On the Way to a Wedding (8 page)

And if her mother saw the luggage, and especially the wedding dress―

Might as well face it. She was afraid of what Mrs. Samantha Whitney would think of her ungrateful daughter. Her forever ungrateful daughter.

What would her mother say if she knew Toria had packed, taken the wedding dress her father had spent so much money on, and left?

And not only left, but gone to see Aunt Glenda. Her mother and Aunt Glenda might not be speaking to each other, but Toria liked Aunt Glenda. Aunt Glenda listened.

“This Physiotherapy is taking forever.”

Was she doing the right thing by ending this wedding? Maybe she should just postpone? In February, she’d said a year. They could get married next January. That might have worked.

But Greg’s mother—the wedding planner—had said no one got married in January. It would have to be June. June was the month for weddings.

And so Toria had agreed to June. But to the following June, not this June. Somewhere along the line, her mother and Geraldine had advanced the date.

Behind the curtains, Toria could hear someone coughing—a young girl, trying to catch her breath.

“I should go. I’ve called Greg. He can take you home.”

A buzz of adrenaline flashed through her body and she stiffened. “You called Greg?”

“Why, of course.” Her mother lifted her eyebrows. “He’s your fiancé. You’ve been in an accident. He’d want to―”

“He has meetings in the afternoon.”

“I know. I left a message for him.”

“He never interrupts a meeting.”

“Yes, of course, but he’ll see the message is from me. We need him to pick you up.”

Why?

The word was there, on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t let it out. Choking on words again, she had become a complication for Geraldine and Samantha as they tightened their hold on her.

If only she could think. What would her father have said to all this?

No
. He would have said, no. “I can take a cab.”

“Nonsense. Greg will be happy to get you. I wish these physiotherapy people would hurry up with your crutches.”

“Just go. I’m fine.” She always felt
fine
.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

Her mother checked her watch, turned and took two hurried steps away from the stretcher―

Tell her.
Say it now. Get it out in the open. “I was driving down to Kalispell,” Toria said, speaking to her mother’s back. “To see Aunt Glenda.”

Panic threatened and Toria swallowed, dreading the next few moments. But the words were spoken, no turning back now.

Her mother stopped mid step, slowly turned and lifted her hands to her heart. Her jaw fell open. A silent gasp.

“You were
what?
What’s got into you?
Glenda
. Of all people. She just puts ideas in your head. That’s why you’re so distraught. What would people think if they knew you were acting like this?”

“I can’t do it, Mom. I can’t marry him.”

“But you have to.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . Because . . . he’s perfect. It’s the perfect solution.”

“Not for me.”

“How can you talk like that?”

How?
By opening my mouth, by letting the words out, letting them flow past my choking throat
.

A commotion near the entrance to the stretcher bay interrupted them. Toria could hear the nurses, several of them, speaking at once.

“Sorry. This is not―”

“Can I help you?”

“Just a moment, sir. You can’t―”

And she knew Greg had arrived.

He swept past the nursing station, never pausing, wearing one of his black three-piece suits, and zeroing in on the last stretcher in the unit. Then he saw her.

He glanced at her face, and at her bandaged foot. His expression clouded with anger. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“Are you a relative?” The nurse in the orange uniform stood next to Greg.

“I’m her fiancé,” he said, snapping the words as if they gave him some kind of special rights.

The nurse frowned, then seemed to collect herself. A loud beeping from the nursing station summoned her and she quickly left.

Samantha Whitney arranged a smile on her face but her lipstick looked crooked. “Victoria had a little accident. She tripped.”

“I had a car accident.”

“Car―” He paused for a single second. “That old Honda? Are you all right?” He looked at her tensored foot again. “Your ankle?”

“It’s only a sprain.”

Concern flooded over his face, and it looked real. The anger—if it was anger—was gone.

“
Only?
You could have been hurt even worse than this.” He brushed his hand over his hair, messing the neat strands. “I never liked that car.”

“I did.”

“I know, I know. It was
your
car.”

“It was paid for.”

“Victoria.” Her mother was back by the stretcher, standing behind Greg. “You can afford a new car, for Pete’s sake.”

