Jacquie D’Alessandro - Holiday Inn Bed

The minute the words slipped out Eric wondered if they’d undo whatever small progress they seemed to be making. But Marc nodded. “I guess I can be. Sometimes. At least with regards to my sister. And this wedding.”

Shocked-pleasantly so-that Marc would admit as much, Eric said, “Same with Kelley. She doesn’t like to waste time. She’s disgustingly efficient. Knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”

“Does she always get it?”

“Almost always. She’s very successful at her job. You are, too. Which means you at least have that in common. So maybe you can quit giving her the death stare every time you see her.”

Marc studied him for several seconds with an unreadable expression, then said, “Jess told me Kelley raised you and your sisters from the time you were twelve.”

“That’s right.” He debated how much detail he should go into, but figured since this seemed a relatively safe topic, he might as well run with it. So he told Marc about his parents’ deaths, and how Kelley had quit college and been dumped by her fiancé. How she’d set aside her own life to raise three kids when she wasn’t much more than a kid herself.

He finished by saying, “She’s an incredible woman. I owe her a lot.”

Marc slowly nodded, clearly mulling over the tale. Finally he said, “Must have been hard.”

“It was. But we also had a lot of good times.”

“I didn’t know about her fiancé and all.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you’d take a few minutes to get to know us instead of writing us off as nothing more than ‘the competition’-and maybe smile once or twice while you’re at it-you’d figure out we’re not so bad.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Maybe,” Eric conceded. “But I never wrote you off as the competition.” He grinned. “I wrote you off as a scowling jerk.”

Marc’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure if I’m amused or pissed off.”

“Why not go with amused?”

“I’m not sure I like you.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out on you, too.”

“Still, this last half hour is the first time I haven’t been tempted to toss you into a Dumpster,” Marc said, his tone musing.

“Ditto. Just to let you know, you’d have a hell of a time doing so.”

Marc nodded. “Figured as much.” What might have passed for a flash of an actual grin flickered across his features. “That’s why I like to hang with the brother posse when you’re around.”

“At the risk of taking a backward step here, it would take more than the four of you to get rid of me. I’m not going anywhere.”

From the corner of his eye he saw Jess stand up. He glanced over, hoping the wedding talk had reached a friendly conclusion. One look at her pale face-dotted with twin flags of red on her cheeks, clenched hands and overbright eyes-disabused him of that notion. He was out of his chair in a flash and striding toward her.

“I can’t listen to this anymore,” he heard her say to her mother and Kelley as he approached, her voice low and unsteady. “I’m sick to death of this sniping, and neither of you listen to me anyway. What difference does it make that I’m the bride? Clearly none. So you two plan the wedding. I don’t care what color the napkins are. Invite six thousand people if that’s what you want. But I am not wearing that ridiculous dress.” She jabbed a shaky finger toward a glossy magazine photo depicting a woman wearing a huge poof of a white dress. “I’ll choose what I wear and if it turns out to be my flannel pajamas, then so be it.

“Bottom line is that I refuse to argue about any of this anymore. I’m done. And since I’m no longer involved in the wedding decisions, I’m going back to my cabin. And I suggest you all go home.”

“Jessica,” said Carol, her tone sharp. “You can’t just walk away like this.”

“I can and I am.” Her voice broke on the last two words, and Eric could tell she was seconds away from losing it. He reached out to touch her, but she stepped back, shaking her head and hugging her arms around herself. “I. Am. Done. As for the wedding-I’ll just show up at the church. Or, damn it, maybe I won’t.”

Without another word she turned on her heel and stalked from the lounge.

Jessica heard Eric call after her, but instead of stopping she quickened her pace, all her thoughts focused on one thing.

Escape.

She needed to put as much distance between herself and her mother and Kelley before she completely fell apart.

Snatching her parka from the coatrack, she dashed outside without pausing to don the garment. A gust of snow-laden, frigid wind pelted her and she gasped at the sudden change in temperature. At least six inches of fresh snow lined the path and the bitter-cold air seemed to snatch the oxygen from her lungs. Without breaking her stride, she struggled into her coat and mittens and tried to calm her rapid, shallow breathing-the first warning sign of the anxiety attack she felt gripping her in its talons. Just relax. Breathe deep.

Damn it, she hated feeling like this. Out of control, her heart thumping so hard and fast she could hear the staccato beats echoing in her ears. Her throat tightening, her fingers tingling from her too-fast shallow breaths, the tension constricting her muscles, the shivering that had nothing to do with the cold. She’d suffered such attacks after her father died, when the grief had relentlessly choked her, but she hadn’t experienced one in several years. Until her engagement. Sadly, since then, she’d been forcibly reminded several times of exactly how they felt. Just like this. Like walls closing in on her and a mounting sense of being overwhelmed.

She needed to lie down, close her eyes until the feeling passed. She felt like a coward running out like that, leaving Eric to deal with the fallout, but, God, she just couldn’t take it anymore. She’d tried to be diplomatic. Polite. But her mother was driving her insane. And whatever last nerve Mom wasn’t stomping on, Kelley trampled over. Sitting between them, she’d felt as if a big red bull’s-eye were painted on her. Her mother had been overbearing and rude, while Kelley’s manner was demanding and brusque. Maybe she would have been able to stomach the tension, endure the discussion-translation: argument-to its end if she hadn’t seen the wedding dress.

A half humorless laugh, half sob escaped her and she briefly squeezed her eyes shut, only to nearly stumble on the snowy path. The dress that her mother declared was perfect. Maybe-for some bride, somewhere, but absolutely not for her. That dress wasn’t just a no, it was a hell no. Naturally her mother had disagreed. And then informed her that she’d already ordered it-because it was soooo perfect.

That’s when all her pent-up anger had erupted like Vesuvius. If she hadn’t left she would have lashed out and said things she’d regret once her temper cooled. She’d learned the hard way that things said in anger could wound deeply. And they could never be unsaid.

The memory slammed into her-the stupid, typical argument between a fourteen-year-old know-it-all girl and her aggravated father over too much time spent on the phone and not enough on homework. Angry words shouted out of teenage rebellion. And two days later, with the argument and her resentment still simmering between them, a heart attack. Her father was gone in the blink of an eye. The last words spoken between them had been said in anger. Eleven years later the memory still tore at her.

And so she’d escaped the lounge. Before regrettable words could be spoken-although she’d left a few seconds too late. I’ll just show up at the church. Or, damn it, maybe I won’t.

The words had slipped out before she could stop them. She hadn’t meant them. Or had she? She couldn’t deny that at that moment, she had. Coward that she was, she hadn’t paused to look at Eric, but she’d sensed he’d gone perfectly still. And the same question that had plagued her for the last four months again raced through her mind: how in God’s name could she resolve this mess and still keep her relationships with both Eric and her family?