Bittersweet by Deborah Bladon

Chapter 1

 

 

 

Afton

 

 

I pop open the lid of the rectangular gift box, and my breath catches.

Inside is a stunning necklace.  The chain is delicate and crafted of silver. The pendant is a pear-shaped sapphire surrounded by six small diamonds.

“This is your something blue, Afton.”

I look up and into the eyes of the man I’m marrying. Warren Rotham has been a staple in my life since I was sixteen years old. I crushed hard on him in high school, pined for him when he went away to college, and two years ago, I accepted when he finally asked me out on a date.

“The color of the sapphire is a perfect match for your eyes.”

I smile at the compliment, even though he’s wrong. My eyes are light blue. My brother Nelson and I share that in common. He’s a blond, just like our mom. My hair is the same shade of brown that our dad was before he started graying.

“It’s beautiful,” I say softly. “Will you help me put it on?”

“Of course.” He tugs the necklace free. “Spin around and lift your hair.”

Bunching my hair into my fist, I turn on my heel.

Warren’s fingers brush over my neck as he works to fasten the clasp. “Mother saw this in the window of her favorite jewelry store. She told me you’d love it.”

I gaze at our reflections in the full-length mirror that’s resting against the wall in front of us.

Warren is super focused on the necklace. His teeth are pinching his bottom lip. When I first met him ten years ago, I thought he was the cutest boy I’d ever seen.

We touched hands in the school cafeteria when Warren stepped in front of me to grab a packet of ketchup for the fries he’d just ordered. I felt a surge of nervous energy so strong that I almost dropped the plastic tray I was holding.

Today, I feel nothing but an uneasy lump in my stomach.

We’re set to walk down the aisle in two hours.

“Are you naked under that robe?” His breath gusts over my neck.

“I’m wearing lingerie.” I try to catch his eye in the mirror, but he’s dropped his attention to the phone he just pulled out of the back pocket of his tuxedo pants.

A pre-wedding quickie won’t happen.

Warren and I haven’t been intimate in more than three months.

That was his idea.

His reasoning was simple. He wanted to build up the anticipation before we make love for the first time as a married couple.

I couldn’t last ninety days without an orgasm. At the forty-eight hour mark, I broke my vow to not come by getting off in my bed to the mental image of a guy I saw at a bodega.

The fact that Warren wasn’t the inspiration for my late afternoon solo delight was just another red flag.

They’ve been popping up all over the place the past few weeks.

The first was Warren’s frustration when I told him that I wasn’t going to take his surname.

His parents invited me to lunch so they could convince me that trading in Neal for Rotham was the right move.

I won that battle.

The dress I’m wearing today was another source of conflict. Warren sketched out his ideal dress in detail and tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans the morning of my appointment at the bridal salon.

His older sister tagged along with my mom and my best friend.

Wilma Rotham took her responsibility seriously.

I didn’t bother glancing at Warren’s sketch, but Wilma yanked it out of my pocket, showed it to the bridal consultant, and insisted that I choose a dress that resembled the hot mess of lace that my husband-to-be wanted.

My wedding dress is simple and made of silk. It’s another hard-fought point for me.

“Lydia sends her best.” Warren sighs as he keeps his gaze pinned to his phone’s screen. “She’s sorry that she had to miss our special day.”

I doubt that. I think she’s sorry that she’s not about to become his wife. Lydia Amberton is Warren’s research partner. They’ve been studying the impact of sunspots on goats… or something. Warren’s very hush-hush about his work. Every time I’ve asked, he’s chuckled before launching into a speech about how it’s important that we both have our own interests.

I’ve seen him with Lydia when I’ve stopped by their research lab. She’s got it bad for my fiancé. The fact that I don’t feel an ounce of jealousy about all the time they spend together is another glaring warning sign that I’ve been ignoring.

“You haven’t started packing.” A few strands of Warren’s slicked-back blond hair fall onto his forehead. “I thought you were going to make the arrangements to have everything brought to my apartment by today.”

His apartment.

As of today, it’s supposed to beour home.

Warren lives in a two-bedroom walk-up in Greenwich Village.

I’m renting the garden apartment of a brownstone on the Upper East Side. Nelson’s in-laws purchased the property as a wedding gift when my brother married my best friend, Joel. That was almost two years ago.

Nelson and Joel are slowly decorating the top three floors. This ground-level apartment has been all me since the day I moved in. I painted the walls soft gray, added a few hand-woven rugs in my favorite shades of blue and yellow, and brought in the array of houseplants I collected at my last apartment.

It’s always felt like home.

“I’ll get it packed up in the next week or two.” I glance around the charming bedroom with French doors that lead out to a garden patio complete with rose bushes, a small patch of grass, and white lights that twinkle at night. “Nelson and Joel aren’t in a hurry to rent it out.”

