âDoes a man need a reason for wanting to see his wife?â
âHe does when that wife is engaged to marry another man,â Vicki replied.
Jamie froze. âHeâs proposed?â
âWell, no, not yetâ¦â Vicki admitted. âBut it wouldnât be fair to let you think that this relationship, or whatever it is that we shared for twenty-four hours, would ever amount to anything more than a night in a storm. You canât possibly believe this so-called marriage of ours is real.â
âBut it is. Otherwise you wouldnât need a divorce to end it.â
Vicki exhaled her frustration in a long sigh. âYes, itâs real legally. But certainly not emotionally. Weâre two completely different people. We live completely different lifestyles. We have different goals. We enjoy different things.â
âWe both enjoyed kissing each other.â Jamieâs green eyes sparkled.
âThat shouldnât have happened,â Vicki insisted. âIâm attracted to another man. Iâm going to marry another man as soon as youââ
âYeah, I know. As soon as I sign the papers. Andââ Jamie held back a grin ââas soon as he asks youâ¦â
Dear Reader,
This book is about mistakes. Not the little social blunders that make us blush for a moment and are soon forgotten. No, this story is about a really big whopper, the kind we can only reveal to our best friend because if the rest of the world knew, we would suffer immeasurable humiliation.
Maybe youâve suffered through one or two lapses in judgment in your life. I know I have, and a couple of those mistakes have come back to haunt me. But maybe you were one of the lucky onesâmaybe fate exercised its fickle mastery over your future and saved you from the transgressions of your youth.
In this book you will meet Vicki Sorenson and experience the one big blunder from her past. Will it ultimately ruin her life or will it turn out to be one of those rare sublime moments of serendipity?
I love to hear from readers. You can write to me at P.O. Box 550068, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33355, e-mail me at [email protected] or visit my Web site at www.cynthiathomason.com.
Sincerely,
Cynthia Thomason
To my talented brother, Doug, and his charming wife, Sal.
From different continentsâ like the hero and heroine of this bookâ they prove that second-chance love can be glorious.
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Orlando, Florida, 1990
VICKI SORENSON parked her ancient Ford Pinto a half block from the Orlando courthouse and stepped into the sweltering humidity. She plucked her blouse away from her damp back and pressed her lips together to blend the two quick swipes of Watermelon Ice sheâd just applied in the rearview mirror. To make sure no lipstick had stuck on her teeth, she ran her tongue over them. A girl shouldnât have lipstick on her teeth on her wedding day.
She walked toward the courthouse, her shoulder bag thumping against her hip with each step. Kenny Corcoran, the short-order cook from the Orange Blossom Diner where she worked waved from the top of the stairs. At least there was some measure of comfort in seeing the friend whoâd masterminded this plan today.
And then she had her first glimpse of the man sheâd come to meet. The man she would marry just as soon as they could sign their names to the license and get an appointment with a justice of the peace. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she reached the first step. This man, this Jamie Malone, seemed to fill the courthouse entrance. Energy fairly radiated from him, and kept him in perpetual motion, arching his spine, rubbing the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Kenny twirled his hand in a hurry-up gesture. âCome on, Vicki. Weâve got a few minutes. You two can get acquainted.â
Get acquainted. What a ridiculous thing to suggest to a bride and groom, but that was exactly what Vicki and Jamie needed to do if they were to have any hope of convincing immigration officials that this marriage was legitimate. She stopped two steps shy of Jamie Malone and resisted the urge to run. She had to remember why she was doing this, why she couldnât back out now.
Kenny, a shadowy figure himself with connections to a secret society of Irish brethren, introduced her. Jamie Malone smiled and extended his hand. She grasped it as she climbed the two steps, whereupon she noticed that he topped her five foot six by several inches. His fingers were long and lean, like the rest of him. Grease stains darkened his nails, though he appeared clean and freshly shaven. He was a workingman, this Irish immigrant, who needed a green card to stay in the United States.
âHello, miss,â he said. âItâs a fine thing youâre doinâ today. Youâre probably savinâ my sorry ass from a Belfast jail, you know.â