Learning Curves

Chapter Fourteen





Leanne Galloway no longer doubted the existence of hell.

As she sat in the country club’s ballroom and toyed with her melting dessert, she willed the polished parquet floor to open up and swallow her. Or for a single well-placed thunderbolt to crash through the expansive skylight and put her out of her misery. Anything really to distract her from the unrelenting reality of her situation.

And the unrelenting ache in her chest whenever she chanced to think of Brandon and everything they’d lost four days ago.

She didn’t think of him as often now. Just every few minutes or whenever an ill-timed reminder happened to interrupt her thoughts and bring him to mind again. So, for anyone who was counting, no more than a few thousand times a day. Maximum.

Like when she looked to her left and saw an empty chair where he should have been and wasn’t.

The bride and groom were still ensconced at the head table, kissing whenever the guests clinked their glassware, as they had been for much of the past three hours. The church had been adorned in bowers of costly orchids and other lush tropical blooms. The bride’s dress dripped with Swarovski crystals, her silk train trailing behind her as she made her steady progress up the petal-strewn aisle, her bridesmaids a wonder of tanned, blond symmetry. The mother of the bride had wept. The father of the bride had sniffed his tears away manfully. The sumptuous feast, held in the country club’s largest ballroom, had been a miracle of culinary arts, each course richer and more decadent than the last.

In other words, a picture-perfect wedding.

Except that the bride was a manipulative bitch who considered her groom a clueless patsy whose real charms were his money and his gold-plated family tree.

Leanne hadn’t wanted to come tonight.

She’d pleaded illness.

Exhaustion.

Heck, if she’d thought it would have worked, she’d have claimed a case of fast-acting Ebola virus.

But her mother had been implacable.

“You’ve already embarrassed us enough, Leanne Cynthia Galloway,” she’d said. “You owe it to your father and me to make an appearance at this wedding. Gillian is our goddaughter and no matter how unfair it is to her, having you there to distract from her big day, I won’t have it be said we’re not standing by our daughter.”

Standing by her?

Yes, if only to make sure the final dagger thrust was accurately delivered.

So here she was, making morose trails through her melting ice cream and pretending she didn’t see the countless smirks, sneers and double takes the wedding’s seven hundred guests cast her way.

Now as the waitstaff began to wend their way around the room, clearing away the dishware from this, the final course, she heaved a sigh of relief that the end of her torture was in sight. A few more minutes, a few boring dances and she could make her escape. She licked the back of her spoon, relishing the last chocolaty drop, and made a mental note to stop by the twenty-four-hour market to restock her freezer’s diminished ice-cream supply as soon as she was free of the three-ring circus.

Her heart clenched with longing at the sight of a couple at a nearby table sharing a tender kiss. She busied herself by spooning the last of her rich dessert into her mouth to avoid the risk of having a whimper of pain escape. She was in enough trouble as it was without giving rise to rumors of a complete emotional breakdown too. Although it would dovetail nicely with the complete professional meltdown she’d experienced this week, which—if the gentle reports from Cassandra were to be believed—was still making furious and salacious rounds through the university grapevine.

A week ago, she would have been mortified by the intrusion into her personal life and the utter and total derailment of her professional dreams. Now she could barely muster any real indignation over the circulating gossip and the only facet of the entire sordid affair that caused her any real pain was Brandon’s continuing silence.

He hadn’t returned any of her phone calls. Her texts and emails went unanswered. She’d even gone round to his place, but despite knocking on his door for the best part of fifteen minutes, there’d been no response. She had to accept that their relationship was well and truly over.

He’d never be able to forgive her for Gillian’s scheming or for her own unwitting role in his downfall. His life, the life he’d worked so hard to construct for himself despite everything that had conspired against him, was in ruins, and there was no one to blame but her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ announced over the expensive sound system, “if you will turn your attention to the head table, Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy Fields would like to say a few words to all of their friends and family.”

And, Leanne thought gratefully, I’m that much closer to getting the hell out of Dodge.

Gillian and Jeremy rose hand and hand as the guests applauded.

“There are so many people we have to thank for today’s wonderful event.” Gillian’s voice, magnified by the expert sound system, filled the room. “I can’t tell you how much it means to us both to have all of you here, sharing the most important day of our lives.”

Gillian and Jeremy’s speech prosed on and on and Leanne tuned it out.

