THE DARE (Chicao Nights #3)

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

ROSALYN

The clouding in my mind is getting thicker—more blinding—and it’s beginning to rain outside the huge storefront windows.

As I pass another set of glass panes, I know I need another drink. Or three…thousand.

This bridal shop champagne isn’t enough to take the edge off.

Not when we’re this close to the wedding.

Pouring the fizzy liquid into my already-full crystal flute, I take a sip, but the sour taste makes me choke, causing me to cough and sputter.

My eyes burn—my throat, my nose.

My whole being burns.

It’s two days before the wedding, and not a single part of it is going according to plan.

I glance at the store’s double doors at the evening sky, knowing no one will be there yet. Even so, I can’t help myself.

Leaning back in her own overstuffed chair, my best friend in the universe Sienna peeks up at me, green eyes wide as she takes in the look on my face. She inhales as I pass near, still pacing in near-frantic circles.

“Rosa, stop. Here.” She hands me a bottle of water. “You’ve been like a crazed animal in a bubbling cauldron of hot oil for the last day, with not a single break in between.”

I stop before reaching for the bottle, my eyes locked on the rain-slicked street where an SUV’s headlights spotlight the bridal shop’s enormous windows. The storm is gnawing at the ground like an angry beast, beating down on the city like a quickening pulse.

My heart stops for a quick second. But the SUV keeps driving and my shoulders slump.

The skin underneath the collar of my semi-sweaty blouse heats, and I go for the champagne again, taking a gulp that goes down like fire.

I turn to Sienna, who bites down on a smirk.

“You know what they say,” she quips, eyebrows arching for the sky. “A watched door never boils.’”

“Yeah,” I say, circling the floor again. “I think the only thing boiling in this shop...is me. He’s late. Not a good start if he’s going to be best man.” But since I’ve been watching the door, I have no other option but to pull out my phone and check it for the thousandth time today. I even texted him a few hours ago.

Still nothing.

“Why can’t I ever go five freaking minutes without checking my phone? I feel like I’m going out of my mind.”

Sienna stops me with a wave of her arms. “Just wait for it. He’ll be here. I’ll bet before you even know it. Now, relax.”

I check again, wondering if Sienna is right.

No calls… nothing.

I swallow the now-warm champagne and put the drink back on the table. “I can’t hear my thoughts over this awful store background music. You’d think they were trying to put me out of misery… Wait, whoops. Too late,” I yell at Sienna, who is still patiently waiting for me to calm down.

“You’re spinning out of control, Rosalyn,” she warns me in response.

“No kidding.” The tightening fist in my stomach tightens even more as I glance at her again. “How long has it been?” I demand.

“Um, about thirty-one seconds since you asked that question the first time?”

I plop in the seat beside Sienna, trying not to sneak a glance at the bridal shop employees who watch me with disdain on their heavily made-up faces. One crosses her arms, eyeing me.

“Dammit.” I blow out a breath, feeling the bubbles from the champagne. “I’m sorry, Si. I’m just stressed. It’s just this whole...wedding. This whole week. God, this whole life.” She stares at me blankly, and I roll my eyes. “Need a do a recap?”

“If it’ll help you calm down, sure...” she smirks. “I love a good monologue now and then.”

I scoff. “Just to give myself another reality check here. My mother is getting married to a man who I know nothing about. And she hadn’t told me until two weeks ago. The wedding planner she hired is an utter disaster. My sister (and co-Maid of Honor) hasn’t even bothered to show up to lift a finger for all the preparation that disaster of a planner has not done. And to make matter worse…”

I huff, feeling the alcohol. “We have no best man. Well…not after my mother’s anonymous soon-to-be husband’s right-hand man tried to play drunken hopscotch with a fire hydrant. Apparently, some distant nephew is supposed to be taking over the B.M. title, but surprise-surprise no one knows who he is yet.” I clutch my champagne flute even harder. “Not even Amber...” I sit upright. “And my sister is usually the best person to sniff out this kind of dirt.”

Sienna smirks. “That’s because your sister is the dirtiest person you know.” She grins. “And that’s in an industry where the media routinely shovels up enough dirt that even Satan would gag on.”

I snort. “True enough. But, still...”

Yeah, Amber may be dirty, but she’s usually the go-to girl in our family when a secret needs to be unearthed.

Except this one.

I nod, sipping the rest of the champagne, resisting the urge to wipe my mouth with my sleeve.

I cross my legs, sliding them across each other under my pencil skirt from work, wishing I’d worn a better outfit. I roll my eyes. “Of all the times… Turns out not even Miss All-Knowing herself could get the deets from my mother. Madame Bridezilla herself: Genevieve Donnelly. And seriously I wish I could blame my mother for keeping these little tidbits on lock, but to be honest? I can’t blame her. I guess when you’re marrying the most eligible bachelor in Chicago, secrets are to be expected. But this sucks.” I stand to my feet, finding it hard with all the liquid perfume in my systems.

“The wait is killing me.”

“Not to mention the suspense,” Sienna chimes in. “But you don’t see me stalking the hell out of the front door, do you?”

The gorgeous brunette’s green eyes flare alive underneath the tipsy haze settling there from the champagne. She leans forward, slightly drunken in her seat. “For what it’s worth, your mother’s future husband, Tommy O., is the biggest music agent in the city. Word is...he’s really close to that guy from that new pop band out of Atlanta: Matt Blaze or something?” She motions in the air. “He’s got these green eyes and tattoos. Scruff around his face. And possibly a wife or two. I don’t know how those wedding customs work back in his home country...” She grins. “But I sure as hell could learn.”

I turn, smiling back. “This might be a big request, but do you think you can talk to me on a day you don’t have p***s on your brain? I know it’ll be hard. Pun fully intended.”

