The Almost Bride

By Sandra Bruney

Lily can't forgive her sister for stealing her fiance, but when Jill leaves Paul and shows up on her doorstep, Lily takes her in.
Lily secretly hopes that when Paul is free he will come back to her. but as details of Jill's marriage are revealed, Lily begins to see the man she thought she loved was an ideal she only imagined--and that the real Paul doesn't deserve the love of either sister.
Free of her infatuation, Lily realizes that her best friend and boss, Grady, is the one she truly cares of. When Grady hints that he is in love with someone who isn't free , Lily has to wonder--is that person her sister Jill?
And will Jill once again win the man Lily loves?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Bruney
• Release date: May 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310027147

Sandra Bruney

I am a writer living in North Carolina. I enjoy reading, crafting, gardening, and obeying the whims of my rescue cats.

Book preview

The Almost Bride

By

Sandy Bruney

Published by Smashwords

Copyright 2012 by Sandra Z. Bruney

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal. Any resemblance to any actual people or events is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

ISBN-13: 978-1480138643

ISBN-10: 1480138649

Published in the United States of America

Many thanks to Leslie Tatum Stuart,

Atlanta born and bred, for her

help as advisor and

beta reader for this project.

Also by Sandy Bruney

(Writing as Sandra Z. Bruney)

I’d Rather Go to California

Angels Unaware

The Lunch Club

Plotz

(Writing as Marshall Bruney

with Elbert Marshall)

Chapter 1

The rain had been threatening all afternoon. With diabolic timing, the first drops began falling just as I flipped the Open sign to Closed.

Hope it clears off for your date tonight. Did Ethan make reservations? Grady’s voice came from behind me.

I debated answering, but it’s rude not to answer a direct question, especially from your boss. I turned and faced him. We’re not going.

But Lily— Grady’s soft brown eyes blinked behind his wire-rimmed glasses. You’ve been planning all week on dinner at Wisteria. For your anniversary? A year to the day since your first date? He made each statement sound like a question.

We were. But now we’re not. My throat tightened and I couldn’t explain why I had called the celebration off. That instead of anticipating the evening I had felt a trap slowly closing. I truly hadn’t wanted to hurt Ethan, but I hadn’t seen any other way.

I could hear Grady sigh in disappointment behind me. He’d liked Ethan. So had I. I still liked him. Just not enough.

A peal of thunder split the skies and I jumped.

Great, I muttered. My car was in the garage, only a few blocks away. Ordinarily the walk wouldn’t have bothered me, but now I remembered my umbrella was in the car. I should have gone to pick up the car at noon, when the first flimsy clouds had appeared, but no. I’d spent my lunch hour pleading with Ethan. He hadn’t understood my decision, either.

Maybe it’ll let up in a few minutes, Grady said hopefully. If not, I can give you a lift.

Thanks, Grady, I said, my tone turning the words into a refusal. I’ll just make a dash for it. I won’t melt.Maybe not, but you could catch your death of cold." Grady came from behind the counter, shrugging himself into his raincoat. Grady was always prepared. It was no surprise to me when I had learned he was an Eagle Scout.

You can borrow my umbrella, he offered.

I considered this. Grady was protected by the long, yellow slicker that made him look like some kind of public service officer. And if his dark curls got wet they would only get curlier, whereas my hair would only get limper.

All right, I agreed, not being able to think of a valid reason to refuse.

Well, then, he said, and proffered the umbrella. Not a blue one with Matisse-like water lilies around the rim like my own, but long and black and somehow reminding me of Sherlock Holmes or some other Victorian character.

Just then a loud roll of thunder rattled the windows, and the rain came down even harder, if that was possible. A sheet of water ran down the middle of the street, which was devoid of traffic. Smart people were inside. Smart people remembered their umbrellas and parked closer to where they worked.

There was a long silence, interrupted only by another reverberating boom of thunder. One car, its headlights on, passed slowly in front of the store. The beams illuminated the books arranged enticingly in the window, their jackets the only color in the dim light.

I think the rain might be letting up a little, Grady said, thankfully ending the awkward wait.

I opened the door and looked out. Letting up was the overstatement of the year, but I seized on it. I’m gone, I said, slipped out the door and shot the umbrella open.

