Heartbreak Brings Mr. Right novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Port
Thora overhears her fiance and her stepmother planning to take her family's company, is drugged with a glass of port, and wakes in a strange bed. A lobby photo and Hollister's message end the night.
I came home four hours early because my fiance had said he would be working late.
Hollister's car was in the drive, and so was the white sedan Sherilyn drives to her charity lunches.
My stepmother had told me that morning she would be at the hospital with my father all evening.
I stood in the dark hall with my keys still in my hand.
My father's study door was open a hand's width, and a lamp was on inside.
"She signs it because she loves you," Sherilyn said, in the warm voice she uses on waiters. "That's the whole beauty of it."
I knew the voice and I knew the study, and I walked toward them without making a sound.
Through the gap I saw Hollister on my father's leather sofa with his shirt untucked.
Sherilyn sat on his lap in her peach cashmere, with her pearls caught in his fingers.
They were not talking about the weather.
"Eight months of dinners with a girl who counts the olives," Hollister said. "I'm owed this."
"Be patient, darling." Sherilyn kissed his jaw. "The wedding gift is her father's voting shares. One signature, and the company is ours."
"And Thora?"
"Thora will have a lovely divorce. She can restore paintings for the rest of her life."
They both laughed.
I took out my phone with a hand I could not feel and pressed record.
Nine seconds.
That's all I managed before my knees started to go, but nine seconds was enough for her voice, his name and the word shares.
I stopped the video and slipped the phone into my bag.
My mother's ring was on my right hand, and Hollister's ring was on my left.
I wanted to walk in and take the heavy brass lamp off the desk.
Instead I stepped back, closed the front door as if I had just come in, and called out, "I'm home!"
Footsteps scrambled behind the study door, and a chair scraped.
By the time I reached the kitchen I had put my face back on.
Sherilyn came in first, smoothing her bob, with a smile that cost her nothing.
"Thora, sweetheart, you're early. Hollister dropped by to talk about the florist."
"How thoughtful," I said.
Hollister came in behind her and kissed my cheek.
He smelled of her perfume.
"You look pale," Sherilyn said. "Sit. I'll pour you something to settle your nerves."
She took a decanter of my father's port from the sideboard and filled a crystal glass to the brim.
I should have refused it.
But I was holding a secret in my chest, and if I turned the glass down she would wonder why.
"To the happy couple," Sherilyn said, and watched my mouth as I drank.
It tasted of plums and something bitter underneath.
I put the glass down half full and said I needed air.
Hollister walked me to the garden gate with his hand on my back.
"Tell your father I said he'll be well soon," he said, and the nerve of him almost made me laugh.
I walked out into the street with the cold air on my face.
By the end of the block the pavement had begun to tilt.
My tongue felt thick, and the streetlights smeared into long gold stripes.
I knew, in a far-off way, that I had been wrong about a glass of port.
I did not want to die in front of Sherilyn's house.
The Hotel Aldine stood two blocks down with its brass doors lit, and I fixed my eyes on the doors and walked.
The bar was dim and full of people who did not look at me.
I got to a stool and put both hands flat on the polished wood.
Someone asked me a question in a low voice.
I think I told him my head hurt.
I think he said, "Stay with me."
His hand was very warm on my elbow, and then the floor went away.
I woke in a bed that was not mine.
The ceiling was white and the curtains were heavy, and grey light was slipping in at the edges.
I was wearing a man's shirt and nothing else.
It smelled of cedar soap and clean cotton.
Somewhere beyond a door water was running.
I did not remember a face or a name, or anything after the floor.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I found my dress folded on a chair, and I dressed so fast I tore a seam.
I took my shoes in my hand and did not look back.
In the elevator my phone came back to life with a flood of buzzing.
The first message was from an unknown number, a photograph.
I was in the Aldine lobby with my head against a stranger's chest, and his arm was around my waist.
The second message was from Hollister.
"Explain this."
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