Anything But Love (2 page)

But after the honeymoon?

She had no idea.

For now, though, numbness was still her friend. Or at least, it was until they arrived at the church and the minister greeted her with a smile, showing her and the bridal party to the private room where they would wait for their cue.

She wasn’t just lying to her family and friends. She was lying to God.

Religion had never played a big role in her life, but something about that phrase—lying to God—pierced her heart somehow.

Her mother was bustling around, fussing with bouquets and the bridesmaids’ hair. Every so often she said to Jessica, “Just keep breathing, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

Heather, the only one of her bridesmaids who was married, squeezed Jessica’s hand. “I was a nervous wreck before my wedding. I remember shaking like a leaf and being terrified I’d trip or drop my bouquet, but of course it wasn’t really about that. It’s the getting married part that freaks a person out. Even when you’re marrying the man of your dreams, it’s still pretty scary.”

Jessica gave Heather the same mechanical smile she’d given her mother. It was obvious that any tension in her demeanor was being put down to nerves.

But then Simone Oliver put a hand on her shoulder.

Simone had been one of her college roommates. She wasn’t the kind of person Jessica had associated with in high school, but they’d become friends freshman year—and in spite of many surface differences, they’d stayed friends ever since.

“Hey, Jess—can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Now?”

“It won’t take long.”

“Well . . . all right.”

Simone led her far enough away from the others that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“You probably already know this, but Tom’s a great guy. He’s smart and sweet and funny, and I think it’s wonderful that you’re going to marry him.” She gripped Jessica’s arm. “But hypothetically speaking . . . if there’s anything making you unhappy, any reason you don’t want to get married . . . well, then, we can get the hell out of here. We can hit the ATM and take a cab to Florida. We can hop a freight train and ride the rails to California. Whatever you need.”

Jessica didn’t say anything for a moment or two. When she did speak, her voice shook a little. “Wouldn’t that be a nice story for page six. I can see the headline now: ‘Park Avenue Princess Turns Runaway Bride.’ ”

“So what if they say that? Who gives a damn? This is your life, Jessica. That’s all that matters.”

Jessica stared at her. Simone had figured out, somehow, that something was wrong—and she was offering a way out. For one crazy minute, she actually thought about saying yes.

But even if she were willing to do that to her parents, she couldn’t do it to Tom.

She shook her head slowly. “I can’t. I can’t. I . . .” She shook her head again. “Tom and I have been friends forever. I do love him, even if it’s not . . .” She stopped. “I love him,” she said again. “And I feel safe with him. I made a promise, and I—”

The door to the waiting room opened and one of the ushers stuck his head in. “They’re ready for you, ladies.”

There was last-minute primping and excited whispers as the bridal party headed for the door. Simone started to join them, but Jessica grabbed her hand first.

“I want you to know I won’t forget this. I mean . . . that was a really nice offer.”

“I offered to help you ditch your own wedding,” Simone reminded her.

Jessica smiled crookedly. “I know. I just . . . thank you. You’re a good friend.”

Simone gave her a careful hug, avoiding her hair, makeup, and dress. “You’re a good friend, too. And Tom’s a great guy.”

Jessica took a deep breath. “He is, isn’t he? And I do love him.”

“All right, then. Let’s get you married.”

C
HAPTER
T
WO

B
en couldn’t sit still. He was restless and nothing seemed to help.

His mother was sitting next to him in the crowded pew. “What’s wrong with you?” she hissed from behind her wedding program.

“Nothing.”

Tom Shelburne stepped up to the altar along with the minister, best man, and a troop of groomsmen. The organist began the processional. The wedding guests dutifully turned their heads, and here came a flock of bridesmaids.

Ben’s mind, as restless as his body, started playing with collective nouns. A parliament of owls, an ostentation of peacocks, an exaltation of larks. What term would you use for groomsmen and bridesmaids? A band, a bevy, a gaggle?

The flower girl made her way down the aisle with the appropriate amount of adorableness, and then there was a Significant Pause.

The congregation rose to their feet and stood in respectful silence. The organist halted for a dramatic moment, fingers poised above the keys, before launching into “Ode to Joy.”

And then, there she was: the lady of the hour.

Jessica Bullock.

There was an appreciative murmur from the crowd, and Ben couldn’t blame them.

She was beautiful.

Her dress was elaborate and regal, and the jeweled tiara she wore added to the princess-like effect. Her hair was loose, rippling in soft golden waves over her bare shoulders. As she drew closer, Ben could see the familiar blue of her eyes, the color of a clear autumn sky.

The smile on her face was just right—sweet and a little bit shy, as befitted a blushing bride. Ben was sure everyone in this church was convinced she was as happy as she looked.

