Meant to Be Mine (A Porter Family Novel Book #2) Page 2

  “Yes I do.”

  “No you don’t!”

  “Yes.” He took her hands in his and cradled them against his chest. His gaze, serious now, searched down to the deepest depths of her hopes. “I do. I want to marry you, Celia. Right now. Here at the Luv Shack. No joke.”

  All the air sailed from her lungs with a soft oof.

  “Do you want to marry me?”

  “Oh my goodness,” she breathed.

  “Do you?”

  Yes. He was offering her a chance to make him hers forever. It was too heady to bear. Too sweet to turn down. And yet she knew she should turn him down for the sake of sanity and prudence. They’d been dating four days. . . .

  Her thoughts lost themselves in the blue of his eyes.

  Time pulled.

  “C’mon,” he coaxed. “Let’s do it. Let’s do something crazy for love.”

  She knew for certain that she would love him forever, that she could never love anyone else the way that she loved him.

  “Will you marry me, Celia?”

  “Well . . .” she said, her voice tremulous. “I did, after all, roll a seven.”

  He laughed. “Is that a yes?”

  “I . . .” She swallowed.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes.”

  He whooped, then crushed her to him in a hug.

  For the next twenty minutes, Ty handled paper work and made the necessary selections. Celia stood next to him with her hand wrapped around his elbow, smiling like a jack-o’-lantern.

  Right before the ceremony, Celia stepped into the restroom and confronted her reflection. Her curly hair was typically a problem for her. The dry desert air had become her ally, however, and her hair looked better than expected. She finger-combed the big brown curls that fell to her collarbones in layers only someone with a PhD in hairstyling could manage. Leaning in, she applied peach lip gloss.

  I’m getting married, she thought. The excitable and daring woman in the mirror looked nothing like her. Right now. I’m marrying Ty Porter tonight.

  She arranged the folds of the silvery dress she’d charged to her credit card that afternoon. A cross between a toga and a scarf, it tied behind her neck and draped over her body down to her shiny T-strap sandals. Like the extra hotel nights, the dress was something she couldn’t technically afford.

  Minutes later, she found herself walking toward Ty down the aisle of the “Don’t Mess With Texas” chapel. Light from two standing candelabras at the front lit the space dimly, perhaps a blessing. Stereotypical cowboy junk hung on the walls next to decades-old portraits of country singers. Celia recognized June and Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton, but none of the others. A twangy song flowed from the speakers. The edges of her yellow roses were browning.

  Celia could not believe this was happening.

  If she’d had days or weeks to prepare for this wedding, she’d have changed a lot of things. But as her gaze locked on Ty, she knew wholeheartedly that she wouldn’t have changed a single thing about her groom.

  When she reached him, he winked at her and took hold of her hands. Tears pooled in her eyes. She loved him with every ounce of the passion she’d harbored for him at fourteen and then some.

  The officiate had donned a sheriff’s badge and a ten-gallon hat for the occasion. It took him no time at all to lead them through their vows.

  One they’d spoken them, Celia’s heart began to pound with expectation.

  “I now pronounce you little lady and young buck—or, as the city slickers like to say, husband and wife.”

  That was it? They were married?

  Ty kissed her thoroughly.

  The fake sheriff picked up a camera and led them through a series of poses, each cheesier than the last. Ty down on his knee pretending a marriage proposal. Ty in the background with his chin on his fist, staring wistfully at Celia in the foreground. Ty lassoing Celia around the waist.

  At some point Celia burst into hysterical laughter and couldn’t locate her composure for the rest of the session. Suddenly, she could see the whole situation as Ty did. It was brash and ridiculous, their surroundings kitschy, and all of that only made it sweeter. They were doing something wildly spontaneous. On their fiftieth wedding anniversary, they’d be able to tell their grandkids one heck of a wedding story.

  The fake sheriff steered them to the gazebo outside and took some photos of Ty removing Celia’s garter—challenging, since she wasn’t wearing one. Then a few shots in the fairy-tale carriage, where they were encouraged to wave like royals.

  When it was over, Doris presented them with their keepsake frame, a bronze plastic number with a cartoon cowboy and cowgirl smooching in one corner.

  That officially concluded their nuptials.

  Ty took her to his hotel and asked for an upgrade to something bridal. Then he carried her over the threshold of their room and kicked the door closed behind them.

  Chapter Two

  Celia’s first conscious sensation upon waking the next morning: warmth. Then softness, then the faint and delicious scent of pine. That smell, Ty’s smell, unrolled a movie reel of memories in her mind. The casino, the chapel, the wedding night that had followed.

  Oh, the night they’d had. The pleasure of it. She murmured and smiled, drowsily reaching out for him in her half sleep.

  Her arm met empty bedding. Slowly, she wedged open her eyelids.

  Ty stood at the room’s window, his back to her. He’d parted the heavy drapes a few feet and was peering through the gauzy under curtains that remained. He’d pulled on his jeans. His bare feet sank into the carpet, and the skin of his chiseled upper body gleamed smooth.

  All in all, an excellent view for any woman to wake up to. Celia would have been thrilled with it, except that something about Ty’s stance communicated tension. Possibly his stillness. Maybe the stiffness of his shoulders.

  They’d shared a night that had been earth-shattering. Magnificent. Surely, after that, he couldn’t be the least bit troubled.

  Could he?

  There were good reasons why most people didn’t tie the knot at a Las Vegas wedding chapel after four days of romance. Was it possible that those reasons were weighing heavily on him this morning? That he regretted what they’d done—

  Everything’s fine, Celia. Last night had been the first of thousands of nights she’d spend married to Ty. She just needed clothes. And coffee.

  She eased to the side of the bed while holding the white down comforter up to her chin.

  Ty turned.

  “Good morning.” She pushed her feet over the edge.

  “Morning.” His eyes were kind, but his expression remained tight. Not wholly reassuring.

  She pasted on a smile. “A very good morning!” It wasn’t easy to drag the comforter off the bed and use it as a shield, but she managed it with a grunt of effort. “Yes, indeed.” She sidestepped to where her dress and underwear lay puddled on the floor. Once she’d retrieved them, she backed into the bathroom. “Excuse me for a moment.” The comforter got caught in the door. She had to yank it inside before she could shut herself in.

  She shimmied into her silver dress, then lathered her hands with hotel soap and went to work washing her face.

  Ty couldn’t be having second thoughts. Not possible. Couldn’t be! So how come worry continued to rise within her?

  She brushed her teeth with the provided travel toothbrush and toothpaste. Ineffectually, she batted at her curls with a brush. They’d passed the point of redemption.

  When she reentered the bedroom, she found Ty standing near the foot of the bed waiting for her. He’d turned on the lamps and parted the curtains fully. Late-morning sunlight streamed into the room.

  “Come here.” He opened his arms.

  She went into them in half a heartbeat.

  His strength and heat banded around her, comforting. The scent of the soap he’d used in the shower filled her senses.

  He pressed a kiss into the place where her neck met her shoulder.
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  See? It’s fine. Thanks to their hasty wedding, she wasn’t feeling as secure as most morning-after brides, that’s all. “Hungry?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “We can call and order breakfast from room service. I’ll bet they have croissants or muffins.” She knew all about his sweet tooth for breakfast pastries. “When I’ve saved up enough money and I have a bakery of my own, I’m going to serve you the most amazing cinnamon rolls you’ve ever eaten.”

  Over the past days they’d talked at length about her dream of owning a coffee shop and his goal of winning a world championship in bull riding. This past weekend, he’d won her heart but not the title.

  He moved a lock of hair off her forehead, his eyes grave.

  Anxiety rekindled within her, but Celia powered past it. She called room service and chattered to Ty until the food came. When it arrived, she took great care arranging everything on the circular table in the room’s corner. Thick linen napkins and heavy silverware. An organic vegetable omelet for her. A basket of breakfast pastries. Coffee and ice water.

  After they’d settled into chairs, Ty poured the coffee while Celia tried to think of how to fill the unusual silence between them. “So . . . Doris was funny last night, wasn’t she?”

  “Very.”

  “How long do you think she’s been working as a ‘love event coordinator’?”

  “And fairy godmother, don’t forget.”

  “And fairy godmother.”

  “I don’t know. A century?”

  Celia held up more than her share of the conversation, reminiscing about each humorous aspect of their wedding. As they talked, she took dainty bites of her omelet. Ty set a blueberry muffin on his plate and peeled off the wrapper, but didn’t eat any. Nor did he try the coffee that sat in his cup, its steam dying.

  Little by little Celia’s dread increased. She kept trying to make him laugh, kept waiting for him to cheer up and start acting like himself. She was used to his charm and teasing, but unaccustomed to his seriousness.

  He fiddled with the muffin, breaking it into pieces, then going back through the pieces a second time, breaking and rebreaking them again.

  When nothing but a mound of fine crumbs remained, Celia reached her tipping point. “Ty.”

  “Hmm?”

  She set down her silverware and scooted her chair back a few inches. “What’s the matter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that something’s obviously the matter with you this morning. What is it?”

  He rubbed the side of his thumb against his cheek.

  She waited for his answer, surrounded by the quiet sounds of traffic on the strip several stories below and a maid knocking on a door down the hall.

  His aquamarine gaze bored into hers.

  Celia could feel her heart laboring. Dragging in blood. Using all its strength to push blood out.

  “I’m sorry, Celia.”

  “For?” When he didn’t answer, she almost had a brain aneurism. “For?”

  “For pressuring you into marrying me.”

  That sounded . . . bearable, like maybe he was upset because he believed he’d forced her into a marriage she didn’t want.

  “I’ve talked people into doing crazy things before, but never anything like this.” He surged to his feet and returned to his spot at the window, his back to her. His hands raked through his hair, leaving furrows in the golden-brown strands. “This beats all.”

  Stories of Ty’s reckless exploits had become legend at Plano East High School. He’d leapt off a cliff a hundred feet above the Brazos, because his brother said he couldn’t. He’d made Ashley Sutton promise to go to the prom with him if he could jump his motorcycle over a parked car and land successfully on the other side. He’d competed in street races. He’d bungee-jumped above a canyon to raise money for the booster club. He’d lost bets and ended up having to skydive, streak across the football field in his boxer briefs, and set off a stink bomb on the principal’s doorstep.

  As an adult he rode bulls, for goodness’ sake, a profession that could kill him any night of the week. He was daring. It was just one facet of him that she—who was ordinarily smart, safe, and not given to spur-of-the-moment weddings—appreciated.

  “It’s okay, Ty.” Celia stood. “You didn’t pressure me into marrying you last night.”

  “Yes I did.” A pause. He swore under his breath, a sound as soft as it was vicious.

  She flinched. Something was terribly wrong. Her stomach wrung like a sponge. Everything was not fine.

  He pushed his hands through his hair again, then shook his head with what looked like self-disgust.

  “Ty?” She hated the fearful tone of her voice.

  He turned and faced her, his brows low over his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking straight last night, which is no excuse.” He flicked a hand toward the bed that loomed beside them. “I never meant for things to go this far.”

  “You . . . you didn’t force me into marrying you, if that what’s upsetting you. I made my own decision.”

  “Without all the facts.”

  “What do you mean—”

  “I’m in love with someone else.”

  Those words. Six words. They crashed into Celia, knocking the air and life and dreams from her, stopping her heart. Silence detonated like a grenade between them.

  “What?” she asked, the word little more than air.

  “There’s someone else.”

  Pain cut into her, sinking through layers of skin, muscle, organs. She stepped back, her hands falling dumbly to her sides. Her knees had turned to liquid. They gave way, lowering her to a seated position on the end of the bed.