“Anything else wrong?”

“Not with me.”

“How’s the car?”

“It’s had a lot of damage. Probably totaled.”

“Good.”

“What do you mean,
good?
”

“That car hasn’t been dependable. Not for a long time.” A slight smile touched his lips.

Her mother laughed, an almost genuine laugh. “Remember at Christmas when it wouldn’t start?”

That was the day she’d met Greg at her parents’ house for Christmas dinner. He drove her home because the Honda wouldn’t start.

“Don’t worry about the car.” His voice had turned soothing. “The important thing is you’re all right.”

At that moment, his phone rang and he checked the readout. Torn. “I have to take this.”

Toria’s nurse, with the orange uniform, reappeared. “Turn off that cell. It interferes with our telemetry. Can’t you read the signs?”

Greg looked at the nurse like he was ready to have her fired. But he clicked off his phone. And then he turned back to Toria, holding the phone between them. “I need to take this, darling.”

“I have to go,” her mother said, checking her watch. “You’ll go home with Greg.”

“I’ll take a cab.”

“Victoria,” her mother said, simply, a warning in her voice.

“Greg and I are no longer engaged.”

Her mother opened her mouth and gaped. Behind the curtains, Toria could hear the young girl coughing, the monitors beeping, and the sound of the PA system asking for a French interpreter.

“You don’t mean that,” her mother said.

“Of course she doesn’t,” Greg confirmed. “But we’re entitled to the occasional lovers’ quarrel, aren’t we, Samantha?”

The curtains fluttered and a short woman with long red hair and freckled skin moved past her mother and bumped into Greg, knocking his elbow with a pair of aluminum crutches.

“I’ve got your crutches, dearie,” she said, without apologizing to Greg. “I need you to sign here.” She placed a clipboard in Toria’s hands.

“How long will this take?” Greg asked, rubbing his elbow.

“Too long,” her mother said, with arms folded.

The physiotherapist handed a gold colored pen to Toria and showed her where to sign.

Greg’s phone vibrated, a familiar buzz. He hadn’t turned it off. Behind the curtain, the monitor was making high pitched squeaking sounds.

“Sit on the edge of the stretcher, dearie,” the physiotherapist said, as she adjusted little wing nuts on the crutches.

Greg’s phone vibrated again, that buzzing sound like a trapped hornet. “I have to take this.”

“You always do.”

His eyes met hers, uneasy. He glanced at her mother, put away the phone, and then looked at her hands. Finally.

“Where’s your diamond?” A quiet voice now, as some of his confidence slipped.

“On my dresser. Don’t worry. I’ll give it back to you.”

“I don’t want it back. I know you were upset, and you’re just reacting. Everything will be all right.”

“I’m not getting married, Greg.”

“She’s shaken up from this accident,” her mother said, explaining.

“It’s the china, isn’t it?” Greg nodded. “You wanted to be involved and they took over.”

“We didn’t take over,” her mother said. “We had to―”

“My mother thought you would love inheriting her pieces.” Greg ignored Samantha. “It meant a lot to her.”

“She wants to run . . . everything.”

“She’s a wedding planner. Most brides would love to have a wedding planner.” Greg was using his quiet, make-the-close voice. “She’s excited about this. So is your mother.”

“It doesn’t matter, Greg.” This was pointless.

“I’ll call a cab for you. I’ve got a deal closing right now, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“No.”

“We’ll talk about this, and if you want, we can postpone.”

“But the invitations!”

“Now, Samantha. They’re only pieces of paper.”

“But . . . but . . .”

The physiotherapist had been fiddling with the wing nuts on the crutches. Now she plunked them on the floor. “How tall are you, dearie?”

“Five seven.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“We simply cannot postpone―” her mother started again. Greg took her arm and led her away.

The nurse in the orange uniform poked her head around the curtain. “I liked the other one better,” she said.

“The other one?”

“The other fiancé.”

