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  HONEYMOON FOR ONE

  Chris Keniston

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 Christine Baena

  Excerpts from Aloha Texas - Copyright 2013 Christine Baena

  Cover Design by the Killion Group

  Developmental Edits by Vickie Taylor, Copy Edits by Denise Barker

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, redistributed or transmitted in any form or by any means; print, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9893608-1-4

  Indie House Publishing

  Honeymoon For One

  Published by Chris Keniston at Smashwords

  Copyright 2013 Chris Keniston

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  With every story, no matter how long or short, I have my stable of loyal colleagues and friends who I turn to for support, encouragement, and of course, correction.

  My thanks to Molly Cannon and Wendy Watson for thinking every story is the best I've ever written. Liz Lipperman, Vicki Batman and Carolyn Williamson for not throwing me out with the commas. Linda Steinberg for brainstorming any time of day or night. Adrienne Giordano-Maynard and her husband for feeding me all the challenges of saving - or killing - a newspaper. Any and all mistakes are mine.

  Since nothing could get me to climb a rock wall, my thanks to Sarah Cress for sharing the experience. And a special thank you to my friend Cheryl Lucas for making every vacation a spring board for a new book. Long may we travel!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Something wasn't right. Michelle Bradford stared at her cell phone. To a stranger, her best friend since kindergarten might sound perfectly normal. But Michelle could hear the slight edge in Beth's voice. The hitch in her breath.

  A knot tightened in the pit of Michelle's stomach. Beth had been acting a bit...odd the last few weeks. Yesterday at the final fitting for the bridal party dresses, she had burst into tears and had run from the room, muttering an apology afterward about wrong time of the month and always being a bridesmaid—or in this case maid of honor—and never a bride.

  Michelle should have known Beth’s reaction had to have been spurred by something more serious, but Michelle had been too wrapped up in her own wedding plans to give her best friend in the world the time she deserved. Now Beth was on her way over, and Michelle fought the miserable scenarios popping one after the other into her mind. Beth had been fired. Or transferred. She was sick. Needed a kidney. Or, oh, God, cancer. By the time the doorbell rang, she had her friend facing every catastrophe possible short of a tsunami.

  "Go ahead and start dinner without me," Michelle called to her younger sister on her way down the hall. Yanking the front door open wide, she was startled to see her fiancé and her best friend. "Oh, Steven. I didn't expect your last-minute business to end so early. Why don't you go hang out with Corrie in the kitchen? She's eating supper. There's extra stroganoff on the stove. I'm just going to visit with Beth a little bit in the living room."

  "Actually…" Steven stepped around Beth. "I brought Beth. We both need to talk to you.”

  "Oh. Well. All right." Adding confusion to the worry already simmering in her gut, she gave Beth a kiss on the cheek, Steven a peck on the lips.

  Having been ushered out of the hallway and into the living room, after a moment of shuffling about, Beth and Steven took a seat on the sofa across from Michelle.

  "Michelle—" Steven started.

  "Let me," Beth interrupted.

  "No. I think it will be easier if I explain."

  "But this is my fault."

  "This isn't a matter of fault." Steven moved his hand as if to reach out to Beth and quickly snatched it back. "Please.”

  Even more confused, Michelle watched the people closest to her in the world bickering, and wondered where exactly she fit into the conversation. "Somebody better tell me something.”

  Eyes downcast, Beth nodded, and Steven took a deep breath. "We've all been friends a long time.”

  "Yes. We have," Michelle agreed.

  "Please." Steven held up his hand. "Just let me get through this.”

  Michelle inched forward on her seat and wondered what horrible scenario would include both Beth and Steven.

  "As I was saying," Steven continued, "I met you and Beth at the same time. The three of us would go out together as often as you and I went out alone. The last few years, with all of Corrie's extracurricular activities conflicting with my social commitments, I think I've gone to more banquets and benefits with Beth than I did with you.”

  "And I can't thank her enough for stepping in for me so often with little notice."

  Beth offered a weak nod.

  "Well." Steven's gaze momentarily wandered to the fireplace and then settled back on Michelle. "You and I have been engaged for almost five years. This wedding has been delayed so many times, I don't think anyone in town expects us to actually get married. And quite frankly, I've been wondering for some time now if perhaps raising your little sister was just a handy excuse for not really wanting to marry me."

  "That's not true." Michelle popped up from her seat and started toward Steven until he waved her back.

  "Please." He waited an excruciatingly long moment while she retook her seat. "I'm only saying if we stop and look at the recent past, really look, you'll agree. After all this time I think we've both been in love with the idea of getting married, rather than with each other."

  Michelle wanted to scream "You're wrong," but her mouth wouldn't work. Of course she wanted to marry Steven. Who wouldn't want to marry someone as kind and generous and stable as him? Waiting for Steven to continue, she noticed Beth wringing her fingers, her eyes never lifting to meet Michelle's.

