Hopeless Vows Read online

  Hopeless Vows

  Copyright © 2016 by Rachael Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form of by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, if done so constitutes a copyright violation. This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Edited by:

  Nichole Strauss with Perfectly Publishable

  Interior Design and Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable

  Cover Designed by:

  Marisa Shor with Cover Me, Darling

  Photographer:

  Lauren Perry with Perrywinkle Photography

  Models:

  Michelle Serna and Cameron Serna

  Hopeless Vows

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Rachael Duncan

  TO THOSE WHO ARE HAUNTED BY THEIR PAST.

  Jillian

  “YOU’RE INSANE, YOU know that?” Janey, my best friend of eight years, says. Even though I can’t see her through the phone, I can picture her with her mouth and bright blue eyes wide open.

  “Are you really that surprised?” I respond.

  “Well, actually, a little. This isn’t like a spur of the moment trip you’re taking. This is serious, Jillian.”

  I let out a sigh. “Trust me, I know. It’s not something I’m taking lightly. It just feels . . . right.” If I’m being honest with myself, I’m nervous as hell to marry a complete stranger. Most will probably look at what I’m doing and think I’m certifiably insane, and who knows. Maybe I am. But I have faith in the system, in the experts.

  “So what happens next?”

  “I’m not in yet. I have another round of interviews to go through before a decision is made.”

  “How are you so calm about this? I’d be flipping my shit right now and you’re acting like you’re ordering a pizza,” she shrieks. Janey’s always had a flair for dramatics, which is fitting since she moved to New York with hopes of becoming an actress. Unfortunately, it hasn’t exactly panned out for her yet and she’s waiting tables. That’s actually how we met. I was waitressing while going to school when she came in looking for a job. We’ve been best friends ever since.

  I shrug even though she can’t see me. “I don’t know. Like I said, something about it just feels right.”

  “Are you nervous at all to be on TV? I mean, you’ll have cameras around you constantly.”

  “A little, I guess. All I can really think about is who they’ll would match me with if I’m selected. The other stuff has kind of been pushed aside.” I’m sure it’ll be weird to have my every move recorded for the viewing pleasure of America, but I can only focus on one nerve wracking thing at a time.

  “When do you go for this last interview?”

  “I’m supposed to go on Monday.” Butterflies hit my stomach. That’s only four days away. The closer I get to the end, the more anxious I feel.

  “How does it all work?” she asks.

  “Out of the thousands of applicants, they narrow it down to four matches. Those four couples will be married, except they won’t meet each other until they walk down the aisle. They know absolutely nothing about each other. Their names, occupation, age, looks, nothing. After eight weeks, they decide if they want to stay married, or divorce.”

  “How can you marry a complete stranger?” she asks incredulously.

  “I guess because I don’t look at him as a stranger. He’s going through the same rigorous process with the shrinks as I am. So I kinda feel like I know him through them, if that makes any sense.”

  “Not really, but it’s your life,” she says with a small laugh. “Let me know how it goes.”

  I promise to keep her updated and hang up the phone to go to work. After walking down the steps to the front entrance of my apartment, I wave down a cab and take the ten-minute trip to the office. After paying and exiting the taxi, I look up at the tall building where I work. Glancing around, I take in the essence of the city. I love the way it looks. Some find the smoggy air, crowded streets, and high-rise buildings unappealing. But I think it looks like freedom, like opportunity.

  Walking across the tiled floors in my six inch stilettos, I mentally prepare myself for the day. I’m trying to get ahead in case I need to be out of the office for a few days. I still haven’t told my boss what I’m doing. The thought alone is terrifying. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost this job. My boss is a real ball buster. When I started working here, I thought she hated me. Nothing I did was ever right or to her standards. Soon, I started to realize that while she may be harsh with her suggestions, she was only trying to make me a better columnist.

  “Jillian!” I hear her all too familiar voice shout at me as I’m walking past her door. Halting my forward progression, I spin around and enter her office.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Van der Boor,” I greet as I approach her desk. When I first met Karen Van der Boor, she reminded me of the bitchy boss from The Devil Wears Prada. She even has her dismissive, snotty mannerisms. Given this is a fashion magazine, I’ve been tempted to ask her if it’s just coincidence, or if that character was based off of her. She scares the hell out of me, so I keep those thoughts to myself.

  I started working here as an intern. I didn’t get paid, but I just needed to get my foot in the door. So I became the office bitch, running to get coffee, making copies, answering phones, whatever needed to be done, I did it.

