A DAMAGED WEDDING (Damaged 3 - Series Finale): The Ferro Family Read online

  I laugh lightly. “Daddy, I’m ready. Thanks for doing this. It means a lot to me.”

  “Anything for you, Princess.” He kisses my temple and takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

  I nod. “Let's go.”

  Dad walks me to the doors and opens them for me. I stand in the open doorway and gasp at the lecture hall. It’s bathed in a million tiny lights. Thousands of little bulbs twinkle on the ceiling, suspended in tulle. Candles line the desks, flickering softly, one by each seat. In front of me, on the floor, is a white runner that flows down the staircase to the platform at the front of the room. The podium is there, but Jon is standing at it, not Peter.

  Sean is across from Millie on the stage, flanking Jon. Mr. Turkey is on his perch behind Sean, on the men’s side. That makes me laugh. Mr. Turkey has a tux collar around his neck as if he dressed for the occasion.

  Sean eyes the beast out of the corner of his eye, and it’s clear their mutual disdain was put on hold. Mr. Turkey doesn’t try to claw at Sean. He sits lazily on his perch and appears to be eating something. When he wolfs it down, Sean tosses him another piece of something that looks like raw bacon. Mr. Turkey catches it and starts chomping, bacon fat dangling from his beak.

  Peter is waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me with a surreal smile on his face. He’s wearing a 40's-style suit, charcoal black with a white handkerchief in his pocket. I glance down and beam when I see his two-tone saddle shoes. When Peter first sees me, he beams and dips his head for a second. When he looks back up at me he arches a dark brow at me, and says, “Want to get married?”

  “You know it.”

  Music begins to play—an old song that we both love—a song we danced to in the very beginning. A solo saxophone player croons the melody. I glance back at Dad, and take his arm. We descend the staircase together, passing by empty rows of desks lit with candles. Dad is beaming and patting my hand on his arm as we descend the staircase.

  When we stop in front of Peter, Dad kisses my cheek, and places my hand in Peter’s before clapping Peter on the back. He sits down at the first row of desks with other familiar faces. I see Marshal in his perfectly pressed white shirt, and Tia looking as bright as ever. My gaze lingers for a second after the initial shock of seeing them, and then lands on their hands to see their fingers intertwined. No way! They’re together? I need to find out more about that.

  At the end of the row—looking livid—is Constance Ferro. She’s still wearing that blood red suit that oddly matches Millie’s dress. She sits ramrod straight at a student’s desk looking like she may kill someone.

  Peter holds my hand, gently turning me away from his mother, and when he stops in front of the podium, Jon begins. I had no idea what Jon was going to say, but his delivery is beautiful. Everyone ends up enthralled, listening to every word—it’s amazing. Jon incorporates Peter’s favorite poems, how we met, and even the tale of Mr. Turkey. It rushes by so quickly and before I know it, Jon is saying the vows, which I repeat to Peter.

  My chest is so full of hope I can’t stop smiling and neither can Peter. After a moment passes, I finish my part, and then Peter repeats the vows to me.

  Jon asks me, “Sidney Colleli, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, from this day forward, until death do you part?”

  “I will.”

  I take Peter’s ring from Millie and slip it on his finger.

  Jon is as excited as Millie, and they both exchange gigantic smiles. Sean and Mr. Turkey both appear stern, like they’ll take matters into their own hands—or claws—if necessary. Sean reaches out and hands Mr. Turkey another slice of bacon. The bird takes it, but continues to stare at me.

  Jon turns to his brother. “Peter Ferro Granz, will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, from this day forward, until death do you part?”

  “I will.”

  Peter lifts my hand and places a simple gold band on my finger.

  Jon squeezes the podium and says with excitement, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  Peter leans in, and, when his lips touch mine, a charge shoots through me. It’s certainty fusing with hope and colliding with love to form a bond that can’t be broken. It binds us together, solidifying a future I thought I'd never get. I pull back and look up into his beautiful face.

