Chapter 1
I struggled to swallow a bite of shrimp; I was having a hard time getting it through my dry mouth and past the stubborn lump that had made its home in my throat. He’s going to propose. It was obvious; he had taken me out to Lakeside Cuisine, the nicest restaurant in town, dressed in his best suit, and told me to put on my nicest dress, a tight but tasteful little dress that couldn’t quite mask my too-small breasts and diminutive curves. I had added heels to make up for my irritating lack of height. He had encouraged me to buy whatever I wanted; he was buying. But the meal, gourmet and mouthwatering though it was, may as well have been ash in my mouth.
I should have been excited, I know. David was an amazing guy, and damn good looking too. He was funny, exciting, charming, and witty, (basically, he held a royal flush in the man department) but I still was hoping he would wait... I didn’t know why, but I just didn’t feel ready to marry him, to commit.
My girlfriends, of course, thought I was the luckiest woman alive, and were maybe even a little jealous. I mean, how many women can brag that their man is handsome, sweet, and rich? I thought about earlier that day. I had been at Susan’s house, sharing a cup of wine, and I had told her where David was taking me. Her eyes had gotten wide and her mouth had formed a perfect O of surprise, (kinda like a fish, actually) and she had said. “Oh, Samantha!”
“What?” I had asked, playing dumb and taking another sip of wine.
“You know exactly what!” she had said, jabbing a finger at me. “ Shoreside Cuisine? His treat?”
I had shrugged my shoulders, nonchalant. “It’s just dinner.”
Susan had rolled her eyes. “Oh come on! You two have been going steady since you were out of high school – that’s what, three and a half years? He’s constantly pampering you, your parents love him, and he’s so obviously all over you. You really expect me to believe this is just dinner?”
She had been right, of course. And I knew it. We had been together for years he had impressed my parents from the get-go (of course he had; he’s a Baptist, rich, and a gentleman!) even though he was nearly ten years older than me. We enjoyed each others company. But was that enough? Could a relationship run off of just “enjoying each-other?”
What was wrong with me? A great guy was about to propose to me, most likely with a ridiculously expensive ring, and all I could do was pick sit there like I was waiting for a firing squad? I was being stupid; that’s what it was – just nerves.
David cleared his throat, pulling me from my doomsday reverie. I looked up. He had that quirky smile on his tan, handsome face. It was my smile, the one that caused the corners of his blue eyes to crinkle at the sides. He had shaved, but as always had left that silly goatee; he thought it made him younger and I never had the heart to disagree with him – out loud at least.
“Are you all right Samantha? You seem – distracted.”
“Oh – Um, yeah. Just tired I guess.”
“You’ve barely touched your food,” he observed, raising an inquiring eyebrow.
“Mmm. Sorry. I’m just a little –“ Unable to manifest the right adjective I made an ambiguous little gesture with my hands.
He frowned. To placate him, I raised some food to my mouth. “Mmm. It’s really good!” I said past a mouthful of shrimp. I may have been overcompensating a bit.
He looked unconvinced but let it go. He cleared his throat again and placed his napkin on the table beside his plate. Unlike me, his appetite seemed untouched by nerves; he had cleared his plate. “So,” he began, flashing one of his winning smiles at me, “Samantha, we’ve been together a long time now.”
I gulped. Here it comes.
“I feel very lucky to have met you and I hope you feel the same way.”
I forced myself to smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace. “Of course.” Of course, I was lucky. I had one of the most desirable men in Seattle. Desirable meaning, a woman would be crazy to not want him. He was incredibly attractive, charismatic... And there was that bit about him owning his own law firm – did I mention he was rich yet?
He continued on, encouraged by my smile and oblivious to my discomfort. “Samantha, I want to spend the rest of my life with you --”
And then there was the sex. Of course, he would be great at that.
“I would do anything for you. I live to make you happy --”
Ack, but always so long-winded.
David got down on one knee and although I had already known it was coming, I gasped. It's expected of the proposee. “Samantha Hart, will you marry me?”
Time froze as the little black box in his outstretched hands opened. Mouths were frozen in mid-bite, mid-laugh, and mid-sentence. I was in the middle of a still life painting in an art gallery, a paused romance movie, a line in a book. Time would move again and I’d have to make a decision. I’d say yes, wouldn’t I? I wished I could be sure, but as sure I was of the man before me and of the jewel he was presenting, there was one thing I couldn’t be sure of. There was a traitor beneath my breast, planning sabotage and pain. Why did she hate me so? What possible reason could I have for saying no? Out of my periphery, I could see a woman with jet-black hair and high cheekbones staring right at me. Her stare made me uneasy, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Time was continuing without me and the little black box was open. Me soon-to-be fiancée way staring up at me expectantly. So I did what any sane person would do. I ignored the little traitor in my heart.
I said yes.
And then we were kissing, my arms throw around David’s neck and the ring glittering on my left hand. Cheers went up through the restaurant. We broke the kiss and my future husband grabbed me around the waist and spun me around. I laughed and hanged my head over his shoulder. I saw the dark-haired woman again, outside the window now; she was standing on the slick sidewalk, looking up at the snow.
