The Everlasting Chapel (3 page)

“It’s great to see you again too Scarlett.”
He stares at me for a moment, his eyes searching my face, and that
just makes me want to take him back this instant. Dammit! I’m not
going to succumb this time. I’ll just have to ignore—no, murder
every cell in my body screaming at me to forgive him and give him
yet another chance.

“You’ve lost weight,” he says, his tone
concerned. Fake concerned, I’m sure.

“Why so angry? We left on good terms,” he
says.

“I’ve had time to realize what a fucking
prick you are.”

His eyes slope downward. “I’m sorry.”

I will not feel sorry for him. My mind is
stronger. My will is stronger.

With nothing else to say, I pick up the
check and hold it out for him.

“Here.” I look away, refusing to maintain
eye contact any longer. History has already proven that interacting
with the sleazebag in that manner leads to a severe loss of brain
cells.

“Can we at least be civil?” he asks.

“No,” I snap. “Divorced couples aren’t
required to be, and in fact, most aren’t.”

“As I recall, the divorce was amicable and
consensual.” He takes a step closer.

The air has become so thick that I can
hardly breathe. “What do you want from me, Michael? Haven’t you
tortured me enough?” I drop my hands into my lap and sigh in
frustration.

The right side of his mouth rises, as does
his eyebrow. “Tortured?”

The damn prick! How dare he presume I meant
anything sexual? “I wasn’t talking about that kind of torture.” I
pick up a book lying on my side table and throw it at him with a
scream.

He lifts his arms to cover his face, but my
aim is so bad that the book only hits the doorframe. Before I know
it, he has managed to shut my door, lunge across the room, sit down
on my bed, and grab my arms. His grip isn’t painful at all, but it
definitely sends a message.

“Let go of me!” I yell.

“Not until you hear me out,” he says, his
voice trembling. For a moment we just stare at each other in
obstinate silence, and even though I want to, oh, I really want to,
I cannot tear my eyes away from his. His dreamy blues have me
completely captivated and my heart is racing at an unprecedented
speed. The scent of his cologne is enough to melt my steel resolve,
and his lips so close to mine, I can’t help but let my eyes drift
to them.

“Just listen and then I’ll leave you alone
forever if you want,” he says softly.

My chest squeezes at the words ‘alone
forever.’ But I nod.

“I take the blame for everything that went
wrong between us. I set this up so there could never be a happily
ever after, let alone, a happily for the time being. When I
proposed the deal of marriage for money, I would never have
imagined that I was sitting across from the most wonderful woman in
the world, the one I would fall madly in love with. My soul mate.”
He eases his hands off my arms.

I close my eyes and an unwelcome tear
tumbles down my cheek.

He continues. “But when I figured it out, it
was already too late. I had to divorce you if we were ever to have
a fair shot.”

I open my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“We couldn’t keep going down the path we
were on. Divorcing you tore me apart, but we needed that part of
our association to die so we could start again. The right way.”

“What, do you think I’d want to date you
again after what you put me through?” I seethe. “For your
information, I’ve already met someone else.” That’s an amazingly
far stretch, one I’m certain Dr. Jamison wouldn’t vouch for. Hell,
I wouldn’t even vouch for that one, but I need something to throw
at him.

His dreamy eyes don’t even flinch. “I
realize I have completely destroyed the trust between us, but will
you at least let me ask you out?”

“You can ask, but the answer is no,” I
snap.

He leans in and tilts his head to the side.
“Then I’ll keep asking until you say yes.”

Oh, sweet Jesus. Those lips. “You can’t
bully your way close to me,” I say. “I don’t want your advances.”
Wow, I almost still have my head on straight. Go me.

He leans in even closer, so close his breath
brushes against my lips. “I don’t think you mean that. No more
lies, Scar. Just the truth. It’s just you and me now. No deals. No
performances. Just us.”

Well, goddammit, I can’t tell him the truth!
He doesn’t deserve to know the truth! Shit. “Just leave me alone.”
I whisper, turning my head to the side.

“If you need time, that’s fine.”

“I don’t need time,” I retort. “I have
already moved on.”

“And please pick up when I call,” he
says.

