

“Surprise,” Brandon whispered in her ear. He
squeezed her shoulder and then grabbed her hand and pulled her
across the room to where her parents were sitting with Emmett and
Courtney.

Gabriella’s eyes filled with tears, and they
spilled over once she was standing in front of her parents. As soon
as they saw her they both leapt out of their seats.

“Gabriella!” they said in unison, and then
there was a moment of chaos as everyone tried to hug each other and
Gabriella tried to introduce her parents and Brandon.

“We’ve already met,” Brandon said with a
mysterious smile. “I arranged for them to fly up here for
Thanksgiving.” Gabriella released her mother and clung to Brandon,
not even bothering to swipe away the tears.

“I love you so much,” she mumbled into his
shirt and he chuckled and dropped a kiss on her head. Brandon’s
parents wandered over. They too had already met Gabriella’s
parents. Emmett cleared his throat and the group all shifted their
focus to him.

“I have an exciting announcement to make,”
he began.

Rosalie looked horrified and Courtney
groaned and said, “I’m not pregnant, mom.”

“On Monday I accepted a new job. I’m going
to be based out of the Detroit area. And only minimal traveling.”
Courtney beamed and everyone else offered his or her
congratulations.

Gabriella glanced at Brandon and saw that he
looked distinctly relieved. The relationship between Emmett and
Courtney had progressed at an alarming rate, despite the fact that
they only saw each other on weekends and Emmett until now had been
based in New Orleans. Brandon worried constantly about how the
relationship could possibly work under those circumstances.

“I’d be willing to take that apartment you
can’t seem to rent, Gabby.”

Now it was Gabriella’s turn to look
relieved. She’d managed – with lots of help from the Sarantos
family – to open her candy store in time for Halloween, and sales
have been brisk. She had been right when she guessed that a candy
store would be perfect for the historic downtown district.
Unfortunately, the apartment had not been so easy to rent. The
locals were still a little leery of the idea of sleeping over top
the
jinxed
candy store.

“I’m sure your interest in renting the
apartment has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Courtney
is working weekends at the candy store,” she noted dryly.

Brandon opened his mouth as if he intended
to protest, and Gabriella placed her palm on his chest. “It makes
perfect sense,” she said, talking directly to him. “I don’t intend
to use it for myself any time soon.”

“Speaking of,” her mother interrupted. “What
is this nonsense about you shying away from the idea of
marriage?”

Gabriella gave her a blank look, until she
caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to see
Brandon tugging at his shirt collar. She narrowed her eyes and he
hastily said, “I only told them so they wouldn’t pressure you while
they were visiting.”

“Told them what? I don’t have any issues
with getting married.”

Brandon stared at her as if her hair had
suddenly burst into flames. He shook his head and said, “Yes you
do. Don’t you remember getting mad at me because I joked about
getting married?”

Gabriella rolled her eyes. “That was ages
ago. Back when I was still afraid Miguel would find me and force me
to marry
him
. We haven’t talked about it a single time since
then.”

“That’s because I didn’t want to fight with
you,” Brandon protested. “Are you telling me that you
will
marry me?”

“Are you asking?” she demanded.

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I will.”

They stared at each other for a few moments,
both shocked into silence, until the entire restaurant erupted into
applause, cheers and catcalls. Gabriella’s face flushed as she
smiled and shook her head. Brandon grinned and pulled her into his
arms and sealed the deal with a kiss that was hot enough to earn
its own round of applause and catcalls.

Gabriella laughed. “Did that just
happen?”

“Did I just trick you into agreeing to marry
me? Yep.”

She laughed again. “I don’t think you
tricked me. I
want
to marry you.”

“Well that’s a relief, considering I’ve
already decided you’re stuck with me for the rest of your
life.”

Gabriella didn’t think his proclamation was
a bad thing. He was stuck with her, too. For the rest of his
life.

The End
###

Want more from author Tami Lund? Turn the
page for a preview of The Resort.

THE RESORT

TAMI LUND

Published by Tami Lund

Copyright 2013 Tami Lund

CHAPTER ONE

It wasn’t one of my better days. It was one
of those days where you think,
I should have just stayed in
bed
.

I’ve just been caught trying to climb over a
stone wall to sneak into a party that I had no business trying to
sneak into. The people mingling, drinking and eating on the other
side of that wall were so outside my social circles, heck I didn’t
even
have
social circles. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Of course, that tends to be my problem: I don’t think. Or at least,
I don’t think things through.

I found myself being manhandled by a guy in
a black tux, with black hair and black eyes, and I was more
distracted by his sexiness than the fact that he was demanding to
know why I was trying to scale the wall. He had a grip like a vise
on my upper arm and he gave me another shake.

“Stop shaking me,” I snapped, finally
getting past the sexy lock of hair that drooped over his left
eyebrow and the eyes that looked like deep pools of black water and
my curiosity over what that chest looked like
without
the
tuxedo shirt.

“Why? Afraid I might shake something loose?”
His voice was deep and sounded a little rusty, and I could hear the
amusement in it. Great, now he was laughing at me.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded with a
lot more bravado than I felt.

Earlier in the day, I’d been fired from my
job. That job was as a banquet server in the very resort I was now
trying to sneak into. I was fired because during a small lunch
function, one of the guests pushed me into a corner and tried to
feel me up. When my knee connected with his gonads, my boss swept
me away, through the kitchen and out the backdoor. He told me I
should have let the guest have his way. He suggested I might have
gotten a nice tip out of it. I told him I gave the guest a tip
instead and he told me to leave and not come back.

