Chapter 12
I storm back to my room, angry, upset, and alone. I'm angry at Francesca for reacting in a way that brought me back to my time with Corey. She took one look at Tim, saw he was with me, and all but decided I'm not worth it. I'm not worthy to be on the arm of such a good-looking guy.
I'm pissed at Tim for staying there and not leaving with me. Because in doing so, he proved her right.
I am most angry at myself. Angry because I let Corey the dick destroy who I was. Angry because I allowed him to chew away at my confidence and self-worth bit by bit to the point that now I'm insecure and unsure of myself.
Mostly, I'm angry that I gave myself so willingly and completely to Tim. I gave him a chunk of my heart, whether I realized it or not, and I don't think I can take that piece back. I don't think he'll return it to me.
There's a knock on my door. A low knock, but definitely a knock. I don't know if I'm upset or relieved. One of them cared enough to come after me.
"I know you're in there, Bailey."
It's him. My eyes fill with tears. Tears of joy. Tears of relief. I was right. Everything I've been afraid to believe I'm seeing in his eyes, feeling in the tenderness of his touch, it's spot on, or else he wouldn't be here.
I open the door, and I don't know who moves first, but the next second I'm in his strong arms. They hold me. Steady me. I allow the tears to fall. I don't want this to end, but I know in a little more than twenty-four hours, Tim and everything that happened on this trip will be behind me and placed into a special memory vault in my heart.
"Oh, no you don't," he whispers, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from my eyes. "No crying on my watch. Especially if it’s because another guy made you believe you’re not good enough just the way you are."
I shake my head. "It’s not. I'm sorry. I was such a bitch . . . I didn't mean to walk away and leave you."
"It's fine." He kisses the top of my head and rubs my back. "I've got you. And I'm not letting you go."
“Yes, you are.”
“Says who?”
"I'm leaving in two days."
"Then don't go. Stay here with me."
Is he real? I shake my head. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
For one second I allow myself to indulge in the fantasy.
"I can't."
"Why not? What do you have waiting for you back at home?"
"I have . . ." How does he know? The truth is, I can't think of one thing.
“Give me an extra week. Just one. Let’s see where this goes.”
He's asking for one week, not an indefinite amount of time. What am I rushing back for? There's no boyfriend. No job I can't live without. "I don't know."
"Think about it. It's an open offer. All you have to do is change your airline ticket. I'll pay."
My eyes drop. "I don't know." I don't. Why prolong our goodbye? In the end, it will only hurt more.
"I don't need an answer right now. Take your time."
I nod.
"But for tonight, I'm sure your friend would like for you to go back down and join her."
I shake my head. "I'm so embarrassed. I’m a hot mess."
The corner of his mouth ticks up, "That's just how I like you."
After another long hug, I let Tim take me by the hand and lead me back down to the rehearsal dinner. We get there just as Ian is holding his glass up to toast the bride and groom. He stops mid-sentence when he sees us and stares.
"Sorry," I mouth to Francesca as we make our way to the empty seats next to her, and return a nod of acknowledgement to Sam.
She reaches out and squeezes my hand. I know all is forgiven. We lift our champagne glasses as Ian continues with his toast.
Although his eyes travel to Francesca and Sam from time to time, I keep feeling them come back to me. His stare is dark. Menacing. I know I'm feeling guilty about the way I behaved earlier tonight, but I can't help but feel like Ian is angry at me. Whatever his problem is, he'll have to deal. I have enough on my mind.
After the dinner, Tim and I are the first to leave. We retreat back up to my room and stay up most of the night, talking and frolicking in bed. To my surprise, and maybe even disappointment, no food tray comes tonight. There's nothing to interrupt us or keep us apart. Nothing but the passing of time.
We haven't spoken any more about Tim's offer. We don't need to. I made my decision. I'm going to take him up on it.
*
M y heart leaps from my chest when I open my door and find Tim standing on the other side. He looks elegant and sophisticated in his tuxedo. His dark hair is perfectly parted to the side; His smouldering stare steals my breath. He smiles, lightening the serious, severe look he wears so well. I gush and melt at his feet.
The wedding is beautiful. Francesca is the most stunning bride I've ever seen. Even now, sequestered in the receiving line with the rest of the bridal party, I'm choked up looking at my friend. She looks absolutely radiant. The love she and Sam feel for each other is evident in the little looks and great big smiles they've been exchanging all day.
Everything has gone smoothly and according to plan. Every detail. Every possible wrinkle was ironed out before it could ever cause a problem. I need to get the name of her wedding planner in case I ever get lucky enough to find that special someone I want to share my life with. This thought makes me think of Tim.
I glance around looking, but I don't see him. Maybe he went for a drink. That's fine. I'm still technically on duty.
The line thins out. Finally, I see a definite end to it. I can't wait. I know I shouldn't let myself get this attached, but I'm counting the minutes until Tim and I are together again.
"I hope I get at least one dance," Ian leans over and whispers in my ear.
