Chapter 7: Rehearsal

Even wearing my nicest dress, I felt completely out of place the first time I visited Malcolm's estate.

Aside from the extensive grounds and the soaring architecture, it seemed like everyone was wearing fancier clothes than me. Even the caterers and workers scurrying around, getting everything ready for the wedding, were dressed to the nines, making me feel like a dowdy country relative who just fell off the turnip truck.

"Mom, you told me this place was nice, but wow..." I said, marveling at the two-story foyer in the entrance, which was flanked by two grand, curving staircases.

"Yes, yes, it's all quite lovely," said my mother, apparently unfazed by the grandeur all around us. Had she really gotten so accustomed to this lifestyle in just a few short months?

"I just feel a little... under dressed," I confessed as I pulled her aside to avoid being run over by a group of workers carrying tables.

"I told you to treat yourself to whatever you wanted," said my mother, too focused on the checklist on her phone to note my distress.

"And I told you that money is quite tight at the moment," I said, my mouth watering as I saw a train of waiters bearing platters scurry past us.

"Sweetie, I'm a little busy right now," said my mother, finally turning to look at me. "If you like, go to Brigitte's in town. Malcolm has a standing account there. He'll be happy to pay for some new clothes for you."

"Um, no thanks," I said, using my hand to shield my eyes as we stepped out onto the back lawn.

It was the day of the rehearsal, so all the guests were milling around as liveried waiters circulated between them with flutes of champagne. Over in one corner, a live orchestra was playing, and there was a massive buffet of finger foods and hors d’oeuvres spread out on several tables, enough to feed an army.

I scanned the crowd, hoping to see someone I recognized, but it was clear that almost everyone in attendance was from Malcolm's side. Which made sense, of course, him being a wealthy businessman and all. But the fact that we couldn't get more than a handful of people to represent our family was yet another reason I felt so out of place.

"Ah, you're here," said a handsome young man, stepping forward to greet us. It took me a moment before I realized it was Jack, Malcolm's son. "Emma, you look as lovely as always."

"Thank you, Jack. Jack, this is my daughter, Allison. Allison, Jack," said my mother.

I let my hand remain loose in his grip as Jack shook my hand, but I couldn't help but notice how soft and smooth his skin was. Growing up with a wealthy father like that, he'd probably never worked a day in his life.

Just then, a woman a few feet away began waving her arms, trying to signal my mother.

"Allison, honey, will you be okay on your own for a bit?" said my mother. "I need to go talk to her. Apparently, the florist's truck broke down."

"Sure," I said. "But who is that?"

"Why, that's Belinda, dear," said my mother. "The wedding coordinator. I told you about her."

"Oh, right," I said, despite having no memory whatsoever of ever hearing about her.

"Wow, your mom's quite a stunner," said Jack once it was just the two of us. "And you're not so bad yourself."

"Ugh," I said, wrinkling my nose in disgust.

"What?" said Jack, giving me an impish smile that probably charmed most women, but it did absolutely nothing for me. "It's true."

"Sorry, buddy, not interested," I said.

"Aww, come on," said Jack. "Your mom is marrying my father. That means we're going to be family soon."

"Yeah, duh," I said, looking around, desperately wishing I could see one person I knew just so I could get away from the creep.

"This could be our last chance to hook up before, you know, it gets weird," said Jack with a chuckle.

"Dude, what is your problem?" I said, whirling to face him. "I don't even know you, and what you're suggesting is gross. Get ahold of yourself!"

"All right, all right," said Jack, holding up his hands in surrender. "I had to try, didn't I?"

There was a sour smile on my face as I watched him slowly back away, that mischevious glint in his eye until he was tapped on the shoulder by a man wearing an expensive suit, and then the two of them began talking. First, his father had put his hand on my leg during dinner, and now his son had made a pass at me? Crazy!

Once again, I began questioning why my mother wanted to marry into this family. But then I had to remind myself yet again that this was her choice and her life.

Sure, technically speaking, Malcolm would become my stepfather, and his pervy son Jack would become my stepbrother, but that was just a legal distinction. I had my own life, so none of that really mattered.