Learning Curves (19 page)

Picking up her satchel with deliberate care, she walked across the lecture hall. She stepped carefully, keeping her head high and her shoulders back, gliding across the tiled floor. She ignored everything—the tumult, the shouts, Dean Kessler’s angry tirade, her mother’s tears—and walked through the door, into the bustling hall beyond.

As she was swept away by the crowded flow of students, the irony was unmistakable. It had taken more than twenty-five years but she had finally mastered the elusive pageant walk.

Leanne Galloway no longer doubted the existence of hell.

As she sat in the country club’s ballroom and toyed with her melting dessert, she willed the polished parquet floor to open up and swallow her. Or for a single well-placed thunderbolt to crash through the expansive skylight and put her out of her misery. Anything really to distract her from the unrelenting reality of her situation.

And the unrelenting ache in her chest whenever she chanced to think of Brandon and everything they’d lost four days ago.

She didn’t think of him as often now. Just every few minutes or whenever an ill-timed reminder happened to interrupt her thoughts and bring him to mind again. So, for anyone who was counting, no more than a few thousand times a day. Maximum.

Like when she looked to her left and saw an empty chair where he should have been and wasn’t.

The bride and groom were still ensconced at the head table, kissing whenever the guests clinked their glassware, as they had been for much of the past three hours. The church had been adorned in bowers of costly orchids and other lush tropical blooms. The bride’s dress dripped with Swarovski crystals, her silk train trailing behind her as she made her steady progress up the petal-strewn aisle, her bridesmaids a wonder of tanned, blond symmetry. The mother of the bride had wept. The father of the bride had sniffed his tears away manfully. The sumptuous feast, held in the country club’s largest ballroom, had been a miracle of culinary arts, each course richer and more decadent than the last.

In other words, a picture-perfect wedding.

Except that the bride was a manipulative bitch who considered her groom a clueless patsy whose real charms were his money and his gold-plated family tree.

Leanne hadn’t wanted to come tonight.

She’d pleaded illness.

Exhaustion.

Heck, if she’d thought it would have worked, she’d have claimed a case of fast-acting Ebola virus.

But her mother had been implacable.

“You’ve already embarrassed us enough, Leanne Cynthia Galloway,” she’d said. “You owe it to your father and me to make an appearance at this wedding. Gillian is our goddaughter and no matter how unfair it is to her, having you there to distract from her big day, I won’t have it be said we’re not standing by our daughter.”

Standing by her?

Yes, if only to make sure the final dagger thrust was accurately delivered.

So here she was, making morose trails through her melting ice cream and pretending she didn’t see the countless smirks, sneers and double takes the wedding’s seven hundred guests cast her way.

Now as the waitstaff began to wend their way around the room, clearing away the dishware from this, the final course, she heaved a sigh of relief that the end of her torture was in sight. A few more minutes, a few boring dances and she could make her escape. She licked the back of her spoon, relishing the last chocolaty drop, and made a mental note to stop by the twenty-four-hour market to restock her freezer’s diminished ice-cream supply as soon as she was free of the three-ring circus.

Her heart clenched with longing at the sight of a couple at a nearby table sharing a tender kiss. She busied herself by spooning the last of her rich dessert into her mouth to avoid the risk of having a whimper of pain escape. She was in enough trouble as it was without giving rise to rumors of a complete emotional breakdown too. Although it would dovetail nicely with the complete professional meltdown she’d experienced this week, which—if the gentle reports from Cassandra were to be believed—was still making furious and salacious rounds through the university grapevine.

A week ago, she would have been mortified by the intrusion into her personal life and the utter and total derailment of her professional dreams. Now she could barely muster any real indignation over the circulating gossip and the only facet of the entire sordid affair that caused her any real pain was Brandon’s continuing silence.

He hadn’t returned any of her phone calls. Her texts and emails went unanswered. She’d even gone round to his place, but despite knocking on his door for the best part of fifteen minutes, there’d been no response. She had to accept that their relationship was well and truly over.

He’d never be able to forgive her for Gillian’s scheming or for her own unwitting role in his downfall. His life, the life he’d worked so hard to construct for himself despite everything that had conspired against him, was in ruins, and there was no one to blame but her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ announced over the expensive sound system, “if you will turn your attention to the head table, Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy Fields would like to say a few words to all of their friends and family.”

