Mr. Imperfect

chapter 37



June

The invitation in Rori’s hand cordially invited her to the wedding of Bentley Jeremiah Frandson and Aimee Elizabeth Rogers.

She shouldn’t have opened the letter—wouldn’t have if she would have known Aimee’s last name. The invitation had been just one envelope in the stack of her forwarded mail. It could have been from anyone. Instead it was from Bentley.

What in the world had he been thinking putting her on the wedding invite list? That she would decline by way of a luxurious gift to prove that she had no hard feelings?

The only thing that pissed her off more than knowing that’s what he expected was knowing that in the end, that’s exactly what she would do.

And people wondered why they’d broken up.

Okay, no one wondered why they’d broken up. They’d all been too busy warning her that Bentley was a no-good social climber. She hadn’t believed them, of course. Hadn’t wanted to. Not until she realized that somehow he’d gotten her to fund his bachelor pad by claiming that it was really an art studio.

Well, Rori hoped Aimee had better luck with him. They looked happy in the photo. And rich. And maybe if Aimee never walked in on her soon-to-be husband in the throes with one of his models they could stay that way.

Rori gave them eighteen months. Tops.

She meant to put the invitation to the side, to stop looking at it. Yet she couldn’t. The whole mess with Bentley had happened nearly three years ago. She should be over it, and yet seeing him smile at her from the photograph brought back all sorts of crazy memories. Good crazy. Because even though Bentley might have been a cheating a*shole, the man knew how to have a good time. He was the only man who had ever covered a bed in rose petals for her, or lit the path to a romantic dinner with a hundred candles. And he was certainly the best kisser she’d ever locked lips with—no doubt because he had plenty of practice.

But still, nearly all her memories of him were good. All except for the really bad ones at the end.

Looking at the picture of the couple, Rori knew exactly why Aimee’s smile was so big, just as surely as she knew that the smile wouldn’t last.

Such was love, the highs and lows of it. Like a drug addiction, really. A drug Rori was happy to say she’d been clean and sober from for just over a year now. She’d tried things her way. She’d tried leading with her heart with unanimous results. Now it was time to give her mom’s approach a shot and let love come and go as it willed and just stick to marrying someone she trusted.

And that, most decidedly, was not Bentley.

So why was she still looking at his picture?

When her phone rang, Rori didn’t hesitate. She embraced the distraction like a lifeline and picked up. “Hello?”

“Hey there,” a happy, baritone voice replied.

It was Mike Cannon, although Rori wasn’t honestly confused to hear his voice. The last time they’d talked he blown her off and then spent the rest of the night bantering with Sydney on his Facebook wall when she accused him of photoshopping the image. Rori had all but written him off.

“I’m calling with a question that has an ulterior motive.”

Great. Just great. Mind games were the last thing she needed at the moment. “Okay.”

“I’ve got two shots to choose from right now. Both are awesome. One tracks the bride from behind as she walks down the aisle, and the other is a stationary shot from the front with the bride walking to the camera. Which would you prefer if you were the client? The track shot or the stationary shot?”

Okay, not what she had been expecting, but it might just be a question she could answer. “How long is her train?”

“Hmm. Six feet, maybe?”

“And do you get it all in the track shot?”

“Of course.”

“Then I think you have your answer,” she said simply. “A woman who goes through the effort of putting a train on her dress has it there for one moment, and one moment alone. For the aisle walk. That’s your shot until she reaches the front row. Then you switch to the other camera.”

“Good call,” he said and Rori could hear the click of his mouse on the other side of the phone.

“That can’t be why you called.”

“Just doing some research,” he said, voice light. “It’s always good to get a feel for a client before doing a job for them. Usually I have them watch a few samples and gauge their reactions to get a feel, but since you’re on the other side of the country, I’m just going to have to settle on a few carefully chosen questions.”

“And asking me about which shot to use helps you how?”

“In many ways,” he said, still sounding like he was multi-tasking as he spoke. “You could have asked me any number of questions about the setting, or no questions at all, but you focused on the dress. Not the veil, not the building, not the size of the room, or the number of people in attendance. You didn’t ask if she was pretty or how high the cameras were or whether the groom could be seen in either of the shots. You asked about the train. That definitely helps as I plan for your show.”

“I still don’t see how.”

He stopped working then. She could tell by the change in his voice. “Well, for starters, you didn’t ask about the bride or how she looked. You asked about the dress. That tells me that you are not interested in having someone follow you around with a camera all night to capture your journey through the evening. You would much prefer if I focused on the art and capturing it in a way that will allow people who can’t come in person to see it without missing any of the details you slaved over. Am I warm?”

Okay, he was good. “More than warm.”

“Told you,” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Trust me, I won’t have these questions every day, but I might call you a few more times with other questions. Making the perfect video is all about getting a feel for the client.”

Now she was smiling, not that Mike could see it. All he knew was that her side of the line was quiet.

“Anyway,” he added quickly. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“No, it’s a good thing,” she said before he could hang up on her again. “I needed a distraction.”

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

His tone was so casual that answering came naturally. “Just some bad news—or not really bad, I guess. I don’t know what it is, but it’s definitely news.”

“Regarding?”

“An ex.” Was she really telling him this?

“Ah, ex news. That’s always interesting. What kind? Is he getting married?”

“How did you know?”

“Because an ex’s wedding is always a roller coaster to process.”

“Have you ever had one send you a wedding invitation before?”

“Once or twice,” he said. “But you know the protocol when that happens, right?”

Rori picked up the announcement and looked at it again. “There’s actually a protocol for such things?”

“Most definitely. Do you have any candles around?”

Rori glanced around the room. “I don’t think so.”