Around her, she could hear the sentimental murmurs of the guests and see the sporadic flashes of cameras recording the moment for posterity, all the people in the room save her thoroughly duped by the fairytale aura that Gillian had so expertly cast.

Her dessert was gone and the wine bottle in the centre of the table was empty. She craned her head, looking for a waiter. A flash of movement at the wide double doors caught Leanne’s eye. She turned, interested to see who else might be escaping, but a cold wave of shock swept over her when she realized no one was trying to sneak out.

Someone was trying to sneak in.

And that someone was Brandon.

“Oh my God.” The exclamation slipped before she could help herself. She bit down on her lip, the sharp pain helping her focus her wayward emotions.

“Sweetheart?” She swiveled toward her father’s voice. He’d been a rock these last few days, standing by her through all of the chaos and fallout. The departmental rebuke. Her mother’s accusations and recriminations. He’d never said one unkind thing about Brandon either. “Are you all right?”

Leanne couldn’t find the words to answer his question. Her mind reeled in disbelief, disjointed thoughts skittering through her brain like so many scattered rose petals.

Brandon was here. Now. At Gillian’s wedding reception.

And she had no idea why.

But that didn’t stop her heart from beating double time, the hope she’d thought dead springing to life resurgent.

“He’s here,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth, gesturing toward the door.

Her dad’s reaction was not what she expected. He smiled. “I was wondering when he’d get here.”

Leanne whirled around, her jaw agape. “You knew he was coming. And you didn’t tell me?”

“I hoped he was coming,” her father corrected. “There’s a difference, you know.”

Because she’d hoped he was coming too. And she’d hoped he might care for her. Maybe even love her. But whether or not he did, she knew she loved him, and whatever else happened, she wasn’t going to let the opportunity to tell him slip through her fingers again. She was done with living life to other people’s expectations. She wanted a full life—love, laughter, purpose and joy. She still wanted to teach at the university and eventually achieve tenure. But her professional goals were only one part now. Because she wanted more than just a job she loved. She wanted a life she loved too.

Most importantly, she wanted to share it with someone she loved. Someone like Brandon.

“I-I have to go.”

“You can’t leave,” her mother said. “Jeremy and Gillian are still speaking.”

“I have to go,” she repeated, snatching her purse from the back of the chair. “Dad, I’ll call you, okay?”

Ignoring the disapproving whispers that accompanied her hurried dash toward the entrance of the banquet hall, she pushed through the heavy doors, into the hallway outside. She looked around, terrified she’d missed him completely. Where was he?

“Leanne.”

The quiet voice in her ear made her jump and she turned, shocked, to find the man she hadn’t been able to forget standing behind her.

The elaborate chandelier in the foyer highlighted his tired face. Dark circles smudged his eyes; his jaw was covered by days-old stubble. He looked harried and strained and utterly, absolutely spectacular.

He enveloped her in his arms, squeezing her tight. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “God, I’ve missed you.”

She felt her throat thicken with tears and she leaned forward until their foreheads touched and they were peering into each other’s eyes. “Really?”

“You have no idea how much.” His looked at her steadily, a quiet promise in his eyes, and she felt her insides begin to coalesce in a slow, heated puddle. There was so much they needed to say, starting with the truth about her feelings for him, but this travesty of a wedding was the worst place imaginable. Nothing could be said here, in this stifling atmosphere of deceit and self-interest. It was impossible.

“Let’s get out of here,” she murmured, feeling more confident than she had in days. They could talk later. Once they were free of this tulle nightmare.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Even though she spoke in a low tone, the bride’s voice carried through the hallway. Leanne and Brandon whirled around to find Gillian striding toward them. Behind her, a look of bemusement on his face, Jeremy followed.

The mother of the bride hurried out of the reception hall, an elaborate schedule in her hands.

“Darling? What’s wrong? Everyone’s waiting for you inside,” Barb said, looking vexed at the unaccountable disruption. “It’s time for the first dance.”

Gillian ignored her mother. “What is he doing here?” she asked again. Leanne was rooted in place, and Brandon’s arm never left her, its comforting force wrapped around her waist like a protective talisman.

“I’m not sure this is something you want to discuss in front of an audience,” he warned Gillian in a rational tone, but she was too angry to care.

