Natalie's Wedding: The Bridesmaid's Checklist Book 3
Kassandra never thought she’d be in another committed relationship, but now she’s living with her boyfriend Josh. Things can’t get any better. But they can get worse.
Natalie has dropped a major bomb on her, confessing she believes her husband is having an affair. Kassandra is always ready to help a friend, but accepting that one of their marriages isn’t working goes against everything she believes about the people she loves. Wanting to help their friend overcome this difficult situation and provide Natalie the support she needs, Kassandra and the girls pull a lot of strings to help Natalie uncover the truth. In the process, Kassandra discovers remarkable similarities between Josh’s recent changes and those in Natalie’s allegedly cheating husband. She’s always been an independent woman who prides herself on her own success, and when she digs up one dirty secret after another, she can’t help but wonder if her man’s womanizing days are really behind him.
Sometimes, love makes us twist reality to avoid hurting those we hold closest to our hearts. Join Kassandra and Natalie as they struggle to reconcile their fears in love with the truth.
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Excerpt
From Chapter 9
Boston, Massachusetts. Seven years, two months ago.
The enrollment packet sitting on my desk mocked me.
UMass Graduate School
The end of May brought with it my last semester of college. I still felt remarkably uncertain about what I’d be doing with my life, even though I had plenty of options. Making a decision was the hard part.
Sitting around me, the other students in the classroom eagerly jotted down notes, listening intently to the talk given by the graduate school admissions team. Dr. Cadwell had insisted that I attend a friendly talk about the opportunities the University of Massachusetts had for further education. So, of course, I went, as did most of the other students he’d spoken to about the lecture, especially the girls. Dr. Marc Cadwell was a hottie; he was an intelligent man and a wonderful teacher, but many of us took his lectures because we enjoyed the eye candy. Tall, he was built like an athlete, his light blond hair styled with care—not in the latest trend but in a way that still suited his masculine features. His neatly trimmed stubble most definitely added to the fact that eighty percent of his students were female, and it made him look like the heroes of the romance novels Denise always talked about. Personally, I though his most attractive feature was his eyes—the clearest, lightest blue I’d ever seen. Even hidden behind his refined-looking eyeglasses, they called to me in a way most students never wanted to feel about their teacher.
The bright Spring sun snuck through the vast windows, casting a cheeriness around the room. Every other conference attendee seemed interested and excited about being a prospective student in the master’s program, and I felt like the odd woman out. The most difficult decision was whether or not I should go back home or give Boston a few more years of my life, and my heart felt torn in two.
Babushka and Dzed expected me to come back to L.A. And I missed them dearly. I had spent my summers studying in order to advance in the program so I could go back home sooner. But I also remembered exactly why I’d decided to study in Boston. I followed the track to independence taken by most teens—to leave the house right after graduating from high school to spread my wings, become an adult, and start my life. No, I didn’t have parents who were kicking me out the door as soon as the ink on my diploma dried; my grandparents wanted nothing more than for their granddaughter to study close to home and stay with them. Especially somewhere I could potentially meet a nice Russian man to marry. That had essentially been the determining factor in which college I chose.
Babushka had been smothering me. I loved her with all my heart, but after graduation, all her conversations revolved around my single status. She constantly asked if I’d met anyone, failing to hide her disappointment when I hadn’t. Even if I had, the conversation would have then moved to whether or not he was Russian. I tended to run as far as I could from Russian boys, and I blame that on her. She’d set me up with so many of her friends’ grandsons, it had scared the hell out of me. So, for my own sanity and though I missed her every day, I needed to put some space between us.
It might have been silly, but I’d always felt a little awkward living with my grandparents, and I’d be lying if I said part of that didn’t have to do with the color of my skin. Babah and Dzed were as white as white could be, and I wasn’t. My father was African American, my mother was white Russian, and I fell into the caramel-colored middle. This had gotten me a lot of odd compliments over the years—and yeah, I’d also been called derogatory names, but I refused to validate those. Somehow, I once thought I would feel more at ease if I lived with someone who looked like me. But that wasn’t always the case.
Grandma and Grandpa Hope were wonderful people—intelligent, elegant, and charming. Five minutes into a conversation with them, one couldn’t help but instantly fall in love. They were everything a person could want in their parents, even more so when they happened to be one’s grandparents.
After my parents died, Grandma and Grandpa offered to take care of me in Boston, but the judge decided it was best for me to remain in my hometown and continue my life as normally as possible. Babushka and Dzed had even moved into my parents’ house to ease the load of changes to my life at five years old. The Hopes had to settle with holiday visits, and for the first few years, they came to see me in L.A. When I got older, I went to visit them, and I always enjoyed the Boston visits, treasuring the few moments a year I got to spend with them.
Being with Grandma Hope, though, was completely different than being with Babah. The woman spoiled me rotten; we went shopping at the upscale boutiques, she bought me simple, girly jewelry, and I ate whatever I wanted. The visits were wonderful and short. Leaving their house with no rules to return to a controlled life with Babah left me wishing I never had to leave.
