Page 3 of Before You Say I Do
Jordan’s eyes scanned down the email for a name to match to the face. Abby Porter. 36 years old. Engaged to Marcus Montgomery. Jordan tried to sit up straighter, but her bridesmaid dress had too much material and it caught around the seat belt. Stupid bloody dress. The sooner she got out of it, the better.
Jordan clicked on the light above the dashboard and stared at the email again.
Abby Porter had long, lustrous dark hair, and a rich, hazelnut stare. Her cheekbones were striking, as was the way she angled her head. As if to say ‘fuck you’ to the world. She didn’t look like she wanted to sing and dance about getting married to Marcus. But then, this looked like a professional shot, probably done before Marcus proposed. A work shot, perhaps. If Jordan had to guess, she’d say Abby was something in marketing. Probably a brand manager, or department head. Abby Porter looked like she knew what she wanted, and she normally got it.
Did Abby want to marry Marcus? Jordan didn’t know, and it wasn’t her job to know.
Her job was to make the experience of getting married as smooth as possible for the bride. This email stated that Abby would like her help, and wanted to meet to talk more. Could Jordan give her a call at her convenience?
Jordan took one more look into Abby’s cool, alluring stare, before throwing her phone in her bag. Sure, she could do that. But not tonight.
Tonight, she had some soothing adult grape juice to drink, and a best friend to appease.
Tomorrow morning, she’d see what Abby Porter’s story was.
For now, Abby could wait.
Chapter 2
Abby Porter grippedher five-iron and looked out over the green of the driving range. The monitor said her last strike had gone further than she’d ever hit it before. She wasn’t surprised. Today, Abby had a lot of frustration to whack out of her system. Was that the technical term? It was now.
She steadied her five-foot-eight frame, raised the club behind her, then brought it down, rotating her body as she smashed the ball into the air and down the range. She wouldn’t be surprised if that one went even further. She was in that sort of mood tonight after dinner with Marcus’s parents. She knew he was watching, assessing her from the small black couch at the back of their driving bay. Sure enough, when she turned, her fiancé was sitting, one foot balanced on top of his opposite knee, a knowing smile on his handsome face.
She’d chosen well, she knew that. Marcus was tall, dark, and handsome. Their children would be gorgeous.
“Something you want to talk about, Abs?”
“Nope.” She balanced the club against the side of their driving range bay, then flopped down beside him. Her body edged into Marcus.
He extended an arm and pulled her close to kiss her temple. “Good. I’d hate to be that golf ball. You left it in no doubt who’s the boss in your relationship.”
She turned, raising a single eyebrow. “Who’s the boss in our relationship?”
He grinned. “You are, of course.” He pecked her on the lips, before getting up to take a few shots himself. His long legs were encased in his black work trousers, his baby blue shirt still tucked in. She imagined he’d probably been like that at school, too. Neat, precise. It was what she expected when they moved in after they got married. But she had all that to come. She hoped she could cope. She wasn’t all that tidy herself, so perhaps the question should be, would Marcus be able to cope with her? They were getting married in a handful of weeks, moving in together right after that. She guessed she was about to find out.
Marcus turned to her, leaning on his club. “So, was the golf ball my mother?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just swung, and missed. He connected the second time, hitting the ball into the air. When he turned back, he was still waiting for her answer.
She shook her head. It hadn’t been. She would never take a golf club to his mother. “It’s just an outlet. Aren’t I allowed one?”
“Of course.” He grabbed a ball from the box to his right, bending to steady it on the scuffed white tee, before looking back. “But I also know she was a bit much earlier. A little… intense. We can totally do it your way.Our way. We don’t have to have all those speeches, all that stuff.”
Abby splayed her hands, trying to stop her anger bubbling up. It wasn’t Marcus’s fault. He was the opposite of his mother. How that wound-up, sanctimonious woman had given birth to such a calm, measured man was a mystery to her. It wasn’t even like his father was the role model either. At last count, Gordon had about three separate mistresses.
No, Marcus had turned out the way he had despite his upbringing. Which was why their wedding having to involve his family so much was more than just a rub.
“It’s not so simple, is it? According to your mother, there are a lot of family traditions we have to uphold.Ways of doing thingswas the phrase she kept emphasising, I believe?” By the fifth time she’d said it, Abby had wanted to scream that she got it, but that wasn’t appropriate behaviour towards her future mother-in-law. Not when this was only the fourth time they’d met. Did Marjorie approve of Abby? Probably not.
Abby was pretty sure most mothers thought the woman their son was about to marry wasn’t worthy of them, but Marjorie appeared to take it to a whole new level today. The next few weeks were going to be trying. Especially with all the extra bridal things Abby was expected to do now she was becoming a Montgomery.
She hadn’t even decided whether she was going to give up her surname when she got married. It went against every feminist bone in her body. However, bringing that up today might have tipped Marjorie over the edge, so she’d kept quiet. That battle could wait for another day. Marjorie had enough trouble understanding Abby’s Scottish accent.
Marcus strolled over to her, leaving his club by the driving mat. When he sat, he took her hand in his.
Abby closed her eyes. She always felt safe with Marcus. It was one of the reasons she’d agreed to marry him. That, and the fact she’d turned 36 four weeks ago, and time was ticking if she wanted a family. Which everyone kept telling her she did. Marcus was so far ahead of any man she’d ever dated, that when he’d proposed, she felt like she’d won the jackpot.
Thiswas her life now. Driving golf balls with her future husband. Marcus Montgomery. She’d landed on her feet. Her life from now on was going to be happy.
Neat and precise.