And
, Leanne thought gratefully,
I’m that much closer to getting the hell out of Dodge
.

Gillian and Jeremy rose hand and hand as the guests applauded.

“There are so many people we have to thank for today’s wonderful event.” Gillian’s voice, magnified by the expert sound system, filled the room. “I can’t tell you how much it means to us both to have all of you here, sharing the most important day of our lives.”

Gillian and Jeremy’s speech prosed on and on and Leanne tuned it out.

Around her, she could hear the sentimental murmurs of the guests and see the sporadic flashes of cameras recording the moment for posterity, all the people in the room save her thoroughly duped by the fairytale aura that Gillian had so expertly cast.

Her dessert was gone and the wine bottle in the centre of the table was empty. She craned her head, looking for a waiter. A flash of movement at the wide double doors caught Leanne’s eye. She turned, interested to see who else might be escaping, but a cold wave of shock swept over her when she realized no one was trying to sneak out.

Someone was trying to sneak in.

And that someone was Brandon.

“Oh my God.” The exclamation slipped before she could help herself. She bit down on her lip, the sharp pain helping her focus her wayward emotions.

“Sweetheart?” She swiveled toward her father’s voice. He’d been a rock these last few days, standing by her through all of the chaos and fallout. The departmental rebuke. Her mother’s accusations and recriminations. He’d never said one unkind thing about Brandon either. “Are you all right?”

Leanne couldn’t find the words to answer his question. Her mind reeled in disbelief, disjointed thoughts skittering through her brain like so many scattered rose petals.

Brandon was here. Now. At Gillian’s wedding reception.

And she had no idea why.

But that didn’t stop her heart from beating double time, the hope she’d thought dead springing to life resurgent.

“He’s here,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth, gesturing toward the door.

Her dad’s reaction was not what she expected. He smiled. “I was wondering when he’d get here.”

Leanne whirled around, her jaw agape. “You knew he was coming. And you didn’t tell me?”

“I
hoped
he was coming,” her father corrected. “There’s a difference, you know.”

Because she’d hoped he was coming too. And she’d hoped he might care for her. Maybe even love her. But whether or not he did, she
knew
she loved him, and whatever else happened, she wasn’t going to let the opportunity to tell him slip through her fingers again. She was done with living life to other people’s expectations. She wanted a full life—love, laughter, purpose and joy. She still wanted to teach at the university and eventually achieve tenure. But her professional goals were only one part now. Because she wanted more than just a job she loved. She wanted a life she loved too.

Most importantly, she wanted to share it with someone she loved. Someone like Brandon.

“I-I have to go.”

“You can’t leave,” her mother said. “Jeremy and Gillian are still speaking.”

“I have to go,” she repeated, snatching her purse from the back of the chair. “Dad, I’ll call you, okay?”

Ignoring the disapproving whispers that accompanied her hurried dash toward the entrance of the banquet hall, she pushed through the heavy doors, into the hallway outside. She looked around, terrified she’d missed him completely. Where was he?

“Leanne.”

The quiet voice in her ear made her jump and she turned, shocked, to find the man she hadn’t been able to forget standing behind her.

The elaborate chandelier in the foyer highlighted his tired face. Dark circles smudged his eyes; his jaw was covered by days-old stubble. He looked harried and strained and utterly, absolutely spectacular.

He enveloped her in his arms, squeezing her tight. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “God, I’ve missed you.”

She felt her throat thicken with tears and she leaned forward until their foreheads touched and they were peering into each other’s eyes. “Really?”

“You have no idea how much.” His looked at her steadily, a quiet promise in his eyes, and she felt her insides begin to coalesce in a slow, heated puddle. There was so much they needed to say, starting with the truth about her feelings for him, but this travesty of a wedding was the worst place imaginable. Nothing could be said here, in this stifling atmosphere of deceit and self-interest. It was impossible.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured, feeling more confident than she had in days. They could talk later. Once they were free of this tulle nightmare.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Even though she spoke in a low tone, the bride’s voice carried through the hallway. Leanne and Brandon whirled around to find Gillian striding toward them. Behind her, a look of bemusement on his face, Jeremy followed.

