Broken Wide Open: A Stand-Alone Romance Page 2

  All motion stopped between them, and Lissa sat up and gasped when she saw me. She gasped? I should have been the one to gasp. Craig turned his head over his shoulder, and when it registered in his sapless brain that it was his wife who stood there, he immediately jumped off Lissa and faced me, his stiff, reddened dick waving at me like a flag on the Fourth of July. He scrambled to quickly pull up his pants, tucking himself down inside. I gave him a disgusted glare, squinting my eyes into narrow slits as much as I could as I glowered before I turned to leave.

  “Grace? Wait!” He caught me by my elbow, his grip a little too tight against my bare arm. “This isn’t what you think.”

  “Oh my God, really? Just how stupid do you think I am? Never mind, don’t answer that. I already know. Your actions here tell me everything I need to know. Let go of me.”

  “Honest, Grace. It was just a bet with the guys. I probably drank too much. Yes, I drank too much. Lissa’s hot, and the guys bet me that I couldn’t get into her pants because she was your friend. But I did!” He smiled. My God, he was proud of that. “And…I got carried away when she reciprocated my affections because, well, I had last-minute wedding jitters. I couldn’t go the rest of my life being married without one last fling. Come on, Grace, you know me, it would have ruined us. That’s all this was, Grace. She doesn’t mean anything to me. I promise.”

  I blinked at him and opened my eyes wide in amazement. “You screwed my best friend three hours after you married me because you had last-minute jitters and couldn’t go the rest of your life being married to me without fucking her?” It would have ruined us? Seriously? How many lame excuses was he going to give me?

  “Well, yeah. I’ve been a nervous wreck all week. I know you noticed. If you love me, you’ll understand. You know me.” He scratched his right temple as if he were trying to think up some more messed-up excuses. He took a couple of steps closer, then reached out and ran his knuckles down my cheek. I shuddered, but not in pleasure.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. But don’t you see? Now it’s done and it’s out of my system.”

  I slapped him. I slapped him so hard, the crack of my hand meeting his face echoed through the room. “Oh, I know you, Craig. You’re a despicable asshole.”

  I picked up my dress, bunching it in my fists, whirled on the balls of my feet, and left the room, shoving the door wide so that it slammed back against the hallway wall.

  My fingers stung. “Uno, due, tre, quattro,” I mumbled as I hurried down the hall.

  My eyes filled with tears that I didn’t want to shed. Oh, how I hated the two of them in that moment.

  How could I have been so stupid, so blind to not realize what an ass Craig was? Why had he even wanted to marry me?

  I headed into the bride’s dressing room and shrugged out of the gown, letting it fall to the floor. I stepped out of it and kicked it away. Then kicked it again and again until it hit the corner of the room. The most beautiful gown I’d ever owned lay in a heap, but now it only represented something I didn’t have. My heart bled. Shattered for the second time in my life. I sank to the floor in my underwear and cried into the palms of my hands. When I heard female voices heading toward me, I quickly stood up, grabbed my after-the-reception outfit from the hanger, and shrugged into the long, cream-colored, sleeveless dress. It had red trim around the armholes and the neckline, and the soft, comfortable jersey material was stretchy and perfect for traveling. It was supposed to be the outfit for the airplane ride to Tahiti. Our flight was to leave at eleven fifty-eight, just before midnight. Craig thought it would be a good idea to take the red-eye flight so we could sleep all the way to the island and get there just as the sun was coming up. I glanced at the round, white-and-black, school-type clock on the wall above the door and sighed. It would have been a fun trip.

  I held my breath, leaned my back against the wall, and counted silently—in Italian—in an attempt to keep as stiff and still as possible to make myself invisible from the hallway as the voices came closer. My father had taught me to count in Italian when I was small. It was something that came to me automatically whenever I was stressed or upset, like the day the policemen had come to the door, telling my mother that my father was dead. I’d counted then, just the way he’d taught me. Ever since, I always found the numbers comforting, and they kept his memory alive for me.