“They could have someone new in by the first of next month. I’ll arrange for movers to pick up everything by the end of the week.” He types something into his phone. “I’ll leave you be. I’ll see you at the church.”

I spin around to face him. My eyes search his face for something, anything that tells me that I’m doing the right thing.

“You’re wearing your hair up, aren’t you?” He tugs on one of the strands of my shoulder-length hair. “You know that I prefer it up, Afton.”

“I’m wearing it down.”

The corners of his lips curve up into a smile. “You love to tease me.”

I’m dead serious. The hairstylist that my mom hired for the day is bringing a curling iron. I’m going for a soft wavy look. I know it will complement my gown.

“Until we meet again.” He scoops my hand in his and brings it to his lips for a soft kiss.

Not one butterfly flutters around in my stomach. I don’t feel a jolt of anything but anxiety.

As I watch my fiancé walk out of my bedroom, my gaze drops to the diamond ring on my finger and my shaking hands.

I close my eyes and wish for the only thing I want today. I need a sign that this is my true destiny because all the certainty I felt on the night Warren proposed has been slowly pushed aside and replaced with doubt.

 

***

 

“Do you have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue?” Joel, my best friend, brother-in-law, and man-of-honor, adjusts the hem of my veil.

I nod. “I have it all.”

Squinting his eyes, he tilts back on the heels of his black oxford shoes. “You don’t have it all, Afton.”

“I have the bracelet that my mom loaned me.” I wiggle my wrist in the air, shaking the silver charm bracelet. “I have the earrings my grandma gave me for my birthday last month.”

“Grams bought those earrings?” Joel’s fingers skim over the diamond stud in my left ear. “Are they real?”

I shrug. “They look real. That’s what counts, right?”

Joel waves his wedding band in my face. “These diamonds are real. I told Nelson that I needed a full carat before I’d let him put a ring on this hand.”

My brother never spares expense, which brings me to my something old.

“My something old is my favorite thing.” I bow my head, so the vintage, handmade crystal headpiece attached to my veil catches the light overhead. “I can’t thank you and Nelson enough for this.”

“I thanked your brother for you.” Joel’s green eyes sparkle. “I told him when we went to Paris for our second honeymoon that we couldn’t come back to Manhattan without something special for you.”

“I’m all set.” I smooth my hands over the front of my dress. “I’m not missing a thing.”

“You’re missing a smile.” He cups my chin in his hand.

“I’m nervous,” I confess, taking a step back from his touch.

Joel and I have been friends since the first grade. He knows me better than anyone. If he senses something isn’t right, he’ll push until I spill the beans.

“Spit it out, Afton.”

I run a hand over his perfectly coiffed red hair and repeat my last words. “I’m nervous.”

“You’re having second thoughts,” he blurts out. “Tell me now if you are.”

I look over to where my mom and Nelson are standing next to my coffee table in the living room. They’re gazing down at the flowers that were dropped off thirty minutes ago.

I couldn’t decide on a color theme for the wedding, so Joel took charge and opted for violet. It’s my favorite color.

It’s Joel’s too. He’s dressed in a black suit with a purple necktie and pocket square.

“It’s almost time to leave for the church.” I wring my hands together in front of me. “I’ll be Warren’s wife in less than an hour.”

“You’ll be his wife until death parts you.”

I stare at him as his words wash over me. The finality in his statement stirs up the anxiety that’s been hovering just below the surface all day.

“You don’t have to go through with this.” Joel lowers his voice. “The day I married Nelson, I was on cloud nine. You don’t look like you’re on any cloud. Your body says bride. Your face says burial.”

“Burial?”

“The expression on your face is the same as it was the day we went to Mrs. Rockenstan’s funeral.”

Mrs. Rockenstan was our third-grade teacher. When she died during our first year of high school, we went to her funeral service hand-in-hand. It was my first experience with death, so I was understandably devastated.

I plaster a fake smile on my face. “I’m happy. See?”

Joel shakes his head. “You look like a seal. Never smile that way again.”

I can’t control the laughter that bubbles out of me.

“What’s so funny over there?” My mom asks from where she’s standing. “You two aren’t planning any trouble, are you?”

“That depends on Afton.” Joel’s hand dives into the front pocket of his pants. The distinct sound of his keys jingling cuts through the silence in the room.

It’s my best friend’s way of reminding me that he’s always got an escape route if I need it. Joel has driven me away from a few moments in my life I’d rather forget.

“It’s time to get married.” My mom scoops up my bouquet from the table. “There’s an Uber outside waiting to take us to the church.”

Joel slides his hand into mine. “I’m right beside you every step of the way.”

I’m only a few minutes away from walking down the aisle on the arm of my dad, and all signs are pointing at me to do it.

I squeeze Joel’s hand and follow him out the door toward my destiny as Warren Rotham’s wife.