  And then it hit her. Steven was canceling the wedding and he'd brought Beth to hold her up. Keep her from falling apart. A role Beth had played well since childhood. A role that had been a lifesaver when Michelle's parents had died leaving her responsible for a ten-year-old little girl. Oh, God.

  "You don't want to marry me," she whispered. The knot in her stomach twisted and snapped, doubling her over. All the time, the money, the dress. The guests.

  "Sweetheart...Michelle, I know this is hard to face now, but in time I honestly believe you'll see the truth of what I'm saying. You don't really want to marry me.”

  Michelle lifted her head and looked at her now ex-fiancé. Only her gaze fell on his hand tightly entwined with Beth's. Beth had stopped fidgeting with her fingers and was now nibbling on her lower lip.

  Michelle sat up straighter, taking a good look at her best friend. When Beth glanced up and nodded, Michelle almost lost her lunch.

  "You?" Michelle managed to mumble.

  This time Steven gave a silent nod. "We're leaving tomorrow morning on the first flight to Vegas. Beth and I are getting married.”

  ***

  Whoever heard of a honeymoon for one?

 
; "It makes perfect sense." Angie Cannon, a single, attractive brunette in her mid-thirties and Michelle's next-door neighbor for the last three years, stood with her hands on her hips staring at Michelle, as though she were completely daft.

  "I..." What? Feel like a fool? Whether at sea or at home in Bluffview, feeling like a fool wasn't going to change anytime soon. So what could she say? "I can't leave Corrie.”

  "I'll stay with her." Without hesitation, Angie volunteered to stand in for Michelle’s missing former best friend.

  Michelle shook her head. The original plan had been for Beth to stay with Michelle's sister, Corrie, while Michelle and Steven sailed the high seas. Of course with Beth and Steven honeymooning in Vegas, that left Michelle short not only one fiancé but also one best friend and teenage chaperone. "I can't ask you to do that.”

  "You're not asking, I'm offering. So pack your bags and go have a nice vacation."

  Nice vacation? Ready to pull her hair from her head and run from the room screaming, Michelle was almost relieved at the sound of the Winchester door chimes. Almost being the key word. If she were really lucky, she'd find a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses on her front porch, but the way her luck had been running, it was more likely to be a modern day Typhoid Mary. Now wouldn't that solve all her problems?

  Not bothering with the pretense of a smile, she swung the door open.

  "When you called in sick, I just knew something didn't feel right. Then I heard the news. I tried calling you." Pam Stuart from the office blew into the room like a gale force wind. "I got here as fast as I could. The nerve of the Rat Bastard."

  Ever since word had spread through town about poor jilted Michelle, she'd been inundated with condolence calls over the death of her wedding. She'd finally taken the home phone off the hook and turned off her cell. So far, only her neighbor and coworker had been brave enough, or perhaps cared enough, to cross her threshold.

  "Pam, this is my neighbor, Angie." Michelle waved toward the woman still standing in the middle of the living room with her hands fisted on her hips. "Pam and I work together at the newspaper.”

  The two women exchanged a brief smile along with How do you do? and Nice to meet you.

  "Can I get you something to drink?" Michelle asked.

  Pam shook her head. "No, thank you.”

  "Well, then." Angie took a seat on the sofa. "You should go.”

  "Go where?" Pam asked, slowly descending onto the nearest chair.

  "On the cruise." Angie answered Pam but looked to Michelle.

  "On the honeymoon cruise," Michelle corrected.

  A bright smile bloomed on Pam's face. "I think that's a great idea."

  Was everyone in the room crazy except her? How could she explain to these people she didn't want to go on her honeymoon alone?

  Pam jumped to her feet. "You don't want to be here wallowing when the happy couple comes home.”

  Angie hissed in a breath, scrunching her face as though Pam's words had caused her physical pain.

  Realizing what she'd said, Pam winced. "Sorry, honey. You know I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

  “I know. It’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. Her perfectly planned wedding and happily ever after were shot to hell in a heartbeat. It had taken all day to cancel everything. The cake, the hall, the photographer, the caterer, the musicians. Thank God, Angie had taken over notifying all the guests.

  The only thing left to cancel was the honeymoon. The cruise had been booked and paid for. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small part of her agreed with Angie that it made sense to go ahead and take the trip. Unfortunately, for the better part of the day, the forefront of her mind had rejected good sense. A honeymoon for one could only add to the emptiness taking over her world.

  Now Michelle stood in the middle of her living room, listening to both Pam and Angie plead their cases, and good sense seemed to be gaining ground. After all, as Pam had not-so-subtly pointed out, the cruise would allow Michelle a brief escape from the forced smiles and pity-filled glances she would otherwise have to endure. Heaven knew she wanted to be in Bluffview when her ex-fiancé and her ex-best-friend/almost-maid-of-honor came back from their whirlwind Las Vegas wedding about as much as she wanted to suck on a bowl of sliced lemons.