I wonder how he got there. He wasn't standing next to me a minute ago. "Sure," I say, not really looking at him.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
"I'm going to hold you to that." He smiles, his gray eyes light with mischief. Once again, I'm surprised that not one but two gorgeous guys have been so attentive to me on this trip.
Tim is the last person in the never-ending line. He's on his phone, and he doesn't look happy. I keep smiling and exchanging pleasantries with complete strangers as the line moves along. Each time a person moves up, it brings me one person closer to Tim.
By the time he stands in front of me, Tim’s hands are free. He reaches into his pocket. I think he's reaching for his phone, which seems to do nothing but create stress for him. Instead, he pulls something sparking out.
"I hope you don't mind. I got you a little something."
My mouth drops. A little something? It's a diamond tennis bracelet! Oh my goodness, he got me a diamond bracelet!"
I shake my head. I can't take this from him. This isn't a little something. It's at least six months’ worth of pay for me.
"It's beautiful, Tim. But I can't."
He reaches for my wrist and wraps the bracelet around, securing the lock.
"You don't have a choice. I’m not asking you; I’m giving it to you."
*
"S o this was your idea ?" Tim asks, looking at the partial lace sleeve running from my elbow to my wrist.
"Yes." I can't contain my excitement. I’ve gotten so many compliments already. "When I saw the scraps of Francesca’s dress on the floor, I thought it would be great to use them to add detail to our bridesmaid dresses and make them more original. At the same time, it makes us look and feel like a more cohesive group."
He looks at Kiara and Dana. They have wristbands instead of sleeves, and we all have a lace trim sash around the waist.
"If you would've asked me, I wouldn't have liked the idea. Seeing it in practice though, it's smart and fresh. It really does add a certain flavor to the dresses."
"That's why no one asked you. You're a guy. And a straight guy, as far as I know. It's not your fault that fashion isn't your thing."
"Is that so?" He bends me backward into a deep dip.
I don't panic or freak out. I hold onto him, trusting him to support my weight as I stare longingly into the softest, deepest brown eyes I've ever seen.
Tim uses his position to take what he wants from me, and I'm helpless to deny him anything. I'm just lucky at this moment that what he wants is a toe-curling kiss.
*
T he party is winding down. Sam and Francesca are leaving once the bouquet and garter are tossed.
“Why aren’t you out there trying to catch it?” Tim asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know,” I answer, watching the bouquet fly straight into Kiara’s hands. “I don’t even want to fantasize about getting married.”
“Superstitious?”
“No. It just feels like too much pressure. But why aren’t you trying to catch the garter?” I ask, watching the guys push and shove each other in their effort to catch it.
“Because I’d much rather stand next to you and try to look down your dress,” he whispers in my ear. Or maybe . . .” I feel his hand move from my hip to my ass.
"What do you say?" Ian interrupts us, causing me to start. "Ready for that dance?"
Tim crooks his eyebrow up at me.
"Just one dance. I promised," I say.
"She promised," Ian says, with a shit-eating grin, his eyes challenging Tim.
Tim nods and sweeps his hand out, gesturing for us to pass, "Be my guest."
I know that Tim and Ian are acting in a civil and polite manner toward each other, but I can't help but feel there’s an animosity between them that I don’t understand.
"You look very beautiful," Ian whispers in my ear, the scent of alcohol weighing heavy on his breath.
"Thank you."
His eyes trail from my face to the bracelet on my wrist. His lips turn down into a frown. His body fills with tension.
"Wish I’d known we were in a bidding war. Then at least I would've had a shot with you." Ian reeks of alcohol. His hand drops to the top of my ass as his hold on me tightens.
Way to shoot holes in my parachute. "I don't know what you're talking about." I keep my voice steady.
"Don't play dumb. I deserve better than that."
He's making me uncomfortable. My skin tingles where Ian touches me, but not in the way that it does with Tim. I feel like I have dozens of tiny bugs crawling over my skin, and I want to swat them away.
"I should get back to Tim."
"Our dance isn't finished, and you promised. Are you going back on that, too?"
I hear an undercurrent of anger in his voice. I try to pull away, but he's holding me tighter, his fingers biting into my flesh. His other hand grips my wrist in a firm hold. I want to get away from him, but I don't want to panic and cause a scene. This is supposed to be a celebration, and I promised one dance. I'll give it to him, but that's all he's going to get.
I try to catch Tim's eye. I'm sure he'll be able to tell from just a look that something's wrong and break in. But he's not looking at me. He's on the phone, looking down at the ground. His eyes are narrowed, his brow furrowed. I see lines crease his forehead as he runs a hand through his dark hair. He looks pissed as he shakes his head. My heart sinks. Something is very wrong.
I watch helplessly as Tim storms out of the reception room.
"Looks like your boy is too busy for you, so why don't you tell me what the going rate is? Then we can have some fun."
I freeze.
"Come on, Bailey. I'm willing to pay, just tell me how much."
I'm done. He just implied, no, not implied. He pretty much came out and called me a prostitute.
"Fuck you!" I try unsuccessfully to push Ian away.