  Right at that moment, I was very upset, and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Not then. Not after what had just happened. I didn’t think I could face anyone. I just wanted to slip away unnoticed. I breathed a sigh of relief as the two women strolled past the room without discovering me or coming in.

  I grabbed my purse out of the locker, reaching inside for a brush. I wanted to comb out the up-do hairstyle I’d let Lissa talk me into that morning. I didn’t want to leave with anything that reminded me of her, or Craig. As I reached inside the bag, my hand fell on the two boarding passes Oliver had printed out for us that morning before we left the house. I’d stayed at my mother’s last night to keep the old tradition of not letting the groom see the bride on the wedding day until the ceremony to ward off any bad luck. Ha. Well, that sure didn’t work, did it? Suddenly, I found myself wondering what type of goading had gone on last night with Craig and his pals, considering what he’d done today with Lissa.

  I slipped on my cream sandals as my eyes fell on my new designer suitcase—already packed for the trip and waiting by the door. The black leather exuded snobbish affluence with the silver etchings decorating the sides. It was one of two matching Versace bags that Craig’s mother had purchased for us. We were to leave for the airport in a little under two hours.

  I’d never been to French Polynesia before and had been looking forward to it. We were supposed to stay in Bora Bora—a little island off Tahiti—in an over-the-water bungalow before changing to another cottage that sat right on the beach. It was to be a dream. A fantasy honeymoon. I stared at the suitcase, the tickets still clasped between my finger and thumb. “Why not?” I asked softly. The tickets were non-refundable, as were all the resort costs and fees that we’d had to pay in advance. If I didn’t go, would Craig? Would he take Lissa in my place? I held the boarding passes between my hot little fingers. I’d be damned if I let Lissa take my place in Bora Bora, a once in a lifetime adventure. It most likely wasn’t something I would ever get to do again, particularly on my salary.

  Ha! Who was I kidding? I didn’t even have a salary anymore since Craig had insisted that I quit my managing job at Shapiro’s. He’d said he didn’t want his wife managing a bar and grill and that I’d get along better with his mother if I didn’t have a job working in some sleazy restaurant. Shapiro’s was far from sleazy, though, and it was so much more than just a bar. In fact, it was the most upscale gourmet steak and seafood restaurant in Ukiah.

  Craig’s mother hadn’t worked a day in her life, and he didn’t see why his marriage should be any different than his parents’. I wasn’t the type to sit around in coffee clutches and women’s clubs like his mother, but I’d agreed to quit, thinking I’d put most of my energy into volunteer work of some kind. In fact, I’d already investigated volunteering at the local women’s shelter. But now, there was no way I could do that. I’d need money because come hell or high water, this marriage to Craig would get annulled. As soon as possible.

  But first, why not put these tickets to good use? I was hurt beyond comprehension, and maybe a trip paid for by Craig would help take away some of the sting.

  I pulled my large, off-white Louis Vuitton hobo strap over my shoulder—another gift from Craig’s mother, who’d insisted I couldn’t go to Tahiti without it. After all, what would people say about her son if he were to step off the plane with someone carrying a faux leather white bag she’d purchased from Ross? She’d actually said that. I sighed. I’d been secretly appalled by her unabashed snobbery, but I’d been too intimidated to speak up. I needed to change that. No better time than the present. I strolled over to the door, opened it slowly, and peered down the ha
llway to the left and then to the right. Satisfied that no one would see me, I grabbed the handle of the Versace on wheels and pulled it out behind me.

  I stepped outside, adjusting my eyes to the dark, and spotted the limo Craig had rented for our trip from the winery to the airport. Thank God the driver was early. I walked to the curb, and the chauffeur approached me, taking my bag in his hand.

  When he looked past me at the door expectantly, I said, “Mr. Canavan won’t be coming.”