See you Monday, Grady called after me as I splashed my way down the sidewalk.

By the time I got to the garage, I was soaked to the skin. It didn’t help my mood any that by the time I paid the bill and started for home, the setting sun was sending feeble rays across the horizon. The only evidence of the storm was a few puddles and the oily sheen on the road that reflected my headlights. Just in time, I remembered that I didn’t have anything defrosted for dinner. That morning I had been happily imagining a nice steak. A baked potato with plenty of sour cream. Maybe a glass of merlot.

My stomach growled as I slung my car into the parking lot of our neighborhood grocery store. The Pakistani owner studiously ignored my bedraggled appearance as I tossed spaghetti, ground beef, a bulb of garlic, and fresh tomatoes into my basket. I added a loaf of French bread and watched as he added up my purchases and then put them into the mesh recyclable bag I kept in my purse.

I accepted my change and remembered to be polite and reply You’re welcome to his "Thank you, miss.

Your boyfriend will eat well tonight, yes? he called after me.

I hadn’t the heart to tell him I wasn’t cooking for Ethan, whom Mr. Jamali knew from our frequent visits to his store on weekends. I turned and tried on a smile. It must not have been very convincing, because Mr. Jamali’s own smile drooped along with his shoulders. Neither of us said a word. I knew what Mr. Jamali was thinking. Well, not exactly, because he no doubt thought in Urdu, but the gist would be something like, There she goes again.

I made up a conversation in my head as I drove the rest of the way home. Mr. Jamali would say, Another boyfriend! But why, miss? He seemed such a nice man. He treated you respectfully.

Oh yes. Ethan is—was—very respectful. But he crossed the line.

"Oh? How so?" Mr. Jamali would reply.

He made a big deal out of a simple dinner. He called and asked me to dress up, as if I didn’t know enough to dress nicely for Wisteria. It isn’t exactly a place where you wear jeans and a baseball cap. Then he hinted that he had a surprise for me.

"A surprise! A smile would lighten Mr. Jamali’s dark features, and his moustache would curl up in glee. Every woman loves a surprise, yes?"

Yes. No. I mean, I knew what the surprise was as soon as he said the words. My ring has been missing since Ethan came over last Wednesday to watch Pride and Prejudice with me. I distinctly remember taking it off when I did the dishes, but when I looked later, it was gone.

"Ah! A man who will willingly watch such a movie without complaint is rare. I know, I refused to watch more than five minutes with my wife. You are very fortunate, miss."

Yes, but I watched Die Hard number something-or-other with him the week before and only left the room twice. To check my e-mail. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is the ring.

"Oh, yes. The ring. Mr. Jamali’s face grew stern. You think he took the ring, miss? I cannot believe such a thing of Mr. Ethan."

Yes, he took the ring. Oh, not to steal it. To get my ring size. As soon as he mentioned ‘surprise’ I knew what had happened to it.

"To get – ooh! He needed your ring to get the correct size to buy you another ring!"

You get the cigar.

"Thank you, I do not indulge."

It’s an expression. It means you are right.

"I am right? Then may I ask, with your permission, why you do not wish another ring? My wife loves rings. No, she adores them. She has one on every finger, and two on some. I do not know how she manages to turn the pages of the books she is always reading."

This ring is not one I want. I forced Ethan to admit it was an engagement ring. I told him I was not ready to be engaged. He said he had been waiting for me to be ready for nearly a year, and it didn’t look like I was ever going to be ready. I told him he was correct.

"He got the cigar," Mr. Jamali said.

Yes. And before I knew it, we had broken up.

"You don’t want to marry Ethan?" Mr. Jamali’s eyebrows went up. In his experience all women wanted to get married.

I found myself turning into the driveway of my house, and the imaginary conversation ended. But as I trudged to the door and put my bag down long enough to unlock it, I had to agree with his final statement.

I did not want to get married. To Ethan or any other man. I had come close, once, and it had taken me nearly five years to gather the courage to date again. Mostly, my dates understood that it was companionship I wanted, someone to eat dinner with on occasion or see a movie. When they hinted they wanted to pursue the relationship further, I politely ended it.

