Page 47 of One Vow

Beth Cooper didn’t snore. Or leave her clothes on the floor. Or sing in the shower. Or do one endearing thing that made me think the lifetime I was about to promise to spend with her would be anything more than desolate. Desperate. Without a single quirk or charming idiosyncrasy.

No surprises. No foibles that led to long nights of talking or making out under store awnings or holding hands while we took turns stirring spaghetti sauce. We wouldn’t kiss in the rain. There would be no spontaneous acts of love that reminded me of how lucky I was.

Regret curled my shoulders as I sat in the aisle seat next to Beth on the plane. Two hours into a six-hour flight, I flipped on the screen embedded into the back of the seat in front of me. Thank fuck for technology. I could watch the Christmas edition of Sports Center or a replay of whatever game was on. I flipped through the screens, giving each one a couple seconds of play time before moving on. And then it happened.

I didn’t have the earphones plugged in yet, so it took a few seconds for me to realize what I was seeing. A few more for my brain to decipher what it meant. And three after that for me to turn to Beth.

Her eyes were wide. Her lined in pink mouth hanging open. Then, while I watched, her skin flushed to the darkest, deepest red I’d ever seen.

“What. The. Fuck?” Her voice was steel, deadly, deep. And I concentrated on that. On the fact that I was sitting on a plane next to the woman who swore if I married her this story would die with her. Turned out we were both liars. And neither of us very good at it.

I read the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Class action. The words blurred and I refocused on a foursome of pictures that flashed onto the screen above each of our names. Ryder Kennedy. Jameson King. Keaton Shaw. Finn Makenzie. And Beth’s what the fuck wasn’t so far off the mark. But when a picture of the hospital where I worked flashed onto the screen, my stomach rolled, and I flicked the power button to off.

Oh, God.

While I mourned the life I’d had, nothing more glaring than the first squandered chance with Lis and now a second, and the one I’d hoped to return to as a well-respected ER doctor, Beth checked social media. Every couple seconds, or every few slides of her finger, she swore a little louder, a little stronger, and a little angrier.

She turned to me and held up the screen.

“That bitch!” She unfastened her seat belt. “That’s my story. My fucking show.” And Beth finally had her moment, the one where maybe fate or karma or the big guy upstairs had stepped in to show all of us that there were consequences to lies and blackmail. And whatever the force doing the throwing was, it got both of us with one stone.

“If she thinks for one second I’m going to let her steal my show, my seat on that stage, she’s as stupid as she is fake.” She twisted the screen toward me again so I could see the woman who’d been telling the Glouster scandal story. Blonde. Bright smile. Business suit uniform. Could’ve been Beth’s sister had their parents been brave enough to make two of them. The loud one next to me growled, then slapped the top of my thigh with her knuckles.

“Fake!” She punched a finger into the screen and continued ranting so that the lady across the aisle stared at us. “Honestly. This bitch has enough bought and paid for parts to build a whole new woman. Look at her!”

No way was I dumb enough to remind Beth she too had her fair share of silicone and Botox. But she narrowed her eyes at me anyway. “Just shut up.”

And the next four hours followed a similar pattern until we had an audience, plenty of support for the wronged Beth Cooper, and a couple old ladies staring at me as if Beth showing them some ten-year-old footage meant I couldn’t have grown, couldn’t have repented.

By the time we taxied to the terminal, the other passengers had whipped Beth into an angry hate-spewing rage machine who didn’t wait for the plane to stop rolling before she called her boss, Maxwell something or other.

“You…son of a bitch…I saw Rachel Novak…” As her voice rose, cheers erupted from the aisle where everyone else was lined up to deplane. “That’s…right…really?” Her voice changed. Dropped a few octaves and her eyes narrowed. Then came the smile. A slow slide of happiness that transformed her entire face. “Really?”

Her fingers dug into my biceps. “Oh my God, thank you so much!”

She hung up her cell and kissed me hard then looked at the passengers watching us.

“I’m not losing my show.” But she glanced at me and frowned. “We have to talk.”

“Okay.” But we were twelve hours from our sunset wedding, and I needed a nap, but we still had to find our way off the plane, navigate through the airport, and to our respective apartments to get ready before heading to the venue. There would be plenty of time to talk later. And since she already had her promotion, she’d at least be in a good mood when we had this big conversation. When I stood, she pulled me down beside her. Because she always meant now. Something I would have to get used to. Time waited for no woman, and Beth Cooper refused to waste a second of it.

“Oh, you mean now.” Fine. This was my opportunity. At the same time, I said, “I’m not marrying you,” she said, “I’m not marrying you.”

“What?”

I’d spent six months listening to details about sequins versus rhinestones, lilies versus roses, photographs versus video. Not to mention the entire day I spent at a spa before we could get our engagement pictures taken, the thousands of dollars in new clothes and the car she’d insisted I buy, appearances were everything, didn’t I know, and I’d walked out on Felicity again. This time she’d told me to, but I hadn’t fought, hadn’t hung around to convince her, Felicity, she couldn’t live without me.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t pretend like you’re not peeing your pants right now you’re so happy. We both know I can’t marry you for several reasons.”

And because of all the things I did know, when to quit wasn’t one of them, I sat back and stared. “That’s fair. Because I can’t marry you either. I love her, Beth, and you deserve someone who wants to be with you like I want to be with her.”

She pulled her head back and chuckled like I’d just told her she couldn’t stick a fork into a light socket at the same moment she stuck a fork into the light socket. “Thank God. Because the Glouster scandal and the class action suit is bound to come biting at your ass any minute now. And I can’t very well be the sympathetic victim if I’m married to one of the named perpetrators, now can I?”

As far as points went, this one made sense. “Pardon me, but that isn’t what I want to be remembered for. And it’s not the way I want to be introduced career-wise.” Wasn’t that her big threat a couple weeks ago when I agreed to be her husband? “But mostly, I can’t marry you because for as good a kisser as you are, I do not want to spend the rest of my life getting half-assed kissed by a guy who wants someone else.”

“I haven’t half-assed kissed anyone in my entire life.” Important to me that she knew it, too. Not that I wanted to kiss anyone but Felicity, but my pride couldn’t take too many more hits.

Her responding chuckle didn’t enhance my ego at all, either.