  His eyebrows rose in question, but then he gave me a reassuring smile and nodded professionally as he held the door open for me. After I had settled into the seat, he shut the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. I sank back against the soft, black leather seat and counted again, silently. As he started the engine, a knock on the window startled me. I looked up to see Oliver. A frown shone on his face, his eyebrows knitted closely together. I’d hoped to slip away without notice. I didn’t want to explain anything to anyone. Not even Oliver, whom I adored. Shoving away my selfishness, I rolled down the window.

  “Grace?” he asked, concern stirring behind his hazel eyes. Just saying my name was enough, and I knew he wanted an explanation. He deserved at least that since it was his money that had paid for this mockery of a wedding.

  “I’m sorry, Oliver. I need to leave.” I wiped one of the tears that I’d ordered not to form away from my cheek.

  “Why? What happened?”

  I sucked in a sob. “I can’t stay. I…I just walked in on Craig and Lissa.” My voice broke, and I took in a deep breath. “They were having sex.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “That son of a bitch. I’m so sorry, baby.” He patted the hand I’d placed on the door. “Where are you going?”

  I thought about lying and saying that I was just going home because I didn’t think he’d want me going off to a foreign country alone, but then I knew he’d never forgive me if I went without telling him. So I swallowed and found my courage. “I’m going to Bora Bora.”

  He nodded. “Alone?”

  I nodded.

  He sighed and ran his hand through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair. “Okay. Somebody should, I guess. Are you going to be okay?”

  I blinked, not expecting his approval. “Yes. I’m sorry about the money you spent for this.”

  “Don’t give it another thought. It’s only money.” He smiled, his kind eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “I always knew Craig was a pompous heel, I just never thought he’d stoop to something this low.” He shook his head a little and ran his hand through his bushy head of hair before his eyes rose again to meet mine. “I never thought he was good enough for you, honey, but anyway…listen, why don’t you take Kristen with you so you don’t have to go alone?”

  “I can’t…I don’t want to face anyone right now. Not even Kristen. Besides, the airline ticket is in Craig’s name. I have a lot to sort out. Please, just let me do this.”

  “You’re a grown woman, Grace. You’re smart, you have a college degree, and you’ve always made good choices.” A degree I knew he was proud of. A degree I’d been willing to put aside and forget about to become the wife of a womanizer, an indocile man-whore. Apparently, college hadn’t made me as smart as I’d hoped, at least not when it came to men. I shook off the disgust. “I’m proud of you,” Oliver continued, voicing what I already knew. “You don’t need my permission for anything. I’ve always loved you as my daughter, and you’ll be my little girl forever, no matter what. I only want what’s best for you.”

  “Then you understand?”

  He nodded his head and sucked in his lips. “I do. But I’m still allowed to worry.”

  I let out a small laugh and glanced down at my fingers, the diamond ring still there on my left hand. I swiped the wetness from my cheeks, then nodded and gave him a small, tear-soaked smile. “Tell Mom, I…”

  “Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll handle her. Call or text me when you get there, honey. Otherwise, I’ll worry the entire time you’re gone.”

  He would, too. His was an unconditional love I never questioned. Oliver loved me, probably even more than my mother. At least he had a better way of showing it than she did. He stepped away from the car door and threw me a kiss with two fingers. I sank back into the leather seat again as the limo pulled away. What would I have done my whole life without Oliver?

  I watched the passing buildings float by as the limo sped down the road to the airport.

  Chapter Three

  I rested on the chaise lounge, sipping some sort of coconut concoction and trying to get into the book I held in my hands. The drink was to relax me. I’d decided drinking alcohol at eleven thirty in the morning wasn’t going to hurt this once and it might even help me take a nap, considering I hadn’t slept on the plane like Craig had insisted I would. I’d been too distraught over what he’d done. Then, of course, the flight from Tahiti to Bora Bora had been too short and the plane way too small to even think about sleep as I’d sat directly behind the pilots, watching the lights through the cockpit window become brighter and bigger as we approached the island at the crack of dawn. That amazing view alone had already made this trip worth it.