“Matches? A lighter?”

“A lighter, yes,” Rori said, still confused.

“Good. Then I need you to grab a bowl and go into the bathroom with the invitation.”

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“This sounds very weird.”

He laughed and she nearly joined him. “Trust me. Go get a bowl, and the lighter, then let me know when you’re in the bathroom.”

“Okay,” she said before reluctantly moving to the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl from the cupboard then the lighter from her purse before padding over to the bathroom. “I’m in position.” That sounded wrong.

“And you have the invitation?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” he said, sounding totally relaxed. “Since you don’t have a candle we’ll have to skip the extended ceremony and just jump to the end.”

“A ceremony? You’re making this up.”

“Do you want me to grab Luke or Kris?” he asked, with feigned dismay. “They can walk you through this just as easily as I can. Although Kris might insist on the full ceremony. She’s superstitious like that.”

Rori couldn’t help it. She laughed. “No, I’ll stick with you. What do you want me to do now?”

“Put the lid of the toilet seat down and place the bowl on it.”

“Okaaay,” Rori said, doing just that. “Bowl on lid. Check.”

“Now take the invitation in one hand and the lighter in the other.”

“Got it.”

“Now repeat after me—wait, what’s his name?”

“Bentley.”

“His full name.”

“Bentley Jeremiah Frandson.”

“Really? He kind of sounds like a douche.”

“He kind of is,” Rori said, not wanting to talk about it. “What’s next in this little protocol of yours?”

“Repeat after me: Bentley Jeremiah Doucheball Frandson.”

Rori laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“You gotta say the words, Rori.”

“Fine. Bentley Jeremiah Doucheball Frandson.”

“I gave you the best of me, you stupid a*shole.” He paused, clearly waiting for her to repeat the words.

“Well, I don’t know that that’s entirely fair. I—”

“Did you love him?” Mike interrupted.

“Well, yes.”

“Did you let him into your heart?”

It felt degrading to answer that, and yet she did. “Yes.”

“Did you whip out every trick you knew for him in bed?”

That answer was mortifying, but again she said it. “Stupidly enough, yes.”

“Did you talk about marriage?”

She preferred not to think about those times. Those were some of the best memories she had with him. “Yes.”

“Then why did you break up?”

“Because he couldn’t keep his pants up around his models.”

“Oh, wow. Then you definitely have to repeat after me: I gave you the best of me, you stupid a*shole.”

Her mouth didn’t move and she found herself staring at the image of Bentley as violent emotions warred within her.

“Say it,” Mike prompted, and this time the words came out in a flood.

“I gave you the best of me, you stupid a*shole.”

“Together we had the best of times and the worst of times.”

They truly had, so Rori had no trouble repeating those words.

“And now,” Mike continued. “My wedding wish for you is that this time you don’t f*ck it up.”

It was hard to say while laughing at the same time, but somehow Rori managed.

“And now, Bentley Jeremiah F*ck-up Frandson—”

“I thought it was Doucheball,” she corrected.

“Yeah? Well, it evolved. Now stop interrupting. This is very serious.”

“Of course,” she said in mock solemnity. “Please proceed.”

He cleared his throat dramatically. “And now, Bentley Jeremiah F*ck-up Frandson. I release you.”

“And now, Bentley Jeremiah F*ck-up Frandson. I release you.”

“Now light the lighter.”

“Now light the ligh—”

“No,” he laughed. “Don’t say it. Do it.”

“Oh, of course,” Rori said, flicking her thumb to get a flame. “Got it.”

“Now you’re going to light the invitation on fire. Hold the paper as long as you can, but when it gets too hot, put it in the bowl.”

“I can’t do that,” Rori protested. “I need the address so I can send a gift—”

“You are not sending this man a gift!” Mike said decisively. “What planet are you from? No way. Your gift to him is not showing up and telling his wife what you know. Your relationship with Bentley ends right here, right now. Now light that invitation up and say the words again: I release you.”

Was she really going to do this? It was stupid, really. And she really should send a present. And yet a second later she was holding the announcement above the flame and watching the corner light up.

She was doing it. She was actually doing it.

“I release you,” she said, and man it felt good—like she really was letting go.

She held the announcement as long as she could, turning it in the air to burn as much of it as possible before she dropped it in the bowl and watched it turn to glowing ash.

“Is it gone?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then you’re ready for the final step. Pick up the bowl.”

This was so stupid. Why was she suddenly taking it seriously? “Got it.”

“Now lift the lid to the toilet and pour the ashes in.”

This time she did laugh. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. It’s time to let Bentley go, Rori.”

“Into the toilet.”

“Isn’t that where you usually purge things out of your body?”

“Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re weird.”

“So noted. Have you dumped the ashes yet?”

Oh, what the hell. Rori tipped the bowl, letting the ashes fall into the water below. “Done.”

“Now flush, and as the ashes swirl into the abyss, repeat the words ‘I release you’ one last time.”

“And then I’m done?”

“Then you’re done.”

“Fine.” She looked at the ashes soaking below her and reached for the handle. “I release you, a*shole.” Then she flushed and walked out of the bathroom.

“Feel better?” he asked.

Actually, yeah. She did. Much better, although it offended her sensibilities to admit as much.

“It’s okay,” he coaxed. “You can admit it.”

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you called.”

“Anytime,” he replied. “And if you have a relapse, you know who to call, right?”

“Indeed,” she agreed.

“Perfect,” he said. “Then my work here is done. I’ll get back to editing.”

“And I’ll get back to work as well.”

“Alright. Have a good night.”

Rori had no doubt that she would as she and Mike hung up and her eyes moved to the flower girl piece.

Yes, she was definitely finishing that tonight.