The Scent of Rain Read online

  Acclaim for

  Kristin Billerbeck

  A Billion Reasons Why

  “Katie and Luc dance off the pages of this book, making you fall in love with them and New Orleans. A nostalgic trip full of surprises and romance.”

  — Carolyne Aarsen, author of The Baby Promise

  “A sparkling and lively romance . . . featuring the spunkiest heroine of the year!”

  — Denise Hunter, bestselling author of Convenient Groom

  “A Billion Reasons Why is a fun, sophisticated romance with Kristin Billerbeck’s unique voice and quirky characters. I loved it!”

  — Colleen Coble, author of Lonestar Homecoming and the Mercy Falls series

  She’s All That

  “Snappy dialogue and lovable characters make this novel a winner.”

  — Publishers Weekly

  “Settle in for madcap fun that leaves the reader wanting more.”

  — Romantic Times

  Perfectly Dateless

  “[W]itty musings and snappy dialogue.”

  — Booklist

  “Christy Award finalist Billerbeck turns her talent for witty dialog to the YA market . . . [a] hilarious novel.”

  — Library Journal

  The Scent of Rain

  Also by Kristin Billerbeck

  A Billion Reasons Why

  Split Ends

  THE ASHLEY STOCKINGDALE NOVELS

  What a Girl Wants

  She’s Out of Control

  With This Ring, I’m Confused

  THE SPA GIRLS SERIES

  She’s All That

  A Girl’s Best Friend

  Calm, Cool, and Adjusted

  The Scent of Rain

  Kristin Billerbeck

  © 2012 by Kristin Billerbeck

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

  Thomas Nelson, Inc., books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].

  Scriptures taken from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV®. © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.

  The author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920. www.alivecommunications.com.

  Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Billerbeck, Kristin.

  The scent of rain / Kristin Billerbeck.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4016-8565-2 (trade paper)

  I. Title.

  PS3602.I44S34 2012

  813'.54—dc23

  2012014942

  Printed in the United States of America

  12 13 14 15 16 QG 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To my brother Gary Compani

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Reading Group Guide

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Daphne Sweeten’s knees buckled beneath her, but Sophie, her maid of honor, kept her from reaching the marble floor. She straightened and stared into her best friend’s eyes, which were softened in pity.

  “He’s not coming?” Daphne mouthed the words. As she searched the vast gothic church in front of her, the crowd stared back. The rows reserved for the groom’s family were empty. “They knew,” she murmured.

  Sophie nodded and pulled the bouquet from Daphne’s clenched hands. “Let’s go.” Sophie caught hold of her elbow, but Daphne couldn’t take her eyes off the long aisle that she wouldn’t be walking down. “Daphne, come on.”

  She should be fleeing in humiliation. All those faces, familiar and foreign, had her in their scope. But something kept her there. Her feet remained firmly planted as she registered the peppery scent of freesias and the slightly musty smell of the rental runway carpet. She turned to Sophie, ringed by the rest of her bridesmaids.

  “Where’s my father?”

  At the distant opposite end of the white carpet, the Reverend Riley stood alone at the altar. He cleared his throat as though preparing to make some kind of announcement, and Daphne held her breath. If she allowed so much as a tiny sob to escape, she would echo like a Swiss yodeler in the cavernous cathedral. But what was the point of saving face now? She may as well take it all in or she might miss something, and then how would she ever fix it?

  “Daphne, let’s go,” Sophie whispered as she tugged at her arm.

  Resistance was futile. Daphne followed Sophie out of the great double doors, turning one last time to face the altar under its three grand stained-glass windows, littered with white rose petals and dotted with violets. The altar was like the end of a rainbow, a destination she’d never reach, and the petals were like the remnants of her heart. Mark wouldn’t be back.

  “That was my wedding day.”

  “You’re scaring me. Let’s get in the limo.”

  “Did you see his side of the church? No one was there. He knew he wasn’t coming! Why did he bother to rehearse last night?”

  “I don’t know, Daphne.”

  She allowed herself to be led outside the church, which stood atop Nob Hill in San Francisco. It was an idyllic June day, no fog. Probably a bad omen. A light breeze and pure California sunshine marked the day, mocking her in its perfection. The steps between her and the limo appeared endless, and she wondered if her legs would carry her the distance.

  “Why did you just stand there forever?”

  Daphne looked down at her gown and shrugged. “I’m wearing Monique Lhuillier. Face it, if you’re going down in a blaze of glory, this is how you want to be dressed.”

  Sophie laughed. “That’s the first sign I’ve seen of the real you all day!”

  “I had a feeling he wouldn’t show,” Daphne said. “He must have given me some sign that I didn’t want to face. I figured all brides probably had that little inkling of fear, but now I wonder if I noticed something subconsciously.”

  Mia, her friend from high school, lifted the back of her skirt. “I’m sure you did. It’s always been frightening, the details you notice. Sometimes it’s like being friends with the Mayan calendar.”

  “Did you notice anything?” Daphne asked.

  Mia shook her head.

  “Keri?” She looked at her coworker, who also shook her head.

  Daphne and her four attendants huddled in a circle on the steps of the church. “We look so good,” she said, mak
ing light of the situation. “What a waste.”

  “You don’t have to be brave for us,” Marguerite said. “Go ahead and cry if you want to.”

  Daphne’s blood ran cold as awareness settled in her veins. “I missed it. