Tell Me a Lie (The Story Series Book 3)

C
opyright
© 2016 by Tamara Lush

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief excerpts in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

“
D
o you
, Emma Jolene Price, take Caleb Matthew King to be your partner in the adventure that lies ahead?”

I paused, noticing a hush had settled over the three hundred people gathered in the cloistered, Renaissance courtyard of The Ringling Museum of Art for our wedding. Now everyone knew my middle name, which my mother had given me because she loved the famous Dolly Parton song. It used to embarrass me, but now, standing before all of Caleb’s friends, family, and business associates, I was proud of it. My mom had been different. I was unique, too, and it’s exactly what Caleb loved about me.

He’d just said his vows, and it took several heaving breaths on my part to get through his
I dos
because all I wanted was to sob with joy.

If only my mom had lived to see this day. I brushed a tear off my cheek with my index finger, recalling how she’d always told me marriage wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Maybe Caleb, with his blend of kindness and strength, could’ve changed her mind.

She had been wrong about marriage, and I replied to the reverend in a clear, loud voice, as if I was finally somehow challenging my own mother’s words. Maybe I was.

“I do.”

“Do you promise to walk by his side to the ends of the earth?” asked the reverend, an older, dark-haired woman named Laurie, who had a bit of a New York accent even after living in Florida for decades. We’d bonded over our love of romance novels, and the minute we met, I knew she would be the one to speak aloud our vows.

“I do.” I answered this quickly. I would go anywhere, do anything, for him.

The wind picked up, and my long, white veil soared behind me. I imagined it breaking free from my curls and flying past the bronze replica of the Statue of David, past the Greco-Roman columns, and over the multi-tiered, fondant-shrouded cake, toward the sparkling blue Gulf of Mexico where it would soar forever.

“To love, support, and encourage him in every endeavor?” Laurie’s kind glance was so welcome and calmed my nerves.

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you commit to opening yourself up completely to him and sharing with him your entire being?”

I glanced at Caleb, and he smiled, his blue eyes glinting in the late-day sun. I wanted to soak in this moment, absorb the golden light and the smell of lilies in the air, forever.

Imprint it all so I’d never forget until my dying breath.

Because this was the most difficult vow of all, and I’d thought long and hard about including it when we wrote our wedding program. Opening myself up emotionally hadn’t been easy for me during our time together. But I had to so Caleb and I would have a successful marriage. I had to for our baby. I was no example of an emotionally healthy person—I knew that. But Caleb had helped me open the door to a wider world.

Now I had to grow up and put someone else’s needs before mine.

As I hesitated, I felt a flutter in my abdomen. The baby. This wasn’t the first time our baby had kicked, but it was the strongest sensation yet. I took it as a sign, as if the baby was saying,
Mom, don’t mess this up
. I looked down and instinctively reached for Caleb’s hand so I could press it to my stomach. The baby kicked again. We stared at each other with wonder, grins spreading across our faces. And then I turned to the reverend, ready.

“I do.”

“Do you, Emma, promise to share memories and destinies with Caleb?”

“I do.”

Laurie turned. “Caleb, the ring?”

He spun to his brother, Colin, who surprisingly wasn’t wearing his usual ironic, wry grin. Looking the most serious I’d ever seen, Colin pulled the ring out of his pocket, then squeezed Caleb’s shoulder as he placed the platinum band in his brother’s outstretched hand. Caleb reached his other hand toward his younger brother’s face and cupped his jaw and neck.

I swallowed another sob. I was marrying a truly good man.

Caleb looked to me. His fingers shook as he took the band and glided it effortlessly onto my finger.

“And, Emma, your ring for Caleb?”

I twisted to face Sarah, who slipped the man’s platinum ring off her thumb and handed it to me. We locked eyes and she winked. I winked back, then turned to Caleb and slid it onto his finger—or tried. It stuck briefly on his knuckle and we laughed until I finally wriggled and jammed it into place.

“By the power vested in me by the State of Florida, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Caleb and Emma, you may share your first kiss as a married couple.”

I sniffled away tears as Caleb came close, his warm hands cupping my face. He kissed me softly—a whisper, really—then did so again. Lately he’d treated me as if I were fragile, all because I was four months pregnant.