Shivering, I stripped off my skirt and sweater on my way to the bedroom. My underclothes followed. I rolled down my pantyhose and wrung them out in the sink. Everything would have to go in the washing machine on spin dry. But first, I needed a hot shower.

That accomplished, I towel-dried my hair and pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a tee that had seen better days. The dress I was going to wear still hung in the door, and I roughly pushed it to the back of the closet.

Dee called while I was browning the hamburger in the skillet.

I thought you were going out tonight, she said when I answered. There were sounds of banging in the background, and I pictured Dee with the phone tucked behind her ear, her blonde hair framing a face as delicate as an eighteenth century porcelain shepherdess. The noise could only be eighteen-month-old Tim Junior pummeling a pot with a wooden spoon.

If you thought that, why did you call? I countered.

I was going to leave a message, Miss Smarty, for you to call me the minute you got home. I wanted to hear how the evening went. Her voice was wistful I’ve never been to the Wisteria, even though I’ve begged Tim over and over again. He just said it’s too expensive and too formal. He thinks the Golden Corral is the height of fine dining.

You gotta admit, ‘all you can eat’ has its attraction for some men, I said.

I’ll hang up and let you finish getting ready.

Don’t bother. I’m not going.

She paused. Why not? Dee asked cautiously. Are you sick?

No. I sneezed. I might be tomorrow, though.

Is Ethan –

No. He’s fine. I waited.

So? What happened, Lily? Or shouldn’t I ask.

You can ask, but I don’t know. He just—well, he’s coming on too strong, that’s all. I told him I needed space and he said I could have the Gobi desert if I wanted it. I guess we broke up, I finished.What else? Dee said. She knew me too well. We had been best friends since sixth grade, but had lost track of each other after she got married. I had been delighted to discover that she and her husband had moved to Atlanta, not too far from where I lived in Little Five Points. Our friendship had picked up right where it had left off.

That ring I thought I’d lost? He took it, to get my size. He was going propose tonight. I figured it out—

And headed him off at the pass, Dee concluded for me. Oh, Lily, Tim and I both thought he was perfect for you. Good looking, good job and good personality. What more could you want?

Someone with a good personality, forget the looks and money, that I can just be friends with, I said. You know how I feel about marriage, Dee.

Yes, honey, I know. But not all men are like that rat, Paul. Ethan sure isn’t, and neither was Brian, or what was his name, Hank? You can’t go on like this, Lily. Don’t you realize you’re leading them on, just to dump them when they get serious? You’re going to get a reputation.

I know, I said glumly. I don’t mean to, Dee. Each time I think it will work out, and then I panic.

Call him, Dee ordered. Explain that you got cold feet.

I can’t.

Why not? He might be waiting for you to call.

I don’t want to, I whined. Dee, my hamburger is burning. I have to go.

No, it’s not and you don’t. Lily, are you breaking up with these guys before they can break up with you? Because—

That’s ridiculous. I’m the one who called off the wedding, remember? So I’m not acting out a fear-of-being-left-at-the-altar syndrome.

She was quiet as we both remembered why I had called off said wedding. After a minute, I said, Can we talk about this later? Like in a century or so?

Wait! I just want to mention one more thing.I waited, spatula in hand. Go ahead.

You’re dumping these men because you’re still in love with Paul. She said this all in a rush so I couldn’t hang up before hearing the whole sentence.

That’s so not true, I denied. He was unfaithful to me, remember? On our wedding day, no less.

All right then, you aren’t. She said it like she didn’t believe it.

I really have to go. My kitchen is on fire.

She laughed. Check you later. Don’t forget Sunday.

I must have made the sauce in a fugue state, because I was surprised a few minutes later to find it simmering on the stovetop, and the water boiling for the spaghetti. In spite of my mood, I was hungry, so I dumped in a fistful of the thin, white strands. A roar of thunder made me cringe. I looked out of the window to see rain streaking down the pane. The storm had circled back on itself and started up again.

Just then the doorbell rang. I took the pot off the burner and went to answer it. I wasn’t too surprised to see my ex-boyfriend standing there. I should have known Ethan wouldn’t give up so easily.

Lily, he said. Rain dripped down his face, looking oddly like tears.