  Peter’s lips move, and he silently says, "I love you."

  Jon grins, “I now present, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Ferro.”

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  SECRETS & LIES

  EXCERPT: SECRETS & LIES

  Volume 1

  Is he serious? What an assface! I stumble through the quad, accidentally bumping shoulders with someone.

  “Watch it, bitch.” I look up to see a pointy-nosed girl surrounded by a pack of nasty friends, all sneering at me. I have no friends here, not yet.

  The truth is, my life sucks. It’s sucktacularly fucked up and I refuse to cry on the first day of college, but I’m having trouble swallowing the plate of shit my wonderful boyfriend just force-fed me. Excuse me, force-texted me. The asswipe texted me. He didn’t even call. The more I think about it, the more my throat tightens. Breathing is overrated.

  I mumble, “Sorry,” and get the hell out of there, before they hogtie my ass and toss me down a flight of stairs. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone hogtied, but this is Texas, right? I’m out of my element, by far.

  As I hurry away, I hear my roommate’s voice ring out, “That’s right, Bacon! You better run!” The girls all giggle like Chelsey just said the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Great. She’s leader of the bitch pack. Why can’t I ever attract a psycho sans backup? My luck sucks. Have I said that? Well, bad luck is my key feature and the bane of my existence.

  As I haul ass across the quad, my phone chirps. Don’t look at the screen. Don’t look at it! I chant to myself, but I can’t. I have to see what he said. It might be an apology. He might be breaking up with his other girlfriend and texted me by accident. Uh, wait. That’d be worse. I think.

  The thing is, we’ve been together since we were kids. Our parents used to joke that we’d be married one day, as if it were meant to be. It even felt like fate brought us together. On the day we met, I was playing outside when a terrified bunny chased Matt the two blocks from his house to my front yard. Running blindly, Matt mowed me down, leaving me for the bunny to attack instead of him.

  Okay, this bunny was the size of a small dog and had a hunger for marigolds. In an effort to save their gardens from becoming rabbit food, the sweet little old ladies in the neighborhood were actively trying to poison it. I saved that rabbit from the wrath of the grannies and my prize was Matt. He called me cool names like Rabbit Slayer. Okay, it sounded cool in grade school, and much better than the normal nicknames kids give each other. Boogerface or Rabbit Slayer? Please. Like that’s even a choice.

  Matt and I have been together so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be apart. Now the unthinkable has happened and I’m two thousand miles from home, completely on my own. Matt is everything to me.

  I pluck the phone from my pocket and scan the screen.

  There’s this other thing…

  Fuck. Like it could get worse. He already broke up with me. What’s worse than that?

  I type back, I doubt it.

  No, you need to know. There’s someone else. I’m in love with her, Kerry.

  The prickling sensation hits the back of my eyes hard and fast. As I push through the door, I turn right and search for a bathroom. I can’t fake my way through this. I can’t sit here and pretend that he didn’t just rip my heart out. How can there be someone else? I was his and he was mine. We were a couple. I have his damned ring on my finger. We were goi
ng to give this long distance relationship thing a chance.

  But Matt didn’t give it a chance.

  A sob escapes my throat and my vision blurs. I race down the hallway, feeling the stares of strangers following in my wake. I can’t cry now. I’m trying so hard not to, but my heart won’t listen. It’s curling into a ball and shriveling inside my chest. Grief takes hold of me, but I’m not crying yet. I try to find a restroom, holding back the cascade of sorrow that’s building behind my eyes.

  Plowing through the door, I head straight for the mirrors. There are always sinks by mirrors. I slam my books down on the counter and clutch the edge of the sink. Big gasping sobs wrack my body as I bend over the sink and stare at the white basin. Just as my tears start to fall, I see something move in the mirror. I feel eyes on me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I hadn’t noticed anyone—not that I could see with my eyes full of tears.