What I didn’t understand back then was that, for the Hopes, my visits were always a celebration, a type of holiday. They were so thrilled to have me for a short time, they’d do anything I wanted. It took some time to get used to the fact that it wouldn’t happen every single time I came to stay. Regardless, when it came time for me to choose where I wanted to get my degree, I decided it would be Boston. And I could be close to my other grandparents. Granted, it wasn’t as magical as I’d envisioned it, but it had been a good decision; I had the opportunity to get to know my father’s parents better than I ever had when I was younger.
I fell completely in love with them. They allowed me my independence, and I could always count on them to let me use their laundry room and have a home cooked meal ready when I visited. They were interested in my studies, congratulated me on my grades, and asked about who I dated without overstepping any of the boundaries I’d established since moving into UMass’ dorms. It turned out, though, that I had become what Babushka and Dzed had raised me to be—a nice Russian girl. My coloring might have been more similar to the Hopes’, but my heart was certainly fonder of my old Russian grandparents.
Suddenly, the large classroom felt too crowded, too sunny, too suffocating. I looked around once more to assess whether or not I was the only one feeling this way. Thick drops of sweat crawled down my neck to my lower back, and I realized I was breathing a little too heavily. I made a conscious effort to inhale and exhale slowly, so my heart wouldn’t pound out of my chest. My hands felt a little numb; I opened and closed them to pump the blood around. Maybe I’d been sitting still for too long. Maybe I wasn’t getting enough oxygen to my brain. Maybe I was having a panic attack.
All this because I couldn’t make a life-changing decision? I needed to get a grip. There were more complicated things in life, one of them being that I’d now added love to the equation. Not the kind of love that came from family—the kind of love that filled your body with heat and made your heart sing. I had Edward in my life now, and I didn’t even want to start thinking about the ramifications our relationship could bring to my future. Even though my heart seemed to favor Los Angeles over Boston where family was concerned, Edward had entangled himself forcefully in a new part of my heart, occupying space and making sure he conquered all of it.
“Let’s talk about our future together,” had never been a conversation he and I ever came close to discussing. We weren’t there yet. Or, at least, I didn’t believe we were.
He had a year left before finishing his MBA and was contemplating the possibility of opening his own club. Boston was his first choice, but I already knew L.A. was option number two. A friend of his in California was trying to convince him to come back so they could work together, expanding his successful scouting business and looking into opening a bar to further enjoy L.A.’s nightlife. The business opportunities Edward had in Boston came with some big investors, but his friend in Los Angeles seemed to be more like family.
Any decision I made would affect more than just myself—Grandma and Grandpa Hope, Babah and Dzed, and even Edward, who seemed to have clawed his way into how I made my decisions lately. Still, there was no way in hell I’d be the girl who let her boyfriend make her decisions for her, and the indecision scared me.
The room was unbearable now, feeling smaller by the minute. The light was too bright and the lecture too loud, echoing in the cramped space and depriving me of the ability to think. I was sure there was a problem with the ventilation system; the air had to be thin. I felt nauseous. I had to step out.
As quietly as I could, I moved around the wooden tables, grateful that all the event’s guests faced the front, their eyes on the presentation, and ignored me completely.
The moment I opened the door to the auditorium and left the conference, the air seemed rich with oxygen, filling my lungs so I could breathe normally. The fresh breeze calmed my overheated skin, which still felt clammy. The sounds of nature and murmurs of people passing by were a welcomed change from the voice trying to convince me how my future would benefit should I apply to the graduate program.
A warm hand pressed on my shoulder before I heard the question. “Ms. Hope, are you okay?”
I turned around and found the comforting smile of my teacher. “Professor Cadwell,” I said in surprise, then took a deep breath. “I’m okay. I just needed some air.”
“I can see.” His piercing blue eyes sparkled at me. “Have you slept at all?”
I didn’t think many of my classmates had slept in weeks this close to graduation. I certainly hadn’t. When I wasn’t studying or working on my thesis, I was in front of my computer, working on the document that would define my future. And then, of course, there was time spent with Edward.
“A little,” I told him. “Do I look that bad?”
“No, not at all. You always look good. But for a second there, you turned green. I thought you might faint.”
Now that I thought about it, it might not have been concern about my future that had given me so much anxiety. I was definitely a little sleep-deprived, to say the least, and then my stomach made a big production of reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything all day. “Apparently I also forgot to eat.”
“That’s a bad combination,” Dr. Cadwell said with a smile. God, he was beautiful.
“It is,” I agreed. “I should probably go grab a bite and then try to chill for a bit. I have to work on my thesis.”
“You should.” He took a moment to just look at me, then added, “Do you mind if I join you for lunch?” That took me completely off guard. “There’s a bistro a few blocks from here. Are you okay with walking?”
“Walking’s fine,” I answered, not really understanding that I’d just agreed to have lunch with one of my college professors.
“Then let me help you with your bag, and we’ll go grab a bite.”