She flung an accusing finger at him, “Don’t you tell me what to do. You’re a stripper, for Christ’s sake,” she said, emphasizing the word for effect. “Do you think I want my wedding polluted by someone like that?” A growing crowd had started to file into the foyer, alerted to the possibility of something untoward happening by the out-of-character disappearance of the bride and groom from the reception.

Leanne didn’t flinch. She was done hiding how she felt. She wouldn’t pander or pretend or avoid confrontation any longer. Tuesday’s debacle had set her free. Her hand in Brandon’s, she turned and faced her tormenter. “You and I have very different ideas of what’s noxious, Gillian. But you don’t need to worry. He’s leaving. And so am I.” Brandon brushed a soft kiss against her hair and Leanne touched his cheek with a gentle hand before turning back to Gillian, Jeremy and the riveted guests. “You don’t need to worry about your big day being ‘polluted,’ because Brandon and I are going right now.” She tried to walk away, but Gillian, vexed at being so easily upstaged and set aside, quickly boxed her in.

“You’re just jealous,” she crowed, flashing her gaudy wedding ring so it twinkled and flashed in the light. “You can’t handle it. I’ve got everything and you’ve got nothing.”

Gillian’s accusation should have made her cringe, but instead Leanne laughed. As her confidence surged, Gillian’s barbs bounced away harmlessly. Brandon stood beside her, a warm, solid presence. He was tense with anger. She squeezed his fingers, telling him wordlessly not to worry. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of Gillian. And not of getting her hands dirty either. Life was dirty. The learning curve had been steep, but she was ready to apply her painful lessons in real life.

“You’re the one with nothing, Gillian,” Leanne enumerated, checking off the points on her fingertips. “No morals. No class. We both know you sabotaged my interview with the Walters committee. But here’s the thing—I don’t care anymore. In a sad, perverse sort of way, you actually helped me.”

Gillian snickered but a flash of uncertainty shadowed her eyes. “Oh, give it up. You can’t tell me you don’t care about what I—about what happened this week.”

Leanne smiled, her own face bright with tightly controlled menace. “About what you did to Brandon, threatening him and his career at the university? I won’t ever forgive you for that.”

Jeremy spoke up then, his eyes flickering between his bride and Leanne and Brandon, hand in hand. “You must be wrong, Leanne. Gillian would never do what you’re suggesting. She’s not that kind of person.” But a small furrow between his brows suggested that the groom had his doubts, as much as he would like to deny it.

The four of them were so engrossed in the cut and thrust of argument, Leanne was startled when her father pushed through the watching throng. “Bullshit.”

Jeremy’s face darkened at the slur. Around them gasps and titters nearly drowned out Gillian’s indignant response.

“Larry,” Barb protested volubly, visibly distressed by the fracas the wedding had descended into. “I appreciate that Leanne is your daughter, but you can’t mean to suggest Gillian would ever…”

“Larry, come back to the table,” her mother begged, tugging on her husband’s tuxedo sleeve and trying to draw him back into the dining room. “You’re creating a scene.”

But her husband wasn’t to be dissuaded. Turning a hard face toward his wife, he shook his head resolutely. “No, Sandy. I’ve been quiet all week and I’ve let you have your say. For years, I’ve watched as you’ve tried to mold our daughter into something she isn’t,” he charged, shooting a scornful look at Gillian. “And why? Leanne’s a brave, accomplished woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to make sacrifices to achieve it. She’s our daughter and I’m proud of her every minute of every day. The question is, why aren’t you?”

Leanne was in shock. She’d never heard her gentle, considerate father speak to her mother with such anger before. From the look on Mom’s face, neither had she.

He turned toward her. “Brandon told me about his job at the rehearsal dinner.”

“You knew?” her mother asked in hurt disbelief. “And you didn’t say anything? You didn’t warn Leanne what the consequences to her career might be? Or think to tell me beforehand?”

Dad ignored the outburst, continuing as if his wife had never spoken. “He told me in confidence.”

“I don’t want you to think badly of him—”

Her father waved away her explanation. “I know that, sweetie. It doesn’t matter to me what he does for a living, as long as he makes you happy.”

Leanne let go of Brandon’s hand and hugged her father, hard. Around them, the murmurs had grown into a loud hubbub, many seemingly unconvinced by the bride’s over-the-top reaction. As though sensing the shift in opinion against her, Gillian tried to recoup the lost ground.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she dabbed at them with a tissue commandeered from one of the hovering bridesmaids. “Jeremy, I just want our day to be perfect! But they’re ruining it with lies,” she wailed.