Stubborn sexy ass. “No.”

He stands up and huffs once as he paces back
and forth. “This would all be so much easier if you just agree to
do it my way.”

“You arrogant fuck! We already did it your
way, remember? And see where that left us.”

“Things are different now,” he says. “I’m
different.”

I glare at him for a moment. “I’m not going
to give in.”

“And neither am I. I’ll come by
tomorrow.”

“I work all day and I’m going on a date with
a doctor.”

He pauses and looks at me. “You know he’s
not the one you want.”

“How could you possibly know that?” I ask,
curling my fingers into fists. “He’s accomplished, sexy as hell,
and he’s friendly. You don’t have a friendly bone in your entire
body.” Sexy body. No! Shut up brain.

“The last time we were together…right before
my mother died…it wasn’t like before. You didn’t just seek pleasure
and seek to give me physical pleasure. You gave yourself to me
completely, and I have never felt so loved in my entire life. That
night I realized what a selfish idiot I had been. That’s when I
understood what we had, what we
have
is real. And not even
you denying it now will change what I know, and what I know you
know.”

Dammit, he felt it, and worse, he remembers.
Oh, God, I remember, too. I gave him everything I had, and he still
divorced me. He left. And it hurts more than words can say.

He continues. “I know you still love and
want me. I know you can’t just turn love off when it’s there, when
it’s part of who you are. For the first time, I am living an
authentic life, and fuck, I’m never letting it go. I’m never
letting you go.”

“I have already let you go.” Liar!

“No, you haven’t.” He glares at me
unapologetically, and it makes my heart beat so loudly, I’m afraid
he’ll hear it.

“I will do everything, everything in my
power to win you back.” He walks over to the door.

“You really should have thought of that
before you divorced me,” I say.

“I did. And that’s why I did.” He opens the
door to the bedroom, but before he leaves he glances over his
shoulder, and says, “Please stop avoiding me. See you
tomorrow.”

I pick up another book and chuck it at him,
but by the time it hits the doorframe, he’s already halfway down
the stairs.

3

After he leaves, I feel a hundred times
better. Not that I think him leaving had anything to do with me
recovering so quickly. But I must have had the quarter of a day flu
or something. Thankfully I won’t have to call in sick tomorrow.

I put in a load of laundry, help Vivian make
dinner, and finish unpacking my father’s clothes and
toiletries.

When I’m snuggled up with my father on the
couch watching the History Channel, I receive a text from
Spencer.

Just checking to make sure we’re still on
for lunch tomorrow.

I notice he didn’t call it a date, which
makes me feel a little better about the whole thing. I reply.

Absolutely!

The next morning, I don’t feel nauseated
anymore, although I do still feel exhausted. I head to work, open
the bookstore, help a few customers, and in no time, it’s lunch.
Spencer arrives to pick me up at noon, as planned.

Right when he walks in, he hands me a big
colorful bouquet with several kinds of flowers.

“Since you don’t have a favorite color, I
made sure to include as many as possible,” he says.

Okay. This may be going too fast for me
here. I need to be very clear about where I am at the moment, which
is in the not-interested-in-the-least-in-a-relationship zone. But I
smile, and put the flowers in a vase in the back room.

He’s wearing light blue scrubs, and his
blond hair is slightly wavy. I don’t know what I had expected him
to show up in, but definitely not wearing that. It suits him,
though, and I can see his well-defined arms, and his ass looks
absolutely amazing.

We walk across the street to a small
breakfast and lunch restaurant called
Word of Mouth
. I‘ve
noticed the quaint place a couple of times on my way to work, but
I’ve never been inside. There can’t be more than ten tables in the
small diner, and the line of customers is out the door.
Fortunately, Spencer was smart enough to call ahead and reserve us
a table.

The waitress leads us to a small table in
the back corner, and we sit down. After she brings us water with a
wedge of lemon, I order a diet soda and a chicken salad sandwich,
and Spencer orders an iced tea and a Reuben sandwich.

“So how did you end up working at the
Portland Museum of Art?” Spencer asks, taking a sip of his
water.