The mother of the bride hurried out of the reception hall, an elaborate schedule in her hands.

“Darling? What’s wrong? Everyone’s waiting for you inside,” Barb said, looking vexed at the unaccountable disruption. “It’s time for the first dance.”

Gillian ignored her mother. “What is he doing here?” she asked again. Leanne was rooted in place, and Brandon’s arm never left her, its comforting force wrapped around her waist like a protective talisman.

“I’m not sure this is something you want to discuss in front of an audience,” he warned Gillian in a rational tone, but she was too angry to care.

She flung an accusing finger at him, “Don’t you tell me what to do. You’re a stripper, for Christ’s sake,” she said, emphasizing the word for effect. “Do you think I want my wedding polluted by someone like that?” A growing crowd had started to file into the foyer, alerted to the possibility of something untoward happening by the out-of-character disappearance of the bride and groom from the reception.

Leanne didn’t flinch. She was done hiding how she felt. She wouldn’t pander or pretend or avoid confrontation any longer. Tuesday’s debacle had set her free. Her hand in Brandon’s, she turned and faced her tormenter. “You and I have very different ideas of what’s noxious, Gillian. But you don’t need to worry. He’s leaving. And so am I.” Brandon brushed a soft kiss against her hair and Leanne touched his cheek with a gentle hand before turning back to Gillian, Jeremy and the riveted guests. “You don’t need to worry about your big day being ‘polluted,’ because Brandon and I are going right now.” She tried to walk away, but Gillian, vexed at being so easily upstaged and set aside, quickly boxed her in.

“You’re just jealous,” she crowed, flashing her gaudy wedding ring so it twinkled and flashed in the light. “You can’t handle it. I’ve got everything and you’ve got nothing.”

Gillian’s accusation should have made her cringe, but instead Leanne laughed. As her confidence surged, Gillian’s barbs bounced away harmlessly. Brandon stood beside her, a warm, solid presence. He was tense with anger. She squeezed his fingers, telling him wordlessly not to worry. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of Gillian. And not of getting her hands dirty either. Life was dirty. The learning curve had been steep, but she was ready to apply her painful lessons in real life.

“You’re the one with nothing, Gillian,” Leanne enumerated, checking off the points on her fingertips. “No morals. No class. We both know you sabotaged my interview with the Walters committee. But here’s the thing—I don’t care anymore. In a sad, perverse sort of way, you actually helped me.”

Gillian snickered but a flash of uncertainty shadowed her eyes. “Oh, give it up. You can’t tell me you don’t care about what I—about what happened this week.”

Leanne smiled, her own face bright with tightly controlled menace. “About what you did to Brandon, threatening him and his career at the university? I won’t ever forgive you for that.”

Jeremy spoke up then, his eyes flickering between his bride and Leanne and Brandon, hand in hand. “You must be wrong, Leanne. Gillian would never do what you’re suggesting. She’s not that kind of person.” But a small furrow between his brows suggested that the groom had his doubts, as much as he would like to deny it.

The four of them were so engrossed in the cut and thrust of argument, Leanne was startled when her father pushed through the watching throng. “Bullshit.”

Jeremy’s face darkened at the slur. Around them gasps and titters nearly drowned out Gillian’s indignant response.

“Larry,” Barb protested volubly, visibly distressed by the fracas the wedding had descended into. “I appreciate that Leanne is your daughter, but you can’t mean to suggest Gillian would ever…”

“Larry, come back to the table,” her mother begged, tugging on her husband’s tuxedo sleeve and trying to draw him back into the dining room. “You’re creating a scene.”

But her husband wasn’t to be dissuaded. Turning a hard face toward his wife, he shook his head resolutely. “No, Sandy. I’ve been quiet all week and I’ve let you have your say. For years, I’ve watched as you’ve tried to mold our daughter into something she isn’t,” he charged, shooting a scornful look at Gillian. “And why? Leanne’s a brave, accomplished woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to make sacrifices to achieve it. She’s our daughter and I’m proud of her every minute of every day. The question is, why aren’t you?”

Leanne was in shock. She’d never heard her gentle, considerate father speak to her mother with such anger before. From the look on Mom’s face, neither had she.