After I moped around at home, feeling sorry
for myself because I lost yet another job and wasn’t sure how in
the world I was going to pay my car note this month, inspiration
struck, and I suddenly decided that I deserved to be at this party
tonight. It was my right. I didn’t particularly have anything to
back up that reasoning, but I went with it anyway.

I lived in a tiny town in northern Michigan
called Lovejoy. Classy, right? The town was located on a river
named Messenger River, which fed into Messenger Lake and eventually
to Lake Huron’s northeastern shore. Lovejoy was a tourist town
without a whole lot of tourists.

Nearly everyone who actually lived there
full time worked in some capacity for the tourism industry, which
happened to be the second largest source of income for the state of
Michigan. I assumed other parts of the state faired better with the
industry, because our little town barely scraped a living each
year.

I’ve lived in Lovejoy my entire life, aside
from the four years I spent away at college (two hours away, that
is). A little over two years ago, someone bought a bunch of
property on the river and built a resort, and then they surrounded
the resort with an eight-foot tall grey stone wall. Then they swung
the gates open and the rich, powerful and elite swarmed to The
Resort in droves.

The residents of Lovejoy were originally
excited about The Resort, because we all expected it to infuse our
pathetic economy with some life. But we were hoodwinked. The Resort
was completely self-contained and its guests had absolutely no
reason to step outside those grey stone walls to explore the quaint
little town next door. Our economy didn’t change, other than the
fact that unemployment dipped a little, because everyone with stars
in their eyes rushed to work for the resort.

Unlike many, many of my friends and
neighbors, I avoided working for The Resort until two weeks ago.
But I’m sort of an accident waiting to happen, and I had a really
hard time not screwing up my jobs, and I’ve run out of options.
Unfortunately, I still had bills to pay, so I trudged up to the
gate and requested an application from the guard.

I have a college education. It’s a Liberal
Arts degree, which meant I knew a little bit about a lot of
different things, but not enough about any one thing to really be
useful. I expected, due to my status as a college educated adult,
to be offered some sort of management position.

They gave me the choice of banquet server or
dishwasher. I hated washing dishes and my car note was due, so I
took the banquet server position.

“I should be asking that question,” my man
handler replied, pulling me away from my depressing employment
status and back to the here and now. I heard the unmistakable
sounds of amusement in his tone.

“I’m a guest here, isn’t it obvious?” I
stood tall in my red high-heeled strappy sandals, which pushed my
height to the five-foot-eight or nine-range, which was about ten
inches shorter than the man holding my arm, and tried to look what
I assumed passed for dignified.

I was dressed in a second-hand red kimono
style evening gown that was stitched with lots of gold thread. I
picked it up at the local Salvation Army store. It had a giant tear
in the seam that rode up to my left hip, thanks to my attempt to
scale the wall.

In retrospect, I suppose trying to scale a
wall in an evening gown and high heels was not a particularly
brilliant idea. Actually, trying to scale an eight-foot wall in any
capacity was not a very good idea. I guess this goes back to not
thinking things through…

The dark-haired man’s lips quirked as if he
were trying not to smile, and he nodded toward the gate. “The
entrance is over there.”

Well now what? I dipped my head and began
nudging a stone with my sandal. All dressed up and nowhere to go,
that’s how I felt at that moment. I glanced up and saw that the lip
quirk was gone and he was staring stonily at me.

“Okay, fine,” I snapped. “I’m a local and I
just wanted to see what it was like to go to one of these parties.
I was supposed to be working as a server but I got fired a few
hours ago because one of the guests tried to feel me up in a
corner.”

I don’t know why I told him all this. I had
no earthly idea who he was, although I was pretty sure he was
somehow associated with security for The Resort. That place had
nearly as much security as the White House. There were plenty of
politicians who visited The Resort, so maybe that’s why.

“And how did that get you fired?” He sounded
as if he was having a casual conversation over coffee.

“I sort of kicked him.”

Mr. Security Detail winced, so he obviously
understood
where
I kicked the man.

“And my boss thought I reacted a bit
harshly.”

“Did you want to be felt up by this
guy?”

“No, of course not,” I answered
indignantly.

“Then I’d say you reacted
appropriately.”

I stared at him. “Uh, thanks,” I said
finally.

Suddenly, the walkie talkie clipped to his
belt crackled to life. He unsnapped it and held it close to his
ear. I couldn’t understand a word over the static, but he obviously
could.

“I have a situation that requires my
attention.” His eyes scanned me from head to toe, and I had the
distinct impression he was undressing me in his head.

I wondered if I’d have to kick him too.

“Come with me, I might be able to use your
assistance.”

Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed my
hand and began dragging me along behind him, toward the front
entrance. When I realized he intended to walk through a small door
built into the wall, between the wide, winding driveway and a small
building that served as a security check point, I dug my heels into
the pebbled path and we came to a skidding halt.

“What?” he asked impatiently.

“Are you taking me inside?” I asked.

He looked as if he was holding himself back
from rolling his eyes with great difficulty. “Yes.”

“Okay, hang on.” I opened my little red
clutch purse and pulled out a tube of red tinted lip-gloss. I
couldn’t go in there with bare lips. As I applied the gloss, he
really did roll his eyes.

“Hey, even us locals have standards,” I said
as I capped the lip-gloss and dropped it into my purse.

He stared at my lips. I touched two fingers
to them, checking to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently smudged my
work. “What? Something wrong?”

He finally shook his head. “Your dress is
ripped almost to your hip and you’re worried about lip-gloss?”

I’d forgotten about the dress. I glanced
down and dismally realized he was right. “I can’t go in there like
this.”