  "Okay, ladies. You win." Turning on her heel, Michelle marched up the stairs before she lost her courage. "If I'm leaving on a cruise, we'd better start packing."

  Two hours later, Pam frowned down at the sleeveless cotton nightgown with pink ribbon edging as she handed it off to Michelle. “Honey, you should toss the granny jammies. What you need is to find yourself a gorgeous man or two and show them how to have fun. By the time you get back, well, it’ll all be better. You’ll see.”

  To Pam, sex was a recreational sport, which like baseball should be played nightly with an occasional doubleheader. Of course, that could explain how, at forty-six, Pam had already worn out four husbands.

  All Michelle could manage was a curt nod and a meager attempt at a smile that felt more like a nervous twitch.

  Angie handed her the last piece of clothing to be packed. A one-piece navy blue bathing suit. A sensible, discreet design that somehow seemed to represent everything wrong with Michelle’s life. Sensible, bland, and boring.

  ***

  The next morning, all packed and ready to escape, she, Angie, and Pam rode to the airport. Her newfound friends stood at security waving with broad grins on their faces. These two women, who a few days ago had been hardly more than a casual neighbor and coworker, stood by her like a pair of two-by-fours holding up a crumbling roof. Any observers would never guess she was off on her honeymoon alone.

  Climbing over the ample aisle seat, she slid across to the window and cursed her ex-fiancé. Of course Steven—or as Pam had so adeptly named him, the Rat Bastard—hadn’t skimped. First-class seats. I made the arrangements for the trip. You deserve the best. First class all the way. Steven’s words replayed in her head on a never-ending loop.

  Who was she kidding? There would be no escaping Steven Williams IV on this trip. Pam was right. The Rat Bastard.

  “Would you care for some champagne before takeoff?” The pretty blonde flight attendant smiled, holding a tray of little plastic champagne-filled glasses. Apparently, first class got to indulge in the bubbly while the rest of the passengers battled the bulging overhead compartments and squeezed into seats unfit for anyone over the age of twelve.

  “No thank...” She stopped midsentence. Why not? So what if Michelle Bradford only drank on New Year’s? Did she really want to spend the next ten days sitting by, watching everyone else enjoy themselves? Pam was right. She deserved some fun. Champagne for breakfast. Caviar for lunch.

  Michelle Bradford, prim and proper role model with granny jammies and sensible bathing suits, could just dang well stay in Bluffview. Michelle the swinging single had a lot of living to cram into ten days. Starting now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “How the heck does anyone walk on these things?” Michelle mumbled, doing her best to strut down the hall. She knew full well her wobble looked more like a teenage boy in drag.

  Once she'd made her decision to ditch her sensible side, she had realized there wouldn't be much swinging if she dressed like a small-town librarian. One of the flight attendants had suggested the best place to shop chic would be in South Miami Beach. Afraid she’d miss the ship's launch, she only had time to hit one store for her new wardrobe requirements. The perky little redhead at the boutique—who didn’t look old enough to know the difference between Hollywood chic and bad taste—had assured Michelle she looked like an A-list star.

  Now, the skimpy leather-strapped sandals pinched her feet, and the stiletto heels felt like she was balancing on toothpicks. But in the name of all the women left at the altar, she wasn’t giving up. Finally, she conquered the distance from her stateroom to the ocean-view lounge. The round leather bar stools called to her like a siren’s song. At least tomorrow, no one wou
ld expect her to wear strappy heels on the beach.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

  She slapped her cruise keycard on the counter and ignored the little angel on her shoulder pleading with her to order a diet cola. “Something exotic.”

  For a moment she thought the man was going to ask for more ID. The way he stared at her, one brow slightly higher than the other, he either thought she was too young, crazy, or maybe the salesgirl really did have bad taste. “One BBC for the lady.”

  BBC. That sounded much too much like British Broadcasting to be exotic. She glanced down at herself. Her bronze-colored backless sandal hung loosely from her foot. With her legs crossed, the short khaki skirt revealed a few more inches of thigh than she was comfortable with, but she resisted the urge to tug at the hem.

  Let the real you show, the girl at the store had said. You’ve got great legs. The world should know it. Except with the thin fabric of her off-the-shoulder top and the ship’s arctic air-conditioning puckering her nipples, she didn’t doubt she was showing the world a lot more than just a little leg.

  “Here you go.” The bartender set the tall glass with a coconut slice and colorful umbrella in front of her. “Staying around for Name that Show?”

  “For what?” Michelle’s eyes remained fixed on the thick shakelike concoction. Her fingers reached forward, slowly, almost trembling. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she scolded herself. It’s not poison.

  “Name that TV Show. It’s a trivia game. One of the ship’s entertainment crew will be gathering with passengers over there by the grand piano.” He pointed to a far corner of the large room. “It’s fun. Good way to meet other passengers.”