Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Just as I start to make an excuse to step away from the temptation that is Cora Morrissey, from the corner of my eye, I see Marky arrive for the party, looking messy and out of breath while standing in the doorway.
What the hell happened to his hair?
Marky hasn’t gone a day in his entire life with untamed hair, and, while an odd thing to notice, it’s my first indication that something is off with him.
I observe my son more carefully, trying to read whatever emotion is etched across his chiseled face. He’s manly, yes, and a good-looking kid. In fact, he looks just like I did almost twenty years ago, with the same strong jaw and vivid blue eyes. But tonight, looking at him in the dimly lit room, something’s off. What would possess him to come to his own party with rumpled hair and a crinkled suit?
Marky slips into the packed room, waving greetings here and there and offering quick hellos, a fake smile popping on his face in salutation but disappearing just as quickly when done. It seems almost as though he’s looking for someone, and – assuming it’s Cora – I wave at him to come to where we’re standing. He holds up his hand, signaling that he needs a moment, as he keeps peering around the room. Finally, he gives up and approaches Cora and me, seeming flustered in addition to moody.
My worry remains as I observe Marky and Cora exchange a quick, awkward greeting, her face full of questions while Marky turns away with a shuttered expression.
“Hey, Dad. How’s it going?”
“Son.”
“Why are you so late?” Cora demands, looking relieved to see her fiancé but also put off.
“It’s a long story. Can we just talk about it later?” Marky asks vaguely, his brilliant blue eyes still scanning the room.
I step in.
“Who are you looking for?” I ask.
“What?” Marky sounds distracted. “No one, sorry. I’m here now, can we just talk later?”
I clear my throat.
“Well, I’m going to take that as my cue to return to my seat. Now that you’re here,” I clap Marky on the shoulder, “I think we’ll settle in and get the dinner going.”
“Sounds good. Thanks again for all of this, Dad. It’s great.” Marky gestures absently around the decorated room.
“Of course.” I smile again and lean in toward Cora so she can hear me over the noise of the party. “You sure you’re okay?”
She smiles tremulously and whispers back.
“Yeah, everything’s good. Thanks so much, Mr. Harrison.”
I back away from her irresistible form before things get too out of hand.
“I think we’ll go ahead and get started with the toasts, once the first course is served. Get things moving along. Sound good?”
“That’d be great, thank you, Matt.” Cora is searching my eyes with her large brown ones, almost as if looking for me to say or do something else. Instead, I take a decided step back, too close to her to control myself much longer.
“Do you have a big speech planned?” she asks me just as I start to turn away.
I turn around to face her again.
“Not a huge speech, but I’ll probably say a word or two.” Giving in to temptation, I lean in close to Cora’s ear again, ready to say something. But then my eyes glance downwards and the sight of the deep shadow between her breasts tantalizes me. Oh shit, I need to leave now. With that, I stalk back to my seat, determined to restrain my forbidden thoughts for the rest of the evening.
3
Cora
Twenty minutes into the engagement dinner, and I officially know something is wrong with my fiancé.
Sitting beside Marky, I keep trying to find moments to talk to him, but he continues to avoid me, instead chatting with a nearby friend or getting up to hug a relative. I, too, am distracted with the chaos in the room as I try to enjoy the party.
But in what spare seconds I have, I attempt to process what is going on with my husband-to-be.
Okay, so Marky arrived thirty minutes late. That fact alone isn’t a big deal, but something is nagging at me.
Why does he look so unkempt? Marky is known for always being impeccably dressed, and wearing a wrinkled dress shirt is a big deal for him. His hair, usually tame, is sticking up ever so slightly and his face looks flushed.
I wonder where he’s been? I think as I look at him.
In addition to looking tousled, I can’t help but notice that Marky also seems fidgety. He keeps checking his phone, too, as if waiting for someone to call. I take his hand in mine, worried.
“Everything okay, baby?” I whisper in his ear.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Marky brushes off my question and kisses me, a short, sweet peck on my cheek. Just as quickly, he turns away to chat with a cousin sitting next to him or to glance down at his phone again.