His jaw tight, Jeremy jerked his head toward his groomsmen in an unmistakable signal. They began to step forward, their intentions of removing the disruptive presence from the celebrations clear.

“We’ll go,” Brandon promised, squeezing Leanne’s hand, “but before we do, Jeremy, you should know Larry is telling the truth. Gillian made the mistake of thinking that just because I dance for a living, she could hire me for sex too.” He stretched out his hand toward Jeremy, a card held between his index and pointer fingers. The groom took it and turned it over to read the words printed on the reverse.

“‘I like what I see,’” Jeremy read slowly, his face growing more indignant with every word, “‘and I’d be happy to make it worth your while if you’re willing to show me more.’”

There was a pause as he digested the suggestive words, and then, in one swift motion, he crumpled Gillian’s business card and tossed it to the floor. “Did you think you could cheat on me again and I wouldn’t find out?”

The collective gasp of amazement at this charge was loud enough to nearly drown out the bride’s response. Barb began to sob; as one, the bridesmaids began to back away.

“No,” Gillian lied, her face distorted with anger and disbelief. “Of course not—”

“Don’t, Gillian,” Jeremy said implacably, brushing aside her hands angrily. “Don’t. I forgave you once. But I’ve been blind, haven’t I?” He shrugged, tugging to loosen his meticulous bowtie. It hung limply round his neck as he wrenched at his shirt collar button. “I loved you. But you don’t love anyone but yourself. We’re through. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” He turned to Brandon, but instead of socking him, Jeremy simply shook his hand.

“I’m sorry you were caught up in all this,” he said stiffly. “If I can help straighten out any damage she’s caused, you let me know. I have some pull with the Alumni Board, if it helps. And I hope—I hope everything works out for you two.” Nodding, he wheeled around and stalked back down the hallway. As the heavy door swung shut behind him, the mother of the bride sank into a chair and began to sob in earnest while the fathers of the bride and groom shouted and stormed at each other. The bride swore, her ugly accusations turning the air blue as she railed at her mother, her bridesmaids and her publicly absent husband.

Gillian and Jeremy were likely headed for a far less celebratory occasion in the near future—one that involved solicitors, divorce decrees and an ironclad separation agreement. Not that Gillian didn’t deserve it, but Leanne felt a pang of sympathy when she thought of the blindsided groom. He looked as though he’d been socked in the gut by the news of his wife’s repeated infidelities. She could sympathize with his dismay. His life had turned disastrously wrong through no fault of his own and the aftermath would be anything but pretty.

She couldn’t change the outcome but wished Jeremy well all the same. He was better off without Gillian, although it would doubtlessly take him some time to accept it. Leanne didn’t want to watch any more of the ugly scene. “My car’s outside.”

“Okay.” Hand in hand, they walked toward the parking lot.

Her concern for the groom was eclipsed by a more imperative question occurred, and she stopped short. “Gillian’s card…Why on earth would you keep it?”

Brandon reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. Gazing into her eyes, he smiled. “Don’t you know?”

“No,” she whispered, a wild sense of hope surging through her. “Tell me.”

He laughed then, his beautiful blue eyes glowing with emotion. “Because it was my only link to you. I concocted an elaborate, Machiavellian plan to call her and invent a lost wallet or something that I needed to return to you. And then I could call you and maybe ask you out and well…”

He shrugged, clearly embarrassed at his simplistic plan, and her heart warmed at his admission. Then a giggle escaped her as a glaring hole in his plan occurred to her. “Except that if you’d had my wallet, wouldn’t you have had my name and address too?”

A dull red flush rose across his cheekbones at her teasing observation and Leanne’s emotions leaped at this sign of vulnerability. He was so self-contained, so in control, yet he let her see behind the mask of his confidence.

“I wasn’t really thinking about that,” he admitted. “All I knew was I had to see you again. After the example my parents set, I thought I was impervious to love. But then I met you and all bets were off.” He gazed deep into Leanne’s eyes. “I love you. I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you, actually, when I saw you sitting in the dark, watching me dance.”

“I don’t know why,” she said softly. “I’m not anything extraordinary.”