Ethan is a nice man. A widower, with no children, he teaches high school history. He has a quirky sense of humor, likes old movies and takes a vacation every year to some out-of-the-way spot, which shows a sense of adventure. Only last week this had appealed to me.

I won’t stay, he said quickly. I wanted to give you this. He held out a small white box.

I made no move to take it. I thought I made it clear— I started, but he interrupted with a force I hadn’t known he possessed.

And I wanted to say one thing without your hanging up on me or— his hand shot out, grabbing the side of the door—without shutting the door on me. Literally, I mean, since you’ve already done that emotionally. He drew a breath. You may think you can live your life without getting close to anyone or anything, but one day you’ll wake up. I just hope it isn’t too late. Ethan’s lips tightened when I didn’t answer him. What could I say? I knew I had hurt him, but wasn’t a clean break the best? I’d been wrong to let him think there was more to our friendship than there was, but he’d been wrong, too, in assuming something that wasn’t there.

He held out the box again. The pretty ribbon tied around it was soaked and the color was smearing onto the white cardboard.

I told you I don’t want your ring, I said as kindly as I could.

It isn’t my ring, he said. I took that one back to the jewelers. This is your ring, the one I borrowed. I had it cleaned for you.

Oh. Feeling foolish, I accepted the box. I had been so upset earlier that I had forgotten to ask about it. It’s my mother’s engagement ring, I said. I know you were trying to surprise me, but I worried and fretted for three days looking for it.

I’m sorry, he said, not sounding sorry at all. But you have it back now. It’s probably the only engagement ring you’re likely to get. Ethan turned then and marched through the puddles to his car, having delivered the perfect exit line.

Back inside, I took the ring out of the box and put it on my finger. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what the ring Ethan had chosen for me had looked like. Maybe everyone else was right and I was wrong. I wished I had handled things better, I thought, still feeling the weight of Grady’s disapproval, Dee’s warning and even my fictional conversation with my grocer. Then, just as I was wistfully imagining a do-over, the doorbell rang again.

Of course, Ethan couldn’t let things alone. He’d probably thought of one more cutting remark he just had to make. I decided to let him make it and then sweetly apologize and invite him in for spaghetti. He wouldn’t be able to resist; he loved my mother’s recipe for pasta sauce. After dinner I would explain that he had taken me by surprise (a necessary lie) and that I had reacted badly, but was willing to make amends. If we couldn’t still be friends, at least my conscience would be clear and Ethan could have the satisfaction of thinking that it was he who had ended the relationship. I flung the door open with a welcoming smile that faded instantly. Because it wasn’t Ethan who stood there. It was a woman, a woman with the same dark blue eyes as mine, and the same brownish-blonde hair, as limp as mine had been a few hours earlier.

The woman who had ruined my wedding, and my life.

My sister, Jill.

Chapter 2

My first impulse was to slam the door in her face. Then lightning struck and thunder roared almost simultaneously. Without thinking, I grabbed Jill’s arm, jerked her inside—and then I slammed the door.

Jill stood there, shivering and dripping. Since I had been doing much the same thing a few hours earlier, I knew exactly how she felt. The fact didn’t make me sympathetic.

What are you doing here? I crossed my arms over my chest. If I had thought about it, which I didn’t, my posture was the exact opposite of a welcoming hug.

Jill didn’t smile, but neither did she mirror my scowl. I have nowhere else to go, she said. It was said quietly, but I caught the tremor in her voice.

"What about home? Now there’s a concept," I said as snottily as possible.

Jill seemed to shrink into herself. I’ve left Paul, she said.

That stopped me. I dropped my arms to my side. You what? I asked.

Jill straightened and met my eyes. Last night. So I got on a bus and came here. I was hoping—

What she was hoping was drowned out by another loud bang.

— just for a few days. Until I can figure out what to do. I need a plan, she finished.

Wait a minute. You left Paul? Why?

I don’t want to go into that right now.

I think I deserve to know, I said, ignoring the fact that she was shaking from head to toe. I was furious. First she had stolen Paul from me, and now she had dropped him like a blind date that had gone sour. Not only that, she had come here expecting sympathy. It was beyond bizarre.

"Lily, I’ll tell you everything later. Now I need