“Oh, please. I swear to you: I never have p***s on the brain. Only on the days that end in ‘y.’” The brunette smirks. “As for you, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge when you’re totally on the opposite side of the ‘p***s-thinking’ spectrum. From the stolid, stuffy way you’ve been shuffling around lately, I’m wondering. It’s been, what… Three months? Six months? A year, since a man found the right hole?”

“Could you be a little louder next time, Si? I don’t think people in the next state had time to catch that.”

Sienna inclines farther out of her plush seat, flipping a lush set of curls over her shoulder—like the supermodel she’s often mistaken for. She presses her pink lips into a lush line.

“Look, Rosa, I know you’re not exactly used to dating after Jeffrey, alright? But trust me: You’ll thank me up and down the day you realize that this all-work-and-no-play routine isn’t exactly giving off ‘f**k-Me-Good’ vibes, okay? You’ve done it. You’ve moved out of that parking lot we used to call a hometown. And you’ve set yourself up here in Chicago. Made a life here. Now, quit being so nervy so you can actually enjoy it.”

“I’m not nervy. I’m just… hyper-focused.”

“‘Hyper-focused’, huh? In my world, that translates to: ‘I’m taking care of everyone and everything but myself, and I’ve forgotten what orgasms feel like’.”

“Is that the assignment on the wedding prep docket today? Orgasms?” A deeper voice overhead comes closer. “If so, fill me in. I could use a few myself.”

Sienna shoots me a look, motioning to my cousin Duney who has interjected himself. “FYI, this is what it looks like having nothing but p***s on the brain.”

I want to answer, but I’m saved by shop employee Melinda, who advanced without us noticing.

The nicest of all the stuffy women who’ve been peppering in and out of the bridal shop all evening, she speaks with smooth, cultured German tones. Her heart-shaped face tilts as she gazes at my face expectantly, her blue eyes warm and bright.

“He’s here. Your appointment’s waiting outside of the fitting area. Seems he took the back entrance...I think.”

I shoot out of my chair, snatching up my phone before it can continue vibrating on my desk, likely with another missive and message from “Queen Genevieve”—my monster of a mother who never could handle weddings well, even though this is her third one.

My eyes shoot wide and I turn back to Sienna.

“Rosa.” She smiles slyly. “Stop being so nervous. It’s okay. Really. Things don’t always have to be perfect, you know?”

She reaches over, patting me on the shoulder—maybe a little too hard—before spinning away, back towards her champagne and is still-chatting with Duney.

I grab for my things.

Hurrying down the hall, I pass the few shop employees who are struggling through early evening boredom with outstretched necks.

I breathe in a moment of relief when I spot the fitting room curtains and notice that someone is sitting just outside.

I can’t see his face because of some of the silk drapery in the way, but I know it’s him.

Opening the one closest, I take my place in front of it, fingering the fabric so I can straighten my shoulders and put my best “Welcome” face on.

The man sitting in the chair hears me shuffle beside the curtain and lifts his head, parting his lips long enough to tilt his head at me.

“Am I late?”

He’s fifteen minutes late. But I don’t say it.

Because I can’t say anything.

If I needed a drink ten minutes ago, I was wrong.

Seeing Christopher Onasis stand to his feet and fold his arms across his chest shoots my need for alcohol in miles.

I arrange my mouth into a practiced smile, following the smooth, acoustically cushioned voice that’s filled my dreams for almost as long as it’s been in the spotlight.

And he still looks great—maybe even better than he looked a year ago when I moved to Chicago and found him slinging drinks (and panty-melting smiles) behind the counter of my favorite bar.

He blinks down at me.

“Ros...I... Hey. What on earth are you doing here?”

My tongue sticks to my mouth, suddenly dry. Before I can even open it, another voice chirps from behind the silk.

A woman’s.

“Dearest Christopher, I’m so excited to finally meet you.”

The chatter in my head halts as I’m quickly—very quickly—handled by Sienna. Her manicured nails dig into my arm.

She turns to Christopher, her eyes moving between him and my obviously flushed face. “I recognize you from the pics in Ros’s phone. So, lemme guess...You’re Tommy O.’s best man? The distant nephew we’ve heard so little about?”

Chris scoffs, a small chuckle following through. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” His brows scrunch. “How do you know that?” He glances around. “I’m here to meet Rosa Donnelly. Do you guys know her personally, or what?”

My mouth forms a small circle as a techno version of “Waltzing Matilda” blares through the speakers above me. The classic tune drowns out the last of Sienna’s cackle.

She dips a polite nod. “Lemme take another guess,” she murmurs back to Chris. “You didn’t know that Rosalyn’s mother’s maiden name is Donnelly, did you? Neither did I for a while. Because if you’re looking for Rosa Donnelly,” she points to me with a smile, “you just found her. You might know her as Rosalyn. Everybody does.”

Chris’s head snaps down, his dark eyes immediately swinging to lock on mine. Never has someone said my real name to me—or even in my presence—without the usual nickname we’ve all used for the better part of a decade now.

“You’re Rosa Donnelly?” He stares at me, mouth gaping, eyes wide.

“Guilty as charged.” I press my eyes to my clasped hands, blinking against the onslaught of pain clawing overhead to sink deeper. “It’s nice to see you...Chris.”

“Ros,” he states, as if testing a mix of everything. “It’s nice to see you...too.”

Our eyes briefly meet.

The heat in them blurred by a vague sense of distance.

One that I imagine he feels, too, maybe.

If I wasn’t feeling the sour bridal shop champagne before, I certainly am now.

It’s taken nearly a year to get him out of my head. It’s been a year of me pushing him away from every corner of the remembered past.

And now?

Now he’s back.

Standing right in front of me.

I should have gotten drunk when I had the chance...