His face darkened at her demurral. “Don’t ever let me hear you say that about yourself ever again,” he ordered. “You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. You’re clever and loyal and sexy as hell. And if I have my way—”

His words were lost as her lips captured his. Their tongues meshed and his strong arms wrapped around her in an embrace that heated her skin and made her heart sing.

Drawing back for a moment, Leanne laughed. “I love you, Brandon. I kept telling myself it was just a fling, but it never was, was it?”

He shook his head and crushed her against him, claiming her lips again. “Never.”

“I’m so sorry Gillian dragged you into this mess. If it hadn’t been for me—”

“I wouldn’t have learned to trust my heart again,” he interjected. “I’m not out of the woods yet, but Dean Rose has gone to bat for me. She’s proposed a solution so I can keep my position at the university without appearing before the Senate. It would mean being on academic probation until at least next term and I have to give up my hours at the club, but if Kessler and the department sign off on it, I won’t have to forfeit my fellowship. It’s not a done deal, of course, but I’m not going to slink away and let the charges stand.”

Leanne gasped in relief. “Brandon, that’s…that’s fantastic!”

He grinned and kissed her fiercely. “You’re fantastic. I’m just the guy who was lucky enough to love you.”

A gentle hand on her shoulder captured her attention and she turned to find her mother and father had followed them outside.

“I wanted to apologize,” her mother said. “I was wrong about Gillian. I was wrong about Brandon. I think I was wrong about just about everything and I don’t think you’ll ever forgive me. But you have to believe, I only wanted you to be happy.”

The long pause was excruciating and finally her mom’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Well, I’ll let you two get going. If you feel like stopping by sometime, you’re…you’re always welcome,” she finished, her voice cracking a little. Leanne couldn’t let her continue. It was too painful to both of them.

Taking her mother’s hands in her own, she said, “I want you to know that I’m happy, Mom.” She took a deep breath and then continued. “I know we haven’t always agreed. We have different ways of looking at things but I will always love you. Even if you drive me crazy sometimes.”

Mom laughed shakily. “I may not understand all of the things you do, Lee-Lee,” she said, reverting to her childhood nickname, “but I do understand what it means to be in love with someone. After all, I’ve loved your father since the moment I first clapped eyes on him.” She turned a fierce gaze on Brandon, skewering him with her best mother look. “As for you,” she chided, “make my daughter happy or you’ll have me to answer to, you understand?”

Brandon nodded, but when she followed up her threat by standing and embracing him, he was clearly startled. Hesitantly, he returned the gesture. She released him. Drying her tears discreetly, she said, “At least I’ll finally have someone in the family who appreciates the arts like I do. What are you doing next Thursday? I’ve got tickets to a Russian ballet.”

Leanne and Brandon both laughed.

“I’ll have to get back to you, Mrs. Galloway.” He flung a strong arm around Leanne’s shoulders, pulling her into him for a loving hug. “But I’ll definitely let you know.”

“You ready to go?”

She smiled, loving the passionate light in his eyes. She’d never tire of looking at him. Even when his body grew older and his hair was gray he’d still be the man she loved. That was something that time would never dim.

“Always.”

He bent his head, brushing his lips against hers in a soft caress that promised so much.

“Always,” he agreed, leading her toward her car. “But only if you promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” she challenged.

“That you’ll dance for me often.”

Leanne laughed suggestively. “My technique needs a lot of work, I’m afraid.

“Are you willing to put in the rehearsal time?”

“As long as it takes,” she promised. “As long as it takes.”





About the Author

An enthusiastic and voracious reader from a young age of everything from obscure eighteenth-century novels to misplaced cereal boxes, Elyse has worked as a freelance writer for the past several years for many of the leading sewing and craft magazines in North America.

Her first work of historical fiction, The Debutante’s Dilemma, was published by Carina Press in the fall of 2010. Her first work of contemporary romance, Learning Curves, will be published in June 2011.

In addition to her writing commitments, Elyse also teaches film and literature at a local college. In her free time she enjoys (well, enjoys might be too strong a word—perhaps pursues with dogged determination would be better) never-ending renovations on the century home she shares with her intrepid husband and two boys in Hamilton, Ontario.

With her excellent writerly imagination, she one day dreams of topping the New York Times bestseller list and reclaiming her pre-kid body without the bother of either sit-ups or the denunciation of ice cream.





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