Rose of Betrayal (54 page)

           
It was at the top of the landing, he
solidified, whether it was the frosty air, the front door sprung wide, or the
sight of the opened desk, he did not know.
 
A cold feeling of fate settled in his gut as though he was the hunted
with the hunter closing in.

           
The sun set hours ago.
 
Brad sat clutching the check trying to pull
his heart from under the knife.
 
Thoughts
were flowing crazily through his mind as meaningless as the objects around him
that had vaporized.
 
Though he had
somehow closed the door, the vapors creeping across the floor, up the walls,
over the ceiling and funneling around him were frigid.

           
With a glass of whiskey in one hand,
the bottle hidden in the basement now almost empty - in the other, the check
crumpled and tossed on the floor, he could feel himself swaying, like the top
of a tree in a windstorm.
 
Despite the
alcohol, he was painfully in touch with his faculties, a state somewhere
between deep sleep and consciousness where the waves of life tossed him about
pounding down upon him with great unfair blows.
 
Something inside, like the flashing beacon of a light-house signaled if
he didn't fight against them, stand up to them, he'd be swept away.

           
Sam's vision, golden, glowing was
like sunlight flashing over a dark horizon as he relived their brief moments of
passion struggling to cling to a flame not yet an ember. Its lingering smoke
clouded his eyes.
 
He remembered the gasp
of sudden orgasm contorting her features, her hands placed luxuriantly on his
haunches, her slender fingers between his thighs.
 
How his tongue on her nipples sent tremors of
expectation through her.
 
She was a
perfect thing in the Universe, her magnificent body a delight for his
senses.
 
The ecstasy she had given had
split him open to reveal a heart of dazzling light.
 
To hide his love for her now would be like
hiding a forest fire at night.
 
 

           
Love was nothing but a euphemism, he
thought.
 
A dream human's conjure up to
obscure their sexual fantasies, make them appear cardinal.
 
There was no such thing as love.
 
Twice, he was utterly stupid to believe it
was possible.
 
It did not matter to either
women he loved them.
 
Too late, he
realized he had lost Candy from the lack of articulating three words. Sam, damn
her, she never acknowledged them.
 
What
an ass he was to give his heart so irrevocably.

           
Women were no different from men, he
decided.
 
Sam took the nourishment she
needed and left behind an empty shell.
  
If she loved him she would have stayed, faced him with her discovery,
given him a chance to explain.
  
Well,
she made her choice.
 
He could live with
it.
 
Then, why was the thought of learning
to live again without her impossible?
 
Replaced by stultified silence and cold bitter determination Brad’s
laugh so brittle that it shattered in mid-air.
   

CHAPTER 43

“JANUARY 2,
2011”

           
Sun shimmered through the apertures of
the Gothic three hundred and thirty foot spires projecting into the vast
blue.
 
Four white stretch limos cruising
down Fifth Avenue stopped and parked in front of Saint Patrick's.
 

           
Bronze
doors swung wide permitted over a thousand guest’s access. Still half the
church pews remained empty.
 
Poinsettia’s
remaining from the Christmas Holiday enhanced its magnificent splendor as the
choir in the loft above the Narthex serenaded and the pipe organ spouted each
glorious note from its seven thousand, three hundred and eighty pipes.
 
The brilliance of the day sifting through the
twenty six foot Rose window insured Sam and Ted's wedding would be one from a
story book, thanks to the eighteen seventy nine testimony to a man's love.

           
It
took over an hour to seat the guests wearing priceless designer clothes
matching their illustrious names, the assembly, cream of society and business -
not to mention the press.
 
A majestic
affair society required and commended.
 
The tabloids would later quote the happy couples vows.
 
The perfect picture snapped would make the
cover of Life, Newsweek, and People.

           
Immediately,
catapulted into the whirlwind of enthusiasm and festivities, the family members
became upon arriving late on New Year’s Day.
 
Through it all, Sam's conspicuous distress was obvious.
 
Several times Bernie came to her rescue with
various explanations.
 
It was not an
everyday event for a woman to get married at Saint Patrick's.

           
 
Brad's parents queried as to their sons
absence at the airport and the rehearsal. Though knowing he detested events
requiring propriety, his mother in particular was anxious to see the son she
had missed terribly.
 
His absence made
everyone nervous especially Ted who asked Peter to stand by should Brad not
appear.
 

Ted paced, each minute
ticking by brought a glance to his watch.
  
The moment was upon him and as he reached for the door, where through
its portals awaited a new life a hand upon his shoulder thwarted him.
 
“Jesus Christ, man.
 
Nothing like cutting it close,” he angrily
growled.

“Sorry friend,” Brad said sheepishly.

           
Unable
to grasp why Brad looked so dreadful, Ted concluded, just as he did, his friend
must have shared New Year's Eve with some beautiful woman and had not been able
to tear himself away for the rehearsal.
 
“Where in hell have you been?
 
You
look like shit.”

Face void of expression, “I'm fine.”

A broad smile twisted Ted's
lips.
 
“Well, whoever she was must have
been good.”

“You have a lousy sense of humor friend
and a smart mouth to match,” Brad reiterated, his tightening chest muscles
strangling the words, if you only knew.