  “Where’s your article?” she asks, forgoing any pleasantries. “You know you’ll need time for corrections.” Her eyebrow arches at the last part. It’s like she’s daring me to argue with her little jab, but I know better.

  “I finished it last night. I was going to email it to you first thing this morning.”

  “Okay, move along then,” she says with a wave of her hand as she glances back down at the papers on her desk. I leave her office and head toward mine. While my workspace isn’t nearly as nice as Karen’s, I still love it. Plus, I’m proud of it.

  Growing up the way I did, I never imagined I’d be doing what I love at one of the top fashion magazines. Hell, I barely knew what was going to happen to me from day to day. Planning my future was my last priority. Once I turned eighteen, I ran as fa
st as possible from my past and busted my ass to ensure I made something of my future.

  I look my article over one last time before sending it off to my boss. Once I proved I could write, Karen would throw me an assignment here and there. Articles on who wore it better, worst dressed, things of that sort. Finally, I got a steady spot in the magazine covering the latest accessories each month. I’ve been moving up ever since. My goal is to cover the coveted Fashion Week one day. I know I’m not writing about world peace or anything life altering, but it’s a passion of mine and it makes me happy. And, given the way my life started and the path it was headed toward, happiness is all I’m really looking for.

  Seven o’clock rolls around before I walk through my apartment door. I kick off my heels and flop down in exhaustion on the couch. After two revisions on my article and several hours researching the newest trends on the runway, I’m ready to relax with a glass of wine and some television.

  Looking around my small apartment, I can’t help noticing how empty it feels. Most times I stay so busy I don’t have time to dwell on it. But moments like this make it hard to ignore. You’d think I’d be used to it. My parents were never home when I was a kid. When I was forced to live with my grandmother, I was so angry and upset with the world that most of my days were spent locked away in my room. I craved solitude then. Now, it only serves as a constant reminder of how lonely I really am.

  I’d give anything to have a person in my life to share my day with. Despite my best efforts, I haven’t found a man who I could see myself settling down with. At twenty-eight years old, I started losing hope I would find that one person made for me. If he even existed at all. Hence why I’m going through this insane, unconventional process. I just hope this isn’t a huge mistake.

  MONDAY CAME WAY too fast. I guess I should be glad it’s not dragging on, but there’s something unnerving about psychologists picking apart your brain and analyzing you. Especially when there’s things hidden away you don’t want anyone to know.

  I manage to get off work at a decent hour and am now walking through the lobby of one of their offices. Tonight I’m meeting with Dr. Terry. He’s a sociologist and seems to be more interested in my family life and developmental years than the other experts. For this reason, I always dread seeing him. I want this process to be a success, so I know I must be honest with them. However, there are certain things I’m not willing to divulge.

  “Jillian, how are you?” he greets when I walk into his office. He’s a tall, broad man with dark features. To anyone else, he might seem intimidating, but his constant smile softens the hard edges to his appearance, making him approachable and friendly.

  “I’m doing well, Dr. Terry. How are you?” I ask as I have a seat in the leather chair in front of him. The producer mic’d me as soon as I got here. Now that I’m in the room, I see the two cameramen in opposite corners waiting to capture the interview. Apparently, parts of these sessions will be used in the first few episodes of the show. Knowing my every move is being watched only heightens my anxiety.

  “No complaints here,” he says with a wide grin. “So, it seems we’re getting closer to the end.”

  “Or the beginning,” I counter.

  He nods with another smile. “If we were able to match you, is that how you’d see it? As a fresh start?”

  I ponder his question for a moment before replying. “I’m not sure I’d say it’s a fresh start, but once the matches are determined, that’s when everything really begins, right?”

  “I suppose you’re correct.” He glances down at the papers he has strewn across his desk. “I wanted to talk more about family life. What it means to you, what aspects are important, what kind of family you would like in your future, things like that. Okay?”

  Lots of practice through the years has made it easy for me to cool my features whenever someone brings up this topic. Plus, I knew this was coming. So even though it’s a hard subject for me, I hide my discomfort and answer the doctor. “Sure.”

  “What does the word ‘family’ mean to you?”

  Taking a deep breath, I answer. “Family means having a support system. Having people who love you unconditionally.” And I think it is. I’ve just never had it.

  “Are you close with your family? Is their approval important to you?”

  My legs uncross and recross. “No; unfortunately, both of my parents died when I was younger.” There’s no sadness in my tone and I’m sure there should be. I wonder if the good doctor picks up on this.

