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Bell, Book, and Sandals
Copyright 2012 Melissa L. Webb
All rights reserved.
License Notes
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
To everyone who brings the magic to my life, this one's for you.
One
Was I really destined to be alone? Was I meant to walk this life a spinster in a great set of heels? Is that really what the fates had in store for me? That’s the way it was starting to look. My fiancé had gone and shattered my perfectly manicured world. He dumped me. Like last week’s trends. And before you say those things happen, let me tell you, no, they don’t. Not to me.
Things like that just don’t happen to Maxine Marie Duncan.
There are two reasons why that is. Number one: I’m tall, blonde, and have the most amazing green eyes. (At least that’s what all the guys tell me.) I have a killer body. (I’m only 23, so I’m young enough to be shallow. I can always earn extra Karma points later on in life.) And I’m rich. We’re talking “I’ll-never-have-to-worry-about-a-thing” rich. These things alone should be enough to keep me from the pain of rejection. But usually I don’t have to just rely on them. Which brings me to…
Number two: I can sense things. I know that sounds silly, but it’s true. I have never been surprised by anything in my life, not once; until this happened.
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those people who should be on a street corner proclaiming the end of the world or even working for the Psychic Friends Network. Though, btw, Dionne Warwick is amazing. She is the U.S. Ambassador of health, you know. So she totally knows what’s what.
Anyway, I don’t see the future; I just get hunches, which usually turn out to be right. And before you ask, no, that is not why Stephen broke up with me. I’m not a freak or anything.
So there I was, planning a wedding, riding a high I never thought I’d come down from. I was going to be Mrs. Stephen Hawthorne. Which is a real honor in itself. He’s going to be the youngest partner at Jennings and McAlister. And I would have been the perfect housewife, too. Throwing parties and socializing with all the other “Elite” wives. Helping to boost Stephen’s career anyway I could. It’s what I was born to do.
I never even knew anything was wrong. Why was I so unprepared for this? He texted me, and asked if I could meet him at La Cruz for dinner. Apparently he had something to discuss with me.
I was so excited. Usually that meant some kind of adventure was in store for us. (Last time he said that, he proposed.) Plus, La Cruz was our place. We had been going there since high school. So I bought a new dress, got a mani-pedi, and met him at seven o’clock sharp. I was hoping he found us a house. We were going to be married in three months. I didn’t want to start out homeless, or anything.
I was waiting in the foyer when he walked in. With her. Some redhead on his arm wearing a miniskirt so short I could almost see all of France. He had the nerve to walk right up and introduce her. Can you believe that?
“Oh hi, honey. This is Sunday, and I’m leaving you for her.”
Okay, maybe he didn’t say it just like that, but he didn’t have to. I can take a hint. I was out and Sunday was in. What kind of name was that anyway? Did he have a girl for every day of the week? I wouldn’t have been surprised. Not after this.
So here I was. The laughing stock of New Haven, Maine. I had been tossed away like yesterday’s garbage and everyone knew it. I needed to get away. I couldn’t stay here, not with the looks and the whispers. It was way too much for me to handle. But I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t do anything. All I had ever wanted to be was a rich man’s wife. It’s what I had planned on from the very start. I couldn’t get a job. I couldn’t make something of myself. I just wasn’t that girl.
All I had now was my looks. And you couldn’t make a living off that. Or could you?