  This was supposed to be my honeymoon. The least I could do was try to have a little fun. But even with the drink, it was difficult to get what Craig and Lissa had done out of my mind. It didn’t appear that fun was in the cards for me. Everywhere I turned, I saw couples. This wasn’t exactly the best place to visit alone when the majority of the people vacationing were either honeymooners or, at the very least, lovers.

  It was my first day in Bora Bora, and I didn’t know a soul. When I’d entered the beautiful hotel room this morning, complete with pink and red rose petals shaped into a heart in the middle of the bed, I’d sighed with regret, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. I’d sucked in a breath and thanked the porter, slipping him a ten-dollar bill as he left. I’d stood over the three-by-five-foot, see-through glass panel in the floor in the middle of the room as a school of small, brightly colored fish swam by. So pretty. But realizing I was over water had made me a little nervous, and I’d begun counting the fish. “Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei…” I hadn’t considered how it would feel to be sleeping in a room directly over the ocean. But not even counting in Italian had worked for me, so I stepped to the small bar and fridge, fully stocked with bottles of ready-made cocktails and small bottles of wine. Something Craig had paid extra for, I was certain, and right then, I was very grateful. Needing to settle my nerves, I’d grabbed a white bottle of something that said rum and coconut on it and opened it, poured some into one of the glasses, and sipped. “Mmmm…yum.” I’d then walked to the sliding glass door to take a peek outside and instantly fell in love as the fear of the bungalow falling into the water left me immediately. The ocean was so beautiful, so blue. Across the inlet sat another island of hills covered by lush greenery. The deck over the water—small, but large enough for two lounge chairs—looked very inviting, and I couldn’t resist the urge to test one out.

  So, now, here I sat, leaning back, stretching my feet out in front of me, instantly feeling relaxed. I pulled the skirt of my dress up to mid-thigh to allow the sun to hit my legs. Everything was beautiful. The buzz of my phone in my pocket startled me. I snatched it out and saw the reminder I’d set to text Oliver of my arrival. I sent him a quick note to let him know I’d arrived so he wouldn’t worry.

  Then, resting back again, I glanced to the right, nothing but water and more lush, green hills—just as the brochure had promised. The bungalow next to mine on my left looked unoccupied. Not a soul here but me. I closed my eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of saltwater and fish, not feeling the least bit lonely. For the first time in about fifteen hours, I felt okay with my decision to come. After finishing the drink, I sighed quietly and then placed the book down on the small table beside me and closed my eyes. Within a few minutes, I’d drifted off to sleep.

  I was rudely
woken by a loud splash in the water very close to my deck, and I shrieked, sitting up with a jolt, searching the water for some sign of what the heck it had been.

  “They do that every now and then,” a male voice to my left said with a chuckle.

  Startled to hear another voice, especially male, I quickly turned my gaze toward the man. The glare of the sun in my eyes silhouetted his face. I glanced to the sky. I must have been asleep for a while. I had no idea what time it was, but the sun making its descent behind him told me that it must be nearing early evening. I tried to shield my eyes to see his face, but it just didn’t help much. “The barracudas,” he said, clarifying his statement when I didn’t respond. “They frequently jump out of the water.”

  “Barracudas?” I tried not to sound alarmed or frightened. But the idea of flying barracudas freaked me out. And now, the thought of staying in this over-the-water bungalow sounded very risky. I couldn’t wait to move to the beach cottage.

  “They won’t hurt you. Unless, of course, you happen to be in their path when they jump out of the water and collide with you.”

  “Collide with me?” I squeezed my eyes closed and softly began to count. “Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque…” I mumbled without care that he stood there, watching me. He was a stranger I’d probably never see again, and my counting relaxed me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Counting.”

  “In Italian?”

  “Why is that so strange? Do you speak more than one language?”

  His silhouette shrugged, not answering my question. “You don’t sound Italian.”