“I taste perfection on your lips,” he murmured.

“And I on yours,” I responded. “I love you.”

“I love
you
, my darling, beautiful Emma Jolene King.”

How I adored the sound of that.

He kissed me again and a little zing went through my body. I was
married
.

My husband—I couldn’t believe I had adopted the word so soon into my lexicon—intertwined our fingers together. We faced the crowd, my couture maternity gown not allowing me to make any sudden or large moves. The dress was, even for me, a bit over the top. It had a sweetheart neckline and Swarovski crystals poured down the bodice in a cascade of glittery perfection. Yards and yards of chiffon billowed, starting at where my waist used to be. The crystals also sprinkled down the skirt, all the way to the hem. I was like walking, sparkling whipped cream, and I’d loved the drama of the dress from the second I’d tried it on.

As we shuffled, hand in hand, down the red, carpeted aisle to the strains of a cello and viola, the wind blew toward us. It made the fabric of the dress ripple and soar behind me, showing off my small baby bump. Sarah laughed and moved a few steps to the side so she wasn’t pelted with the chiffon. The sun was near setting, and the light was gilded, ethereal perfection. Two photographers captured our every move, and I knew the pictures would be gorgeous.

I blew a kiss to my dad, who was still crying in the front row.
I love you
, I mouthed to him. He’d barely been able to hold it together while walking me down the aisle. His tears didn’t matter to me; I was blessed to have him give me away in a nod to old-fashioned tradition—something neither of us adhered to. I grinned and blew him a second kiss.

Another, less happy thought came when I passed by each subsequent row and looked into the eyes of the guests.

They must all think Caleb’s marrying me because I’m pregnant.
I could almost see the pity on their faces, and then I realized: I didn’t care. Just like with my middle name, which had roots in country music and trailer parks, all the things I’d tried to forget about, I now didn’t care. I knew what Caleb and I had together was true and real. We weren’t marrying because of some societal convention or timetable.

I was certain of our love.

Caleb propelled me through the courtyard, then into an air-conditioned annex of the museum and back outside into a rose garden. Although we lived three hours away in Orlando, the Ringling—a museum and art collection amassed by the original circus owner John Ringling in the Gilded Age of the Roaring Twenties—was one of the most stunning spots in the state, one so special to me that I felt my heart could burst every time it entered my mind. It was the only place I’d even considered for the ceremony.

It was where Caleb had first told me he loved me.

The Ringling was an entire complex of culture and beauty, a testament to both the American Dream and the weirdness of Florida. Caleb’s money and family connections had secured us a last-minute reservation and two months of wedding planning from afar had been a whirlwind. I was crazy about the place, from the classical architecture on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico; the vast rose garden; Ringling’s own Mediterranean Revival mansion; and in a delightful twist, a museum of the circus.

Our guests had two hours to explore everything before dinner. Not nearly enough time, but Caleb and I wanted an early ceremony so we could relax for a night at the nearby Ritz-Carlton before leaving for our ten-day honeymoon in northern Canada. My only criteria for our trip: somewhere cold, where there were no mosquitoes that could harm my baby, and somewhere where the Northern Lights danced and glowed.

Caleb pointed toward a giant banyan tree a few hundred feet away, where we’d agreed to snap some post-ceremony photos.

Although we’d had a planner and I’d overseen all the details in the months leading up to the day, Caleb somehow knew the wedding schedule better than I did, probably because my brain was growing fuzzier by the week. I idly wondered if it would be appropriate to ask for a snack and could almost taste the stuffed mushroom appetizers topped with Parmesan. A fierce craving for cheese in recent weeks had settled into my soul.

Colin and Sarah caught up with us.

“You doing okay? Want me to get you the flat shoes?” Sarah asked as we hit a gravel path winding through a garden bursting with orange and red roses. A pang shot through me, and I wobbled. That was the thing about pregnancy, I’d discovered: hunger struck without warning.

I slowed my pace. “Not yet. I’ve got another half hour or so in these, just for the photos. Then I’ll change to into the more comfortable ones.” Or maybe I’d go barefoot, since my shoes seemed tight. I felt a river of sweat travel down the back of my thigh. Chiffon was hotter than I expected.