“I used to work in…the entertainment
industry…” I decide is a safe thing to say, “…but it wasn’t really
what I wanted to do.”

“You’re an artist?” he asks.

The waitress brings us our drinks.

“Well…yes,” I say. “But I’m not sure I have
what it takes to go the distance, you know. And my job at the
museum and my waitressing job at Ophelia’s is just a temporary
solution so I can cover my bills.”

“I’m sure you’re a great artist,” he says,
squeezing the juice of his lemon wedge into his tea.

“You haven’t even seen my work.”

“But your father spoke highly of you, and I
can imagine your standards are rather high, having graduated from
Harvard,” he says.

I narrow my eyes. “Somehow I get the sneaky
suspicion you know me better than I know you.”

“Your father told me
everything
about
you.” He smiles.

I raise my right eyebrow. “Everything?”

He leans back into his seat and clasps his
hands behind his head, causing his very pronounced biceps to bulge.
I wonder how he stays in such great shape and finds the time to
work out being a doctor.

“Well, not
everything
,” he says.
“Just how proud he is of you and how hard you have worked to keep
it all together over the past few years. You are a wonderful
daughter, you know…?” He gives me a stunning smile, revealing his
pearly white teeth.

I shrink where I sit. Dr. Jamison already
has this ideal image of me branded into his brain. I’ll never live
up to her, and in the end, if we even manage to become friends or
friends with benefits, I’ll only let him down.

“Well, just so you know, I keep many secrets
from my father. He thinks I’m an angel, but trust me, I’m not,” I
say with a grimace.

“Are you trying to downplay how wonderful
you are? Just like you did with your paintings?” He huffs. “You
don’t need to do that around me. I’m not threatened by a successful
or powerful woman.”

Okay, Mr.
I-can-handle-anything-you-throw-at-me. You asked for it, so here it
comes. I glance around the room to make sure no one is listening.
Then I lean forward and stare him in the eyes, making sure I get
his full and undivided attention.

“I used to work as a stripper so I could pay
the bills,” I whisper. “My father doesn’t know, hence he thinks
I’m, well, an angel like you said.”

Spencer lowers his arms onto the table, but
doesn’t break eye contact with me for a second. He leans forward,
and smirks as if he’s tickled pink. What, does he think it’s sexy?
Does he think I’ll be an easy fuck just because he now knows about
my sordid past?

He says, “To get through college, I worked
at Hunk-O-Mazing.”

Time stands still for a second. I blink
once. Wait…did he just say he worked at Hunk-O-Mazing? It takes me
another moment to realize what he just said, but when I do, my jaw
literally drops open. Holy shit. Hunk-O-Mazing is, well, the male
version of The Black Chapel. I’ve never been, but Anne has
frequented it several times, and says that just by looking at you,
the male dancers can make you reach full-on orgasm.

I shouldn’t be as shocked as I am, but I
just didn’t see it coming. At all. My lips widen into a grin, and
then I start to laugh way too loudly for a small lunch place like
this. I collapse over the table as uncontrolled cackles roll on and
on.

I laugh because his confession helps ease
the guilt I‘ve been carrying ever since I took that job as a
stripper. Somehow his admittance makes it so I can finally see the
humor in it all. And after having believed I was doomed to a life
of misery and hell, I realize I can just let the guilt sail away
into the sunset. Because here he is, a doctor—a man whose sole duty
is to save lives, to heal the sick—revealing to me that he did
exactly the same. Thank God I met this man. I think I love him.

“That amusing, huh?” he asks, his eyebrows
crinkling, his lips twisting into an amused smile.

I sit up straight and take a few deep
breaths. “I just…I just never thought…” For some reason, I can’t
manage to produce a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, I just…wow! That
actually makes me feel a whole lot better about my situation. You
have no idea.” I wipe the happy tears off my cheeks.

“Better…?” He sits back and is twiddling his
thumbs, still grinning from ear to ear.

“More normal, I suppose. I mean, you have no
idea how guilty I have felt about this job. I still feel guilty,
and I just wanted to tell you because I’m sick and tired of hiding
what I did, you know? Sick and tired of being judged by everyone,
myself included,” I admit.