Wedding Party Collection: Always The Bachelor. Barbara Hannay
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one big, knotted ball. There was a very short beginning and a sharp, stubby end, but the middle part was so densely tangled and riddled with missing bulbs, she wasn’t sure if they could ever make sense of it.
May be they weren’t meant to resolve anything. May be the trick was to throw the old set out and shop for a new one. Or stop hanging the lights altogether, even if it did make life drab and colorless at times. Boring even.
Boring, but safe.
The air was thick and sticky with tension, and she had no idea what to say to him. Thankfully, Deidre chose that second to knock on the door.
Move forward and don’t look back. The best part of your life lies ahead. Life’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.
—excerpt from The Modern Woman’s Guide to Divorce (And the Joy of Staying Single)
“Hey, Ivy, you in there?”
“Come in,” Ivy called. Deidre’s timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
The doorknob jiggled and she said, “It’s locked.”
She shot Dillon a look. He had broken in, then relocked the door? The man gave himself far too much credit.
She crossed the room and let her cousin in. Deidre looked considerably better than she had earlier. The color had returned to her cheeks, and she’d lost that muddled, slightly dazed expression. She always had been quick to bounce back.
“I can’t find Dillon and I was wondering—” She spotted Dillon lounging on the bed. “Oh! There you are.”
Curiosity leaped like wild flames in her eyes, but she played it cool. Ivy could just imagine what she must be thinking. Dillon half-naked on her bed, Ivy in her robe.
It looked pretty bad.
He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty or uncomfortable. Or May be that was a good thing, since they had no reason to feel either. As useless as this conversation had turned out to be, it hadn’t been in any way inappropriate. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The tailor is here to do the final fitting on the tuxedos. They’re waiting for you in the master suite downstairs.”
He pulled himself to his feet. “Guess I should get down there.”
Taking his time, he grabbed his shirt, turned it right side in, then pulled it over his head. There was something hypnotizing about a man getting dressed, the easy flex and pull of muscle. Yards of smooth skin.
Too bad it wasn’t anyone but him.
He crossed the room to the door, but instead of leaving, he stopped. Right by Ivy. He stood there, closer than she was comfortable with. Close enough to look suggestive and raise even more questions.
Which was probably what he wanted. It was probably his way of getting back at her for hitting so far below the belt. She would apologize, but really, hadn’t he brought it on himself? Wasn’t he the one following her around, breaking into her room, harassing her?
And if that was true, why did she feel so guilty?
Their eyes locked, and his gaze was so intense she could swear he was seeing straight through her skin to her insides. And for some stupid reason she couldn’t look away.
Could he really see inside her? And if so, could he see how bad she felt? Did he know that she wanted to apologize?
He leaned toward her the tiniest bit, tilted his head a fraction, and for one brief, horrifying, exhilarating second she thought he was going to kiss her. Right in front of her cousin. Her pulse began to race and her mouth went dry.
Explaining to Deidre why they were in her room together, and getting her to believe it, would be difficult enough.
She stood there frozen, holding her breath, waiting to see what he would do. If he would make matters worse.
“It’s been…enlightening,” he finally said, then turned and walked out.
She didn’t really see how he considered this interlude enlightening. Nothing had been resolved. Nothing was going to be resolved. Not until he took responsibility for his actions and stopped blaming everything on her. And she knew that would never happen.
Deidre waited several seconds, until they could hear the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, then she shut the door and turned to Ivy. “Enlightening?”
“It’s not what you think,” Ivy said.
“I’m not sure what I should think.”
“Nothing was going on. We were just talking.”
“Talking? Oh, my gosh!” Deidre squealed. “That’s so awesome!”
No. Not really. “I was trying to take your advice. I wanted to resolve whatever it is we’re still hanging on to.”
“And?” she pressed, her eyes bright and enthusiastic. And so full of hope it nearly broke Ivy’s heart.
Deidre was so excited, Ivy hated to disappoint her. But as her mother used to say, part of growing up is accepting disappointment and realizing that there are some things you just can’t change.
When it came to Ivy and Dillon’s relationship, Deidre would have to learn to live with defeat.
Ivy had.
“We don’t seem to be making much progress.” May be they weren’t meant to resolve anything. May be what they needed was to simply forget the past and go their separate ways.
Tough to do when the guy followed her everywhere.
“But you’re trying,” she gushed, undeterred. She took both of Ivy’s hands and squeezed them. “That’s what’s important. I know that you guys will work things out!”
Ivy wished she could share Deidre’s optimism, but it was tough to resolve anything with a man who refused to admit he may have made a mistake.
Dillon didn’t say two words to her at dinner.
That had been what she’d wanted all along. For him to leave her alone. So why did she feel so lousy?
Clearly it was the I-wish-I’d-never-married-you statement coming back to bite her in the behind. Not only had it been mean and uncalled for, it wasn’t the least bit true.
For every good day, they may have had two lousy ones. And if she had a dime for every night she’d cried herself to sleep she could buy herself a Mercedes.
But if not for Dillon, for their marriage—the good and the bad—she wouldn’t be the person she was today. She was stronger because of him. She may have learned the hard way, but she knew how to take care of herself. To beat any odds.
And for some stupid reason she couldn’t bring herself to tell him so.
The men went for a guys’ night out that evening while the women had the final fittings for their dresses. Six months ago Deidre had gone through fifty different styles of bridesmaid dresses before the Tweedles would agree on one they’d be willing to be seen in. And as Ivy spun in front of the mirror she had to admit the color and design were flattering. Not just flattering, but sexy.
She wondered what Dillon would think. If he would like the way she looked.
Not that she cared, of course.
“Gorgeous!” the seamstress gushed after making a slight adjustment to the spaghetti strap. Of course the Tweedles’ size ones were a perfect fit. They were like Stepford bridesmaids. Only scarier.
“We need our bride!” the seamstress called impatiently in the direction of the master bath, where Deidre had disappeared to put on her dress. She had been in there an awfully long time.
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