Childhood traumas lurk deep. Victoria Sparrow knows that. Especially
when one’s father rejects one as not being worthy. Her romantic relationships
founder, until Logan Doherty. He gives her reason to believe in goodness and
true love, and she commits her heart and soul to him.
No longer prey to her damaged, young self, Victoria eagerly looks
forward to their upcoming marriage—until she meets Logan at the altar. He
informs her the wedding is off before their assembled friends and family, and
will not tell her why.
Cast back into the nightmare of rejection, a devastated Victoria
undertakes the momentous task of putting her life back together, her trust
broken, her worst fears realized.
Meanwhile, Logan is working equally hard to deal with the secretive
events that led to that cruel rejection, and then he plans to make it up to his
tattered bride. If she will forgive him.
Excerpt:
The world narrowed to him and her, and a little
slice of churning emotions she couldn’t decipher. “You’re calling off the
wedding. Our wedding. Now.” Just in case she hadn’t heard him correctly. This
had the makings of a horrible, sick joke…
Shoving a hand through his hair, he obviously
struggled to meet her stare. His tawny eyes were turbulent. “I am. I … just decided.
It’s—”
“What?” Victoria tumbled to it, falling into the
abyss of her history. Deep down, she knew why. Too bad he’d only just decided.
Now. At this inopportune time. All her issues and stupid insecurities washed
over her from wherever they’d been banished to, banished by Logan’s resolute
pursuit and sincere belief in her. He’d addressed her fears, made her whole—and
now? Now her tender underbelly was exposed—without a shred of armor—for the
deathblow. The sublime lovemaking of a mere few hours earlier faded in the face
of it.
“I—” Real pain and misery now seemed to burn in his
eyes, and despite her terrified anticipation, she wanted to soothe him. Through
set lips, he continued, “I don’t have the words to tell you why Victoria. I’m
sorry. But the wedding is off.”
Still, she waited, believing he would somehow
embellish, give her an explanation that wouldn’t make this about her, but he
stood there mutely, now staring someplace over her shoulder. She checked out
the direction of that gaze—maybe there was an answer there, but she saw only a
watercolor of a pastoral scene. Please.
She let her pride crumble and begged. “Logan. This
doesn’t make any sense. We… Only this morning…”
He shook his head and straightened to his full
height. “It’s off.”
Deep inside there was an utter certainty that it
did indeed make sense. He’d figured her out. Seen to the core of her the way
others had. In despair, she gave up the fight to believe in him and their love
in response to his firm declaration. The Victoria of her childhood emerged, in
blind response, lashing out to hide from the truth.
“Was it the thrill of the chase? And then
when you caught me, you became afraid you were settling? That there’s something
better around the corner?”
She didn’t want to wait for a response. She had to
leave. Now. What would get her past the sideways looks and the knowing stares?
The church was full of family and friends—and others who had probably predicted
this very moment…
“Victoria. You need to calm down. It’s not like
that.”
“Calm. Down?” She was aware her voice was climbing
as she talked over him, and the small room, the one where she and Logan would
have been closeted to sign the papers finalizing their marriage, wasn’t
soundproof. She modulated her tone the very best she could, humiliation and
pain squeezing her very being. “What is
it like, then, exactly?”
“I can’t say.”
“Tell me.”
He looked away. “I can’t.”
Dropping her beautiful bouquet of red roses,
entwined with baby’s breath and white, embossed ribbon on the desk, the air
currents disturbed the uncompleted marriage papers. They fluttered, mocking
her. She stared up at the face of the man she loved. And faced the realization
that she indeed still loved him. That part, at least, hadn’t changed despite
the mortification of being dumped at the freaking altar. Love. She thought it was love. Too bad it wasn’t real.
“And I’m supposed to take that and be calm!”
“Yes, calm down.” His face was set in grim
determination, his eyes hot. “We’ll … we’ll get through this.”
She narrowed her eyes and leaned into him. What
couldn’t she be one of those classy women who took this kind of thing in stride
and walked away without making a scene? Maybe she could be. Drawing on a
reserve of strength she wasn’t aware she possessed, she said, “I’m calm. Dead
calm. So shut up now. I never want to hear your voice again, let alone set eyes
on you.”
Squaring her shoulders, she closed off his next
attempt to speak. She avoided his outstretched hand and ignored the sudden
abject despair written across his handsome features. Was he embarrassed? If he
didn’t want a scene, why in hell had he chosen this public place to dump her?
Flinging the door open to the main part of the church, she surveyed the people
filling the pews. Those congregated there stilled into silence, with only an
occasional murmur marring the quiet. Dozens of pairs of eyes looked in their
direction. Victoria stepped forward. Classy. She could do this.
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About the Author:
Peri Elizabeth Scott lives in Manitoba, Canada. She
recently closed her part-time private practice as a social worker and child
play therapist. She and her husband have a seasonal business and pretend to
work well together.
Writing for years, mostly short stories and poetry,
she has published dark erotica under another pen name and reads everything she
can lay her hands on.
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