"Was waiting for you to make the offer." He whispers in my ear causing a deep chill as tiny bumps cover my skin.
Holding me close, Ian pulls me out of the room. I look around for Tim, but I don't see him. Ian grabs a fist full of my hair close to my scalp and pulls hard. My eyes well up with tears.
“It doesn’t have to be like this. I don’t want to hurt you. Just be a good girl.” He snarls.
“No! Stop!” My voice is little more than a squeak.
My eyes frantically scan the area. I don't see anyone as Ian drags me down the hall. My heart pounds in fury as I struggle against him. My stomach rolls and turns. I think I'm going to throw up.
"You want it rough? Is that how you like it? I can do that. I tried to be a gentleman, but I guess that doesn’t work for you." Still moving me forward, he tears the front of my dress, lunges for my breast, and squeezes hard, grabbing my nipple and twisting. “Is this better? More to your liking?”
"Stop!" I yell, shoving at him and hoping, praying someone will hear me, but no one is down this hall, and the music spilling out from Francesca’s wedding is so loud, no one hears me.
"As you please."
Ian stops in front of a set of doors leading to another ballroom. I don't see light coming from under them. I know what's going to happen if he gets me in that room. I have to fight like hell to make sure that doesn't happen: kick, scream, and bite. Whatever I need to do.
"Come on!" He twists his hand in my hair and propels me into the doors. Sharp pain burns my scalp. He turns the knob.
“No!” I can't let him get me in that room. I take a deep breath and stomp my high heel on his foot.
"Bitch!" He shoves my face into the door. "We could do this here and now. Is that what you want?"
Still holding me by my hair, he uses his other hand to pull at my dress, lifting it. My body shakes and trembles so hard, I'm not sure I can control my arms and legs well enough to land a good, solid kick.
I pick my foot up and thrust it backward, hoping it lands on the knee. I hit something. He jerks down and loosens his grip. I keep kicking and twisting, working my way out of his hold.
"Help!" I find the strength to yell at the top of my lungs as I break free.
I don't have a chance to kick my heels off. I need to get away. After a few steps, I stumble and feel Ian close the short distance between us. I scream a blood-curdling scream. He's on my back, covering my mouth with his hand. With me face down to the ground, I struggle to thrash and turn and knock Ian off, but he’s too heavy.
Tears spill from my eyes as I try unsuccessfully to buck him off.
"That's right, Bailey. Keep fighting! It will only make conquering you that much better."
"Get your fucking hands off her!"
Tim!
He found me. I knew he would. I don't stop fighting, but at least I know I'm not in it alone. Now, I have a chance.
I keep squirming and trying to get away. Ian's weight is lifted off me. I can breathe again. Arms swing and fists fly between the two men as I scramble to my feet. I don't know if Ian landed any punches, but I feel safe enough with Tim running interference to turn around and watch him punch Ian in the face so hard, Ian lands on his ass.
“You nasty fucking drunk!” Tim yells.
"TJ!" a woman cries. I stay focused on the men fighting in the hall and give her nothing more than a cursory glance, but she's looking in our direction, and she's not alone. A bunch of photographers snap away and shout out questions.
“Mr. Moore, who is she?"
“Mr. Moore, does this mean the engagement is off?"
"Mr. Moore. . . Mr. Moore. . . Mr. Moore . . ." The questions are thrown out one after the other.
Tim turns around to face the swarm of paparazzi, the back of his hand wiping at the corner of his mouth. The color drains from his face.
"She doesn't know, does she?" Ian asks, rubbing his chin, an evil smile playing on his lips. "Bailey has no idea who you really are."
"TJ!" The woman calls again. This time, I look at her. I take a good, long look, soaking in every detail. Long, never-ending legs. Blonde hair that looks like it's been spun from gold. Big blue eyes. Slight, thin frame. Makeup that looks like it's been airbrushed on. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.
"Siena," Tim whispers her name and shakes his head. He looks over at me. His eyes are full of emotion. Sad, overwhelming emotion.
"I come all this way,” she fans her hands at her face as if she’s overwhelmed with emotion. “To work on our relationship, and for what?"
Her words are spoken so emphatically, so dramatically. What I really want to know is, who the hell is she? I replay what she just said. It hits me. Relationship. She just used the R-word.
"TJ?" She sniffles. Her voice cracks. I'm certain the waterworks are going to start any second.
He nibbles on his bottom lip. The worry lines are etched thick in his forehead again. He looks at the beautiful woman wearing regret on his face. "I'm sorry."
He's sorry. He's fucking sorry! He hasn't even looked at me since she spoke his name. I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest, kicked across the floor, and stomped on.
She steps up toe to toe with him, wipes at her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest. "Who are these people, TJ? I thought you were here working. Who is this woman?" She demands like a jealous girlfriend, her arm gesturing in my direction.
I don't wait to hear his answer or explanation. I don't want to hear that I'm a mistake. Or worse, I'm no one and mean nothing to him. Because how could I be anything more than a good time? I turn and run off with the photographers and reporters calling after me. I ignore them all as I jump into an elevator and head back to my room. Alone.