Maybe the wedding planner had been right about a second dress for the dinner and reception. I’d balked at the suggestion. It seemed unnecessary, for one, and for another, I wanted as much time in the big, romantic gown as possible.

This would be the only wedding day I’d ever have, after all.

“Wait,” I said, coming to a full stop. “I think a pebble found its way into my shoe.”

Caleb knelt before me. “Give me your foot.”

I grinned and held onto Sarah’s arm as I balanced on one leg. Caleb slipped off my vintage gold lamé stiletto and carefully shook the pebble out, then wedged it back onto my swollen foot.

“It’s like Cinderella in reverse.” I laughed and ran my fingers over Caleb’s short hair. He kissed my palm.

Colin rolled his eyes and snorted. “Jesus Christ. I’m getting a toothache here, people.”

Caleb stood and smirked. They did a lot of mock smirking at each other, the two brothers. “Yeah, well, when you get married, we’ll come back here, and we’ll book that for the ceremony.” Caleb pointed to a sign. It said
Circus Museum
.

“Why? Because marriage is a three-ring circus?” Colin said. “Engagement ring? Wedding ring? Suffer-ing?”

“Yours will be, that’s for damned sure,” retorted Caleb with a chuckle.

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t listen to that jackass,” Sarah whispered and took my right arm. She was skeptical of Colin and his brand of humor, but tolerated him because she was engaged to their sister, Laura. And because, like me, she respected Colin’s deep love for his siblings.

“Hey, I heard that. I’m your soon-to-be jackass brother-in-law,” Colin muttered.

“Whatever, dude.” Sarah snorted. “Your status as ring-bearer for our ceremony is in question.”

Caleb and Colin laughed wickedly, and Caleb reached for my left hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm, so both he and Sarah supported me.

I giggled out loud, too. Even now, with Colin disparaging marriage on our wedding day, I loved listening to the brothers’ banter, partially because they had the same laugh. And they each knew what the other would find funny. Sometimes their closeness made me feel a little left out, truthfully.

Not today, though. Today, we were one. Caleb and his brother, me and my best friend. My best friend, who could soon be my sister-in-law.

“How’s it going with the parents?” I murmured to her. Sarah and Laura—Caleb’s sister—had been together for as long as Caleb and I had, but unlike me, she’d never met Mr. and Mrs. King. Sarah’s first night with them was our wedding rehearsal the day before. Laura had come out right before she’d met Sarah and took her time in introducing her first real girlfriend.

“Better than expected. They actually seemed pretty excited about planning our wedding.”

“That’s probably because I didn’t really involve them too much in ours.” I got along well with Caleb’s parents, and they’d wanted me to take charge of the planning for our day. His mother said it was only right that I did, since this was my first wedding and Caleb’s second.

“Probably. And Laura’s their only daughter. Her father dotes on her, just like Colin and Caleb do. We didn’t tell them about the IVF, though.”

“Are you going to?” I asked worriedly. Sarah had gone through one round of in vitro, and it had failed.

“When we do the second round,” she said. “I’m optimistic it will work. We’re going to wait a couple of months. Hey, how’s the baby feeling?”

The baby. Everyone was focused on the baby, which made me feel bad for Sarah and Laura, since they wanted one of their own so desperately. But it also meant I was even more included in the King family because I was responsible for its smallest member. After growing up an only child, I loved the closeness of it all.

“Active. Moved around during the ceremony, which was pretty incredible.”

We finally reached the shade of the vast tree and Caleb put his back against one of the many roots. Banyans have smooth roots that spring from branches and grow downward, toward the soil, making each tree look like a grove of many. He pulled me close, out of Sarah’s grip. She wandered off and fiddled with the hem of her light pink dress.

“It’s our tree, babe,” he whispered. “Remember?”

I laughed. “I remember. I was going on and on about how people thought the Buddha sat under a banyan tree in India for seven days to gain enlightenment, but it was really a Bodhi tree and then you interrupted me and I was slightly annoyed.”

He threw back his head and grinned. “And then?”

“And then you told me you loved me for the first time,” I murmured.

“I apologized for interrupting. I didn’t want to interrupt, not really. I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”