  “How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  He begins jotting down some notes on his notepad. “What were they like? Were you guys close before they passed away?”

  “I don’t remember them.”

  Lies.

  How could I forget?

  Dr. Terry studies me for just a second, before scribbling some more. “Do you mind if I ask how they died?”

  “In an accident.” It’s the same line I’ve told everyone my whole adult life.

  He sets his pen down. “Sometimes with tragedy and great loss, the mind will block out certain events. It’s like a defense mechanism, if you will. You’ll hurt less if you don’t remember. I’d like to revisit this later on, if that’s alright.”

  I give a noncommittal grunt. Real eloquent, I know, but this isn’t something that’s open for conversation.

  “Do you see yourself having a family someday? Do you want children?” he asks. A sense of relief washes over me that he’s letting this go for now.

  I nod. “Yeah, I do.” Despite my upbringing, I want children I can love and hold, spoil and teach things to. I want to give someone the affection and attention I never had. I don’t tell the doctor all of this though. That’ll just lead to more questions I won’t answer.

  We talk for about thirty more minutes before we’re done with this session. This is the last time I’ll meet with Dr. Terry unless I’m selected. Outside his office, the producer stops me.

  “Okay, so this is how it’ll work. The doctors are going to start making matches in the next week or so. If you are paired up, you will be called and notified, at which time things will move very quickly. Remember, you are not to discuss what is happening with anyone per the contract you signed. Should you leak information about the show, you will be found in breach of contract and monetary compensation will be sought after. Any questions?”

  Shaking my head, I say, “Nope.”

  “Good, have a nice evening.”

  “You too.”

  First thing I do when I get home is call Janey. I know I’m not supposed to talk about it, but she’s not going to tell anyone.

  “What took you so long to call me? I’m dying over here! How did it go?”

  “Cool your tits. It was the same as always. I won’t know anything for about a week.”

  “Did they ask you any more sex questions?” Her voice drops in a conspiratorial manner. She’s referring to the time I met with Dr. Cullen who is a sexologist. To say that was slightly uncomfortable would be an understatement. It’s really bizarre to talk to a virtual stranger about the things you do behind closed doors. When I asked what the purpose of this was, she told me it’s another aspect to help them find the right match for me. So I got through it, red face and all.

  “No, sorry to disappoint,” I deadpan.

  “Damn, I was hoping for something exciting.”

  “Nothing exciting about my family.” I pop open a bottle of wine and pour myself half a glass before sitting down on the couch.

  “Oh, love, I’m so sorry. I know that’s hard for you.” She’s dropped all joking and sounds genuinely concerned. She’s the only person who knows about my past.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince myself, but I take a long pull from my wine glass to help soothe the resentment and pain.

  “How many couples are they selecting?” I’m thankful she’s bailing me out by changing the subject.

  “Four, I think.�
�

  “And remind me how this works again.”

  A sigh rushes past my lips. “We’ve been over this how many times now?”

  “I lost count, but I just want to see if it still sounds just as insane as it did the last time you told me.”

  I roll my eyes at her and explain the whole thing over again. She’s a pain in my ass, but I love her anyway.

  “Yep, still sounds crazy.”

  I don’t respond. I’m sure she’s not the only one who thinks this is stupid, but I’m not looking for her approval. I have a good feeling this is the right path for me.

  We agree to meet up for lunch sometime this week and I head off to bed. Thinking back on these last four weeks of interviews, a calmness settles over me. It’s weird I don’t feel anxious, especially since the big decision is right around the corner. But at this point, it’s out of my hands and I have to have faith this will play out like it’s supposed to.

  “I SWEAR TO God,” I mutter to myself. I’m about to dump everything out of my oversized purse right here in the hallway leading to my office. My phone keeps ringing, but I can’t for the life of me find it. I finally locate it just before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hello,” I answer out of breath and flustered from frantically searching through my bag.

  “Is this Jillian Taylor?”

  “This is,” I answer curiously.

  “Hi, this is Amanda, one of the producers from First Comes Marriage. How are you?”

  “Good.” My heart rate accelerates and my hands become sweaty as I wait to hear what she’s going to tell me.

  “I’m calling today to inform you that the experts have found a match for you.” She doesn’t sound exactly excited about this, but then again, this is just her job and changes nothing for her. This could change everything for me. My mouth hangs open in surprise. This is real. This is going to happen. “We need to meet today to go over the terms of your contract as soon as possible and then a filming crew will be sent to record the events leading up to the big day, okay?”