Dane
“Hey Dane,” Charlene said, an obvious grin to her voice. “You got a minute?”
This was weird, to be getting a call from his brother's girlfriend on his cell phone. “Uh, sure,” Dane said as he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I've been thinking. Okay, honestly, Benton and I have been thinking.”
Oh shit, this was going to be about Emily again, wasn't it? He was getting pretty sick of it. She was getting married, and not to him. End of story. Dane braced for whatever bullshit was going to come next.
“I just wanted to say thank you. Formally.”
That was a surprise. He hadn't expected the conversation to take this kind of turn, especially because he'd never really thought about it that way. Charlene had been there, and was one of the only reasons he'd been able to accomplish what he had. He'd never expected a thank you from her.
“I never have before, I realized,” she continued. “You're the reason I have my own show, and you're the reason why I'm with your wonderful brother. If it hadn't been for you, we never would have met, and, so, I wanted to give you one little inside scoop, like you gave me.”
Completely disarmed and surprised, Dane just laughed. “Sure, Charlene, shoot. What is it?”
“Emily's wedding.” She spilled off the date, time, and location before he could object.
Dane groaned into the phone. “What am I supposed to do with this, Charlene? What can I do? She's getting married to some other guy.”
“Dane, I've been an investigative reporter almost my entire adult life, and part of being one is learning to read people, especially when they aren't being completely honest with you. And do you know what I read on Emily's face when we did that interview together, and Benton came out as a surprise guest?”
He didn't respond. He knew she'd tell him anyways.
“She thought it was you, Dane. She thought your brother was you, until they hugged. I saw a woman who was ecstatic to see who she thought was the man she loved for the first time in almost a year.”
After his trip to Emily's house, and their final passionate moment together, he'd convinced himself that he'd hallucinated seeing that look on her face when Benton had shown up on stage. “You saw it, too?” he asked.
“Fuck, yes, I saw it!” Charlene yelled, forcing Dane to take the phone from his ear.
“Well what the hell should I do, then?” he yelled back, forgetting that this was his brother's girlfriend on the line.
“You need to go in there and do what you did last time, you idiot! Make her listen to you, like you managed to do about the cover-up!” She hung up before Dane had a chance to respond, to either shoot down the whole idea or just keep yelling back.
He tapped the phone on his chin, thinking. “The same way I made her listen the last time?” he asked the empty kitchen. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket and popped the cap on his beer.
“Last time?” he repeated to the empty kitchen, hoping the spoken words would somehow give him a burst of inspiration, a piece of divine revelation like some angel's song from on high.
Then, Dane nodded as he drank down a swallow of beer. He knew what he needed to do, finally.
“Like last time?” he asked the empty kitchen again, taking another swig. “Just like last time.”
# # #
Emily
Who knew your wedding day could be so damned stressful? She'd been in a chair, first getting her hair done, then her makeup, for what felt like hours. Meanwhile, Jas, her maid of honor, was running around like a poor chicken with her head cut off trying to get the rest of the bridal party in order.
Outside, in the hotel's ballroom, the famous and classy hobnobbed with the college friends and industry insiders Emily had managed to hang onto throughout her life. Geraldine West had insisted she invite all her friends, so they could see in person how lovely and strong she'd become in the intervening years, since she'd left Hollywood for the business world.
Grudgingly, Emily had agreed to the expanded list, and had increased the opulence of the whole event. It was a day of celebration for not just them, but her and Ian's families as well, she reminded herself.
Now, as she paced back and forth in her wedding gown, walking the perimeter of the bridal suite, she grew increasingly unsure of all her decisions. Not just about food choices, or music, or any of those other silly things. But, she hated to admit, she wondered whether this even the right decision in the first place.
Jas came bursting into the room like a bull in a china shop, throwing the door wide without even knocking. “Champagne!” she shouted, as she stormed in in her purple dress, desperately searching the suite.
Visions of a dry wedding reception floated in her mind. How would they toast? How would they do anything? “Champagne?” Emily asked in a panicked voice. “They're out of champagne?”
“No!” Jas said, exasperated. “For me! Your mother is driving me up the fucking wall!”
Emily collapsed back into her chair, the dress bunching up about her legs as she nearly swooned in relief. “Thank Christ, I almost had a meltdown.”
“Spend some more time with Mommy Dearest and you probably will,” Jas snarked, as she finally found the ice bucket full of melted water and a nearly-full bottle of bubbly.
Emily rolled her eyes. “She's a handful, I know.”
“That's putting it mildly,” her maid-of-honor-slash-executive-assistant said, as she poured two glasses of the good stuff. “Here,” she said, as she handed one of the flutes to Emily, who promptly threw it back.
“Thanks,” Emily said, holding her glass out for more.
“Liquid courage?” Jas asked, as she poured a bit more into the glass.
“Nerves. Just my nerves.”
“It's still not too late,” Jas said. “We can hop in the elevator and be out to my car in no time flat. I promise you, I won't think less of you.”
“For the last time,” Emily said, pausing to take a more modest sip than before. “No, Jas.”
“Look,” Jas said, setting aside the glass. “You keep saying it, and I keep hearing it. But you're not convincing yourself, or me. You love Dane, and I know it.”
“Jas,” she said, a warning note in her voice.
Her assistant ignored the warning. “When have you ever been so nervous about something that felt right to you?” Jas asked. “Huh? When was the last time your confidence in your choice was so shaken that you had to drink to go through with it?”
Emily didn't say anything. She couldn't. She genuinely had no response, because Jas was right.
But, then, she was saved by a knock at the suite door.
Jas started to cross to get it, but Emily stopped her. “Probably just my mother,” Emily growled. She threw the door open, and her jaw dropped.
She barely had time to register who it was standing at the door before she felt a sharp stab in her thigh, through her dress. She looked down at the syringe in the man's hand, then looked back up at him.
“You. Dane?”
“You're coming with me,” he growled to her.
In a flash, Emily was transported back to the day she'd first met Dane Bishop. It was suddenly just like it was yesterday, where he was stuffing her into the passenger side of her Escalade and kidnapping her. As the sedative—her sedative, she realized—began to work through her veins, she shook her head to try and clear her suddenly fuzzy thoughts.
It was no use, though. Between the quick glass of champagne she'd just downed and the sedatives in her thigh, it was like her skull was stuffed with cotton and her brain was made of cotton candy.
“Jas,” Emily turned to her assistant. “You remember Dane Bishop, don't you?”