           
Today
would be the longest day of his life Brad brooded. Somehow he had to coerce his
body into going through the motions and suspend his feelings somewhere far
above the festivities.
 
        
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he
entered the Cathedral beside his friend.
 
Facing the crowd he mustered a fabricated smile with nods acknowledging
his friends, parents, Ralph, and Maggie.
 
The love and warmth beaming from their faces aided in soothing a
tattered soul and offered him the support needed to persevere until . . .
 

           
 
Sam stood at the end of the aisle.
 
Despite himself Brad’s stomach gave an
alarming dip.
 
Swallowing convulsively
feeling a twinge of desire mingle with panic his nerves made his soul sky dive.

           
As
long as Ted was visible, she could keep herself collected and arrest her tears,
Sam concluded.
 
She had to or Ted would
know, and he could never know the horrible betrayal committed unto him by the
two people he loved most in the world. In time, once Brad left, she would
forget.

           
Bernie
spread out Sam's twelve-foot train made from yards of chiffon gathered at the
shoulders by pearl clasps.
 
Facing her,
she plucked at the multi-layers of tapered, shoulder length veiling draping
from the small, satin, saltbox hat capping Sam's creatively swept up bun.
  
Rearranging the bride's single strand of
pearls and checking to be certain the matching earrings were secure Bernie gave
Sam a reassuring kiss on the cheek.
 

           
Stepping
back, she admired Sam's gown one last time.
 
The chiffon over satin scooped at the neck, the long sleeves and
straight floor length made her appear a china doll.
 
She recalled the hours of painstaking effort
it took to apply the appliqués of satin roses, each with a tiny pearl in the
center, to the chiffon over-lament gracing the entire dress.

           
Withdrawing
the hanky tucked into Sam’s bodice, Bernie dabbed at a tear creeping down her
friend’s cheek.
 
Sam had been fine,
actually much better than expected, but suddenly an escaping tear turned her
pale.
 
Her chest was heaving.
 
It was not necessary to turn around to know
where her eyes had wandered Brad had taken his princely place.
 

           
Quite
unexpectedly, words blurting from Bernie's mouth shocked Sam's father as she
handed Sam her heart shaped bouquet of red roses with a trail of baby's breath
and greenery kissing the floor.
 
“Are you
sure this is what you want, Sammy?”

Straightening her stance, raising her
chin, and staring forward Sam adamantly replied, “Positive!”

           
With
a dozen white roses nestled in Bernie's arm she turned and embarked down the
aisle, her steps impeccably timed with the tempo of the music.
 
With a heart-shaped bodice, exposing an
elegant display of milky, white skin and a hoop skirt beneath yards of emerald
green velvet the gown consumed the width of the aisle.
 
Each step dusted the floor as Bernie‘s
radiance captured everyone's attention.
 
The matching picture hat, with veiling tied into a bow in the back
ending at the hem of her dress, added an admirable touch to auburn hair falling
loose kissing bare shoulders with shiny curls.

           
The
glorious edifice before her disappeared as Bernie regarded Brad's ashen,
strained features, his sunken, road-mapped eyes suspiciously moist as they
stared aloft and beyond her as though oblivious to everything taking
place.
 
His valiant bid to stabilize his
trembling was unavailing.
 
She was thankful
he did not acknowledge her.
 
The
compassion emanating from her eyes would have been his undoing.

           
The
trumpets heralding Sam and her father's debut and the organ pealing out the
Lohengrins
“Wedding March” did little to drown out the
guests approving murmurs as they appraised and registered the bride's
beauty.
 
Cameras flashed.
   

           
Sam
fixed her gaze on Ted’s whose spoke the wonder and admiration he felt at the
vision of his future wife, his smile wider than ever before.
  
The elegant black tux with tails, the cane
and top hat, his gloves and shirt matching the color of her dress, he
looked
 
Princely.

           
Brad
wondered why he thought Sam would look anything less than incredibly
gorgeous.
 
Today surprisingly more so, he
was unable to stifle a deep sigh and appreciative gasp.
 

           
Remarkably
collected, Ted whispered, “Steady friend, do not fall apart on me now.
 
I'm the one getting married, for God's
sake.
 
It's going to get worse before the
day is through.”

           
In
answer, Brad coughed and turned bleach white. Sam's attention as well as the entire
assembly followed her eyes locking in a visual embrace with his.
 
She tripped, the strong arm of her father
saving her from a mortifying disaster.
 
Like a drum in a parade, her heart tapped out a S.O.S beseeching a
change of mind before it was too late.
 
Altercating, her flowers to hinder their shaking, she squeezed so
tightly her knuckles hurt.
 
Apprised her
legs were moving, yet unable to feel her feet touch the floor she took short,
hesitant steps making her wobble.
 
The
suffocating lack of air induced perspiration on her forehead as her thoughts
scrambled.
 
What did Brad think when he
found her missing?
 
What was he thinking
now?
 
What would he do, stop the wedding,
demand an explanation in front of everyone?
 
Choking on the lump expanding her throat, no, he only wanted her body
and ravishing it had smashed her wildest dreams.
 
How could he face her, Ted?