But he knew better.

With every step she took down the aisle, the disconnect between her appearance and her true emotions became more obvious to him. He felt like he was seeing two Jessicas: the one most people saw, and one very few could see.

The Jessica he saw wasn’t glowing with bridal joy. She was numb, miserable, trapped.

Then she drew level with him, and their eyes met. Her façade was shaken—her facial muscles tensed, and her eyes widened for just a moment.

The moment was soon over. Now she was at the altar, being kissed by her father and handed off to Tom Shelburne.

But he wasn’t interested in Tom. The only person he cared about was Jessica.

“Sit,” his mother whispered, tugging on his jacket sleeve.

Only then did he notice that he was still standing while the rest of the wedding guests had taken their seats. He let himself sink back down, his eyes on his old friend.

At that moment that’s what Jessica was. Not an estranged childhood companion, not someone he’d disliked in high school, not a person from his past he hadn’t seen in years.

She was his old friend, and she was in trouble.

“I have to help her.”

Only when his mother shushed him did he realize he’d spoken out loud.

He didn’t say anything else. But as the ceremony continued, he knew he couldn’t let this marriage happen.

He had to do something to stop it. But just as he was starting to stand, he heard a man’s voice behind him.

“Tom.”

Ben swiveled his head along with everyone else in the church.

Standing there in the aisle was a man Ben had never seen before. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with thinning dark hair and intense dark eyes.

The minister stopped talking. Jessica gasped, but after that there was dead silence. Everyone was staring at the stranger who was staring at Tom. It was obvious that as far as he was concerned, Tom was the only one there who mattered.

“It was harder when we met,” the man said. He spoke quietly, but his words echoed in the silent church. “We live in a different world now. I’m not saying things will always be easy, but we don’t have to be afraid of who we are. Not anymore.” He took a step toward the altar. “And even if we did, I wouldn’t give a damn. Life is short. Too short not to spend it with your soul mate.”

He didn’t say anything else. He just waited, holding Tom’s gaze with his.

Ben could feel the stunned amazement all around him. Beside him, his mother gripped his arm.

But the only reaction he cared about was Jessica’s.

Her face was pale, but not from surprise.

That was the reason for the tension behind her façade. She’d known Tom was gay. But then why had she been willing to go along with this charade? What the hell had she been thinking?

Standing beside her at the altar, Tom closed his eyes. “I love you,” he whispered. Then he opened his eyes and said it again, loud enough to be heard all through the church. “I love you, Everett.”

In the first pew on the groom’s side, Tom’s mother collapsed against his father.

Everett started to walk toward the altar, but Tom held up a hand. “Wait,” he said, his voice shaking. Then he turned to his fiancée.

“
Jessica, I
. . .
I don’
t know what to say. You
’
re my best friend, and I
’
m hurting you worse than I’ve hurt anyone in my life. If you want to scream at me or curse me or punch me in the face, I deserve it.”

When he stopped talking, he just stood there, waiting.

There was a long moment of silence. Then Jessica lifted her chin.

“There is something I’d like to say to you. Here in front of all our family and friends.”

Tom braced himself and nodded. “Go ahead.”

Her lower lip was trembling. “I’m so proud of you, Tom. And . . . and . . . I’m happy for you, too.”

She pressed her lips together to stop the trembling, and then turned to address the church. “I guess it’s obvious that the wedding is off. I’m so sorry that I . . . that we . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But I want to thank you all for coming. And the reception is paid for, so . . . I hope some of you will join me there. There’ll be food . . . and music . . . and . . .”

The invitation seemed to use up Jessica’s courage. As she looked out at the stunned congregation, her eyes filled with sudden tears.

The minister stepped forward then and spoke to her in a low voice. He led her away toward a small side door behind the altar, and her parents and sister hurried after her.

The moment the door closed behind them, the church erupted into shocked conversation. But Ben, who hadn’t been able to stay still or silent when everyone else was, now found himself sitting like a stone.

Tom was gay. Jessica had known he was gay, and she’d agreed to marry him anyway.

And then it had blown up in her face in the most public way imaginable.

All during high school, Ben had half wished that something would blow up in Jessica’s face. He’d hated the stereotype she’d turned herself into—the shallow rich girl obsessed with appearances and tearing other people down—and there’d been times he’d thought she’d be better off if someone or something humbled her, reminding her of her own days as an outsider.

Well, that wish had come true . . . ten years after the fact. And he felt sick.

On the other side of his mother, his father spoke up. “What in the hell just happened?”

His mother was shaking her head slowly. “I can’t believe it. That poor, poor girl.”

His father sighed. “Well, at least we don’t have to go to the reception.”

