Page 43 of Bride By Coronation

P.S. - If you choose to accept the items, I've fulfilled something old, new, and blue. I'm still working on the borrowed. Please forgive me. I'm struggling a tad with that one.

A short laugh comes out of me as tears fall down my cheeks. I reread the letter and then reach for the ring. I slide it on my finger, and it fits perfectly.

My father did love my mother.

How could I have doubted it?

More tears fall, blurring the diamond. And maybe it's the stress of the last few days, but my tears turn to an outright sob.

After a few minutes, I pull it together. I keep the ring on my finger, then read the letter so many times I could recite it from memory.

Something about it rips through my heart while also frightening me.

What flaws are so bad that he doesn't think he deserves a wife?

Is he a horrible man?

I reread the letter again, deciding he can't be. If he were, why would he keep apologizing? And something about him sending me a letter seems overly kind. How could any man who took the time to writefive versions of this letter be unworthy of having a woman by his side?

I stare at his handwriting, wondering what he looks like and what his name is. Is he as old as my dad since they knew one another?

I wrinkle my nose. Older is fine, but there's a point I don't want to cross. I'm unsure what it is, but I know anyone my parents' age is too old.

I don't have a choice.

He's funny and complimentary, at least.

I stare at the writing, smiling at different parts, then finally set the letter down. I pick up the lingerie and the dress with the bird. Then I take them into my bedroom.

I take off my clothes, slide into the lingerie, and stand in front of my full-length mirror. Butterflies break out in my belly, and I mutter, "For a guy who claims to have no fashion sense, you have a knack for sexy lingerie."

Because he wants to fuck me.

The butterflies mix with dread. I swallow hard, then carefully undress. I pick up the dress, spend several minutes figuring out how to open it, then step into it. I secure it as best as I can and then return to the mirror.

More conflicting emotions erupt within me. The dress is a stunning piece of artwork. It showcases every curve I have in a tasteful way. The attention to detail is superb, better than most high-end pieces I deal with at work.

My mom would flip over this.

Oh my God! My mom!

A rush of panic and guilt fills me. Sean and Zara almost killed my mom when they got married without her.

I hightail it to the kitchen, grab my phone, and hit the button to call Zara.

It rings once, and she softly chirps, "Hey! I was hoping you'd call."

"My mom needs to be at the wedding," I blurt out.

Silence fills the line.

"Hello?" I fire in an irritated voice.

Zara replies, "Fiona. I'm sorry, but that can't happen."

"I'm not doing to her what you and Sean did!" I spout.

"Trust me. If it were possible, I'd tell you how. But it's not," she claims.

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