  He loved someone else.

  A few hours ago, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, filled with joy, his exhales against her temple. She’d woken up to this. The man she’d have sacrificed anything for, the man she’d married, telling her there was another woman. She wanted to rewind time. A sickening wave of dizziness broke within her. She pressed her hands against her stomach and stared up at him.

  He did not come near. “I have a girlfriend at home in Holley. We’ve been dating for two years.”

  Her pulse raced frantically, like it was trying to escape.

  “Before I came on this trip, we talked about marriage. I’ve been wanting to marry her for a while now, but she told me she wasn’t ready. We fought.”

  “And broke up?”

  He set his jaw.

  “No?” She could hear her own hysteria rising. “You didn’t break up? You’re still . . . dating her?”

  “No. During our fight we did break up, but it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. I don’t think either of us thought it would last.”

  She wanted to slap him, shake him, but the agony inside held her motionless. “Why didn’t you tell me about her that first night outside the arena?”

  He made no reply.

  “Because she hurt you. Is that it?”

  “She hurt me.”

  “She injured your pride when she told you she wasn’t ready to marry you. Then you came to Vegas and found me waiting here, eager to boost your ego, more than willing to marry you.” She saw the situation with new and horrifying clarity. The end of his relationship had sent Ty on an emotional bender, and she’d been his—his rebound girl. Anger began to grind within her like two rusty gears, turning slowly at first, then picking up speed. “A relationship with me must have seemed like a convenient way to hurt her back.”

  “I wanted to forget about her for a few days.”

  “Do you make a habit of forgetting about her in every city you visit?”

  “I’ve been faithful to Tawny the whole time we’ve been dating. I haven’t wanted to be with anyone but her. Until you.”

  “I find that stunningly hard to believe.”

  “It’s true.”

  “True?” Since their romance had begun, she’d been nothing but fawning and sweet tempered to him. That was over. Fury sent strength throug
h her limbs, and she stormed to her feet. “True?! How am I supposed to believe that anything you say is true? You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

  “No. I never lied to you about my feelings for you.”

  “What are your feelings for me, exactly?”

  “I like you.”

  He liked her, which was such a far cry from love that the word lashed her like an insult. “You can’t possibly like me, Ty. You’ve used me. You’ve treated me worse than most people would treat their enemies.”

  He made a slashing motion with his hand. “We had a good time. Both of us.”

  “If you hadn’t been in love with someone else and if we’d parted on friendly terms, then yes. I’d have been able to chalk this weekend up to a ‘good time.’ But you convinced me to stay in Vegas extra days, and then you took me to a wedding chapel and slept with me!” Her chest billowed in and out.

  Ty remained stock-still, his color high, his forehead creased.

  “Last night you said you wanted to marry me, Ty. You said, ‘Let’s do something crazy for love.’ And the whole time your heart belonged to another woman.”

  “I was drunk, and I was into you, and I was stupid. What happened is my fault.”

  She pressed the heels of her hands into her forehead. Could a person die from heartbreak? It felt like it. She’d sensed from the start that their relationship was too good to be true. He was gorgeous and successful and illegally charming. He could have chosen any woman in Vegas. Yet she’d convinced herself, even though he’d never told her outright that he loved her, that what he felt for her was real and unique. It wasn’t. He wasn’t the same person she’d fallen for in the ninth grade. He was as untrustworthy as a bridge built on sand.

  She dropped her hands. “What are you going to do now?” It shamed her, but she wanted to hear him say that he’d decided to leave Tawny in his past and give their relationship a chance.

  “I’m going to go home to Texas and tell Tawny what I’ve done. I’m going to try to make things right with her.”

  Devastated, angry tears rushed to Celia’s eyes. She didn’t know Tawny, but instinctively she hated her because she possessed Ty’s love. “Will she forgive you?”

  “Probably not. But I’m going to ask for her forgiveness anyway. We have a lot of history between us. I’ve known her since we were kids.”