“I―”

Greg returned, whooshing open the curtains and pushing past the nurse. “Don’t worry, darling,” he said. “Just take care of that ankle.” He tried to step around the physiotherapist. “We can postpone,” he said, peering around her, “if that’s what you want.” He moved to the left. “I’ll come by tonight,” he said. “We’ll talk about it.”

He moved closer.

Oh no.
He wanted to
kiss
her.

Pressing against the pillow, she flinched back.

The physiotherapist turned and caught him in the stomach with the crutches. “Whoops,” she said.

Greg’s phone vibrated and the monitor in the next cubicle squealed. He yanked the phone from his jacket pocket, looked at the readout, and then at Toria.

“Tonight,” he said, and he left.

Chapter Five

Catherine flipped through the work orders, checked the appointment schedule and switched the phone to the answering machine. Then she pulled out the file for her new house.

After she’d met with Jimmy at Tim Hortons, he’d agreed to pick up the carpet samples at Dale’s Interiors.

Of course, it was the least he could do, considering he was going to be Ryder’s partner. She should have thought of meeting Jimmy before. It had been so simple. Whereas trying to get Ryder to do anything was like . . . well, like trying to get Ryder to do
anything
.

He wasn’t easy to manage.

She took out the page of paint samples. The company’s designer had several recommended color schemes. She’d picked this one. Why couldn’t Ryder agree?

At least he’d agreed to upgrade the flooring to cork, even though it meant they needed the humidifier for the warranty. She would have to reward that behavior. Maybe she could go for a walk with him down by the river—as long as they stayed on the path. That would make him happy.

The brass bells on the back of the door jangled and Jimmy Bondeau stumbled in, lugging four large carpet sample books in his arms. He brought them to the desk.

She felt a rush of lightness and a surge of power. She was getting something done. “Oh thank you, Jimmy. You’re such a dear.”

He plopped the books on the counter. “No problem. Happy to help.” He turned to go.

“Got time for some coffee?” she asked, moving toward the BrewWell Unit.

“I need to get back to the site.”

“In Royal Oak?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I can go with you. We can stop by my house.” She’d never be able to get Ryder to take her. “I want to see how the construction is going.”

“Uh, not a good idea. They’ve just started framing.” He stepped toward the door. “Too dangerous.”

Men could be so stubborn. “That’s what Ryder always says.” And then, “I’ll wear a hard hat.” She gave him her best smile.

At least she’d
tell
him she’d wear a hard hat. Those things were horrible for your hair.

He hovered near the door. “It’s really muddy with all the rain. Maybe another time. I have to get back.”

He was being difficult. “You go to the sites every day?”

“That’s what Ryder pays me for.” Jimmy checked his watch. “They’re craning a unit in Royal Oak in about an hour. I need to be there for that.”

Oh no you don’t. You’re not leaving yet.
“I’m so glad Ryder will finally have someone to help him.”

Jimmy paused.

Good. She had his attention. “Assuming―” she watched him, “―assuming he signs that partnership agreement.”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said, touching the door knob. But then he turned back to her. “He needs to be able to take some time off.”

She was right. Jimmy would do what she wanted
if
he thought she’d put in a good word for him.

“There’s so much that needs to be done for the wedding.” She filled one of the clear company mugs with coffee. The black liquid steamed behind the BDB logo.

“Less than three weeks,” Jimmy said, still standing next to the door.

“It’s getting down to the wire.” She needed sugar—two packages, rip, tear. “Everything is ready, except for him. He was supposed to be fitted today, for his tux, but he’s at that ridiculous cabin.”

Jimmy took a step into the room, and eyed the coffee. “I doubt he’ll stay long.”

“You don’t think so?” She poured in one creamer, watching the black mix with the white.

“No. He hates being away from work.” Jimmy shuffled his feet. “Ryder said you were getting a dog.”

Wonderful
. Jimmy was making conversation. She added a second creamer.

“Yes, I am. I mean,
we
are.” She stirred her coffee. “She’s the most adorable little poodle. But I need Ryder to come to the breeders with me. He needs to meet her before we bring her home. Make sure they’re compatible.” Still stirring. “Though I doubt he’ll be home much anyway, so it probably doesn’t matter.”