“I don’t know,” his mother said. “Maybe we ought to—”

Ben rose to his feet. “We’re going to the reception.”

His parents, still sitting, stared up at him.

“I practically had to drag you to this wedding,” his mother said. “You’ve been acting like a fractious child all day. And now that you’re off the hook, you want to go to the reception?”

“I, for one, absolutely refuse,” his father put in. “These things are bad enough when the bride and groom actually get married.”

“We’re going,” Ben said again.

His mother threw up her hands. “But
why
?”

“Jessica invited us.” He gestured toward the altar. “Didn’t you hear her?”

“Well, yes—but she was only being brave.”

“Exactly. And we’re going to support her.”

The minister was talking, and her sister, too.

“Are you all right?”

“What can we do?”

No, I’m not all right. And there’s nothing you can do.

Her parents were in the background, and—miracle of miracles—they weren’t blaming her or criticizing her.

They were probably in shock.

Everyone in that church had been in shock. Her extended family, her friends, her parents’ friends . . . staring at the train wreck happening in front of them, unable to look away.

But for some reason, only one face stood out in her memory.

Ben Taggart.

Months before, when she’d seen his name on her mother’s invitation list, it had given her a jolt. They’d been friends once—good friends—but that had been during childhood and junior high, a time she’d worked hard to forget.

She’d cut him out of her life in high school. She’d been a bitch to him, in fact, which wasn’t something she was proud of. She would have preferred not to have him at her wedding, but the Taggarts were old friends of her parents and she couldn’t disinvite their son.

A while later she’d asked if Ben had RSVP’d, and her mother said he had. Then she’d asked if he was bringing a date, and her mother said no, he was coming stag.

She wasn’t sure why she’d asked. What did it matter to her if Ben had a girlfriend? They hadn’t even seen each other for a couple of years.

The last time they’d had a real conversation was in high school. It hadn’t gone well.

She’d said something snide to another student and Ben had called her on it. He’d told her she was shallow and superficial. That she’d turned her back on her true friends and the only decent people in her life. That he didn’t even recognize the person she’d become. That he’d love nothing more than to see her knocked off her high horse.

Boy, had his wish ever come true.

Ben Taggart had been there to see her humiliated. He’d been there to see the lies exposed, the shattering of the illusions she’d worked so hard to create.

“I’ll kill him.”

That was her father, muttering imprecations under his breath.

“What he did was unforgivable,” her mother said, her voice trembling. “Did you see his parents? I don’t think they’ll ever speak to him again.”

Tom. Oh, Tom.

Even though she was collateral damage in the explosion, she really was proud of him. To declare himself like that, in front of everybody, knowing that his own parents would judge and reject him—that had taken real courage.

All their lives, she and Tom had shared one defining characteristic: cowardice.

That was why they’d planned this sham marriage. They would shelter each other from the things they feared—shield each other from the world.

Now Tom had found his courage, and left her all alone.

She was proud of him. She was happy for him.

But that didn’t stop her from being sad for herself.

Her parents were warming to their subject: vilifying Tom. Even Vicki, who usually tried to see everyone’s side of a story, had joined in.

And suddenly, a path opened before her. Not a way to escape humiliation—there was no evading that—but of escaping her parents’ disapproval.

She could let them blame Tom.

It wouldn’t do him any additional injury. He wouldn’t expect the parents of the woman he’d jilted to be his biggest fans.

But it would be a lie. And since she had nothing else to lose, she might as well speak the truth for once in her life.

“It wasn’t Tom’s fault.”

That shut everybody up.

“I knew Tom was gay. I decided to marry him anyway.”

Taking advantage of the stunned silence, she turned to Vicki and grabbed her hand. “Will you come with me back to the hotel? I have to change for the reception.”

“You’re not serious,” her mother said. “You can’t possibly—”

“I want to see the people who go,” she said. “Because they’ll be the people who care about me.”

“Hardly,” her mother snapped. “They’ll be the people who want to see you writhing in embarrassment—and your family, too.”

“You and Dad don’t have to go.”

Her mother stared at her, and she stared back. If a man of the cloth hadn’t been there, Samantha Bullock would have had a lot more to say. But the minister’s presence restrained her.

“Very well,” she said, her voice iron-hard. “We won’t.”

Vicki gasped. “Mom—”

“We’ll see you both tomorrow,” her mother said.

And with that, Samantha and William Bullock made their exit.

Vicki started to sputter in indignation, but Jessica stopped her. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’ll be easier without them there.”

Her sister looked worried. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

She’d told a church full of people she’d be at the reception, and for once in her life she wasn’t going to be a coward.

“I’m sure.”