  Glancing up, I look across the room and don’t understand what I’m looking at. A guy is standing by the wall. He’s tall and toned, with dark hair and of standard build. At least, that’s what he looks like through tears. Why is he in the girl’s room? My brain is broken. I stand there and gape, not realizing that he’s holding his thingy in his hand and standing in front of a urinal.

  A crooked smile lines his lips when he sees me staring. “I, uh, think you’re turned around.”

  His voice doesn’t reach me. My body is in the middle of a full-fledged freak out and there’s a guy in the ladies room, peeing on the wall. What the hell kind of school is this? I keep blinking, but I can’t wrap my brain around what I’m seeing.

  I manage to squeak out, “What?”

  The guy zips up and gives me that pity look—you know the one. It says, thank God I’m not you, in the nicest way possible. “You’re in the men’s room. The women’s room is down the hall.”

  This can’t be happening. Horrified, I lunge for my books, but he steps to the counter to pick them up at the same time. We collide and his firm body smacks into mine. I stutter something incoherent, finally getting a good look at his face. Holy hotness! I never look at other guys, but once in a while someone that is supermodel perfect catches my attention. When people like that cross your path, it’s impossible to look away. His beauty is blinding, and even through tears I notice his sexy smirk, mildly amused blue eyes, and perfectly smooth skin.

  Add in his hard body and holy crap. I smacked into the hottest man I’ve ever seen, stared at his package, and made an ass out of myself. I’m still upset, but so mortified at the same time, that I no longer think and adrenaline takes over. Heart pounding, I push off his firm chest and right myself. My mouth dangles open as I try to form words, but my balance sucks and my hip bumps the books. They topple off the counter and clatter to the floor, while the rest of my stuff slides into the sink for a swim. I can’t be this catastrophe. I can’t face this hot guy with raccoon eyes, unable to do anything but grunt at him like a baboon.

  There aren’t many ways to play off a disaster of these proportions. I decide to do the only respectable thing and run like hell. Before he can say anything else, I’m out the door and down the hall. And we’re talking full out run, not that little sissy girl run. I mean full out, an axe murderer is going to chop me up, run.

  I hear his voice behind me, calling me to come back. Thank God I didn’t put my name in my books, yet. I have enough problems without shit like this happening. Horrified, I think about how freaking weird I had to look standing there, mascara running, just staring at his thingy. I stared. What the hell is wrong with me? Who does stuff like that?

  I shove through the door at the end of the hall and fly down the stairwell. I’m outside and into the parking lot before I slow down. Rasping for air, I round the side of the building and double over, struggling to breathe. I stand for a second before sliding my back down the wall and pulling my knees to my chest. I bury my face and let the tears fall.

  Chapter 2

  “Hey?” The voice is coming from my left. I spot a Chinese Slipper out of the corner of my eye and a long blue skirt. “Are you all right?”

  I don’t glance up. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I’ve been sitting on the side of the building for a while. I completely blew off my art class. Great first day. Even if I can make it to my dorm room, I can’t cry there because the roommate from Hell might walk in.

  Slipper Girl sits down next to me and gives a gentle laugh. “Dude, you’re a really bad liar.”

  “I know.” We both offer up a nervous laugh. I chance it and peek out at her. I know I look terrible. My face is puffy and smeared with makeup. I’m pretty sure my jeans are covered in snot. It’s one of those moments where you wish you had the power of invisibility, but I don’t. And she sees me. I haven’t made a single friend since I got here, so I feel weird actually talking to someone. I give her a weak half-smile.

  She pulls her knees into her chest, and wraps her arms around her ankles. The little black slippers stick out from under her skirt. “So, I’m thinking we need emergency ice cream and maybe—a frying pan.”

  What? I sit up a little bit and look at her. Slipper Girl has a pretty face and light brown hair that flows like a silky curtain from the top of her head to her waist. It’s really long. “What’s the frying pan for?”

  “To smack the guy who made you cry like that on your first day.”

  I sniffle and swipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Oh, I thought we were going to make stir fry.”

  She smiles at me. “You can cook?” She reaches into her little woven purse and hands me a tissue.