We walked mostly in silence. I didn’t exactly know what to do, as I was about to have lunch with the hottest teacher in history. Part of me felt as though I should have checked with Edward first, but the other part of me reasoned that this was a friendly lunch with one of my professors, nothing more.
When we arrived at the bistro, Dr. Cadwell opened the door and directed us to the counter to place our orders, recommending the portobello hamburger. I chose a Niçoise salad instead, not wanting to agree with him on everything. Somehow, it felt important that I didn’t. I chose a table at the far corner of the place, away from any windows, and I made sure there was ventilation close by. My body still needed the air.
Our conversation was light and amicable at the beginning. We discussed trivial things like the weather—nothing too serious or uncomfortable. With each passing minute, I felt more at ease with our impromptu get-together. But I should have known that when a teacher asked a student out for lunch, it wasn’t because he wanted to discuss anything else but school.
“What did you think about the presentation?” he asked. “Are you interested in the master’s program?”
“To be totally honest, I can’t make up my mind.” I played with the rings on my fingers, having nothing else in front of me to eat because I’d devoured my salad already. Talking about my plans for the future still felt uncomfortable, and I was sure he could tell that that had been the source of my near panic attack earlier.
Professor Cadwell pushed a side of fries to the middle of our table, and I grabbed a couple without giving it a second thought. “How so?”
“I don’t really know if I want to continue studying or not. And it sounds like a lot of work.”
This made him laugh. “I don’t think you’re the least bit scared of hard work.” He took his glasses off and placed them on the table. I wished he hadn’t; now those shockingly crystalline eyes pulled me in like a magnet I couldn’t fight. “As a matter of fact, I bet your thesis is already finished and you just keep adding more to it because you’re a perfectionist and you can’t find it in you to stop pushing yourself.”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” I avoided looking straight at him and opted to concentrate on the fries between us. “I’m not even halfway through, and I know time’s running out.”
“I could give it a look if you want. But knowing you, Ms. Hope,” he said, giving my hand a light pat, “I’m pretty sure you don’t need any help.”
“That would be great, Professor. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He took a cleaning cloth from his backpack and rubbed his glasses with it. “Do you mind if I call you Kassandra? It seems fair now that we’ve shared a side of fries.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, looking down to see I’d just eaten half his fries. “I didn’t realize…”
“That’s fine,” he said with a smile, obviously enjoying the blush creeping up my neck. “As long as you don’t take a bite of my steak. Have as many fries as you want. Maybe then you’ll agree to call me Marc.”
“Thanks… Marc.” It was easier to look at him now, since he’d replaced his glasses, and his eyes seemed less penetrating and deep behind the lenses.
“My pleasure. That salad didn’t look particularly filling.” I just smiled and glanced at the table, feeling silly for having thought the salad would impress him. “Anyway, I have been meaning to talk to you for a while,” he confessed. I glanced up at him, wondering what he meant, and then he added quickly, “About the master’s program.”
We spent the rest of the meal discussing the many advantages of getting a master’s degree and how Dr. Cadwell—Marc—felt I was perfect for it. He thought I had the brains and dedication needed to overcome the challenge and be successful. His high opinion of me was definitely flattering. More than anything, his passion for the program made me interested in participating.
“UMass should get rid of that crowded conference and just let you talk to the students instead,” I told him. “If anyone could convince me to apply to the program, it would be you.” I smiled, trying to joke around a bit now that I felt more at ease. “Do you get a commission or something if I enroll?” I laughed at my own joke and grabbed the last fry from the dish in the middle of the table. When he didn’t laugh with me or reply in any way, I looked up and noticed him blush for the first time since we’d met.
“There’s no commission, Kassandra. Only the satisfaction of knowing you’ll continue studying and possibly attending my classes. That in itself is enough of a reward.”
“Oh.” What else could I have said to something like that?
“I’m sorry, Kassandra. I haven’t been completely honest.” Marc looked at me, his astonishingly gorgeous eyes fixing me with more than interest. “As great as it is to talk to you about the graduate program, I had more selfish intentions of joining you for lunch. I really wanted to ask you out for dinner. On a date.”
Time stopped for a minute or two as I digested what he’d just said. It was quite possibly a fantasy come true, something every girl—and maybe a few boys—from our class had put on their college bucket lists but never imagined would actually happen. But the excitement of it was dampened by the fact that Edward and I had been dating for four months.
“So, what do you say? Can I take you out for dinner?”
“I’m sorry, Marc. I’m going out with someone.”
“The guy from the business program?”
“You know him?” It surprised me at first, but then I remembered that Marc’s graduate classes were part of the Isenberg School of Management, where Edward studied for his MBA.
“I’ve seen him with you. I didn’t think it was... serious.” The way he said the word stoked my curiosity, and if I’d been braver, I might have asked him why he’d made such an emphasis.
Instead I only managed to say, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He smiled. “I’m a patient man. I can wait. “Before I could even start thinking in another direction, he added, “How about dessert, then? I think that’ll make me feel better.”
“Chocolate soufflé?”
“Great choice.”
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