  “Not really. I’m pretty good at burning things and making food that’s easy to cook but tastes really gross. How about you?”

  “Eh,” she tilts her hand back and forth. “So-so, but I make some badass cookies. They’re orgasmic. Seriously. I’m the cookie queen.” She laughs and looks bashful, which makes me smile. “So, since cooking dinner sounds less than tasty, there’s this great Chinese place near here. Are you hungry?” The girl tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and motions to a nearby parking lot. “My car is right over there. We could eat and be back before the next class begins. What do you say?”

  “I look like a train wreck.”

  “Yeah, you don’t know this about me, but I’m not taking no for an answer. Everyone tells me yes. To everything. I’m spoiled rotten.” She grins and flashes all her teeth before standing. Holding out her hand, she says, “Come on. I won’t bite and I have an emergency Guys-Suck pack in my car. It has cookies, Midol, concealer, a baseball cap, and a pack of condoms. We can make balloon animals. I make a mean giraffe.”

  Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I say, “You had me at orgasmic cookies.”

  She laughs and helps me up. “They are. You better be ready, otherwise you’ll be blushing, I’ll have to pretend it isn’t awkward, and we won’t be able to look at each other. That’s pretty lame, right?”

  “Yeah, I have enough people to avoid eye contact with right now, anyway.” A small smile spreads across my face, and my cheeks suddenly burn.

  “I sense a story, here. What happened? You have to tell me.”

  “Nothing,” I hedge, but a smile tugs at my lips and a fresh blush burns under my cheeks.

  “You can totally tell me! I won’t say a word.” I follow her to a new white Volvo parked at the back of the lot. She throws her bag in the back seat as I get in on the passenger side. “Oh, dude—my name is Beth. Beth means keeper of secrets.” She shoots me a winning smile and starts the car.

  “I’m Kerry.”

  “So, spill. What’s your major and all that?” She starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

  “I’m Kerry Hill, an art major from New York. My boyfriend dumped me this morning via text message, and I was so upset that I mistakenly walked into the men’s bathroom right before class. While there, I bumped into a super-hot guy, saw his, uh—package—and stared. After that, I made friends with the brick wall until you came along. It’s
a pretty pathetic first day of college.”

  Her jaw drops and she stares at me for way too long. Since we’re in moving traffic, it’s alarming. The girl is the worst driver I’ve ever seen. I’m having trouble not screaming. The light is yellow and about to flip to red and she’s not slowing down. “You have me beat. Beth Gallub from Seattle, the youngest of four siblings, with three overprotective brothers that follow me everywhere. Ten bucks says one of them shows up before your class later. No joke.”

  “Awh, you’re the baby.”

  “Psh. Yeah. It sucks monkeys, man. What about you? Do you have siblings?”

  “Yeah, an older brother and a younger sister.”

  “So, you’re the pathologically needy middle child.”

  “Psych major?”

  She laughs. “How’d you know?”

  “A hunch. You seem like the kind of person who can’t pass a crying chick on the sidewalk.” I laugh and the rest of my nerves flutter away. I relax as much as I can pretend to with Beth driving. Seriously. People in Seattle must not think lines are important. The girl is all over the road.

  Finally, she pulls into the parking lot for the Chinese restaurant. We get out, head into the buffet and grab a table.

  After we eat and talk about our horrible first days—mine takes the loser cake—Beth leans back in the booth and watches me. “So, it’s rebound night, right?”

  I shift in my seat and scrunch my face. “Not unless we’re talking about a cake rebound.”

  Beth shakes her head. “The fastest way to get over a broken heart isn’t a lifetime in a shrink’s chair, it’s screwing another guy. That severs the connection, so the next time you meet a guy you’re really into you won’t compare him to your ex. If you still feel an emotional connection to your ex, you’ll compare sex with the new guy to sex with your ex—which will make you an emotional basket case.” She pauses for a second, then leans forward, a curious expression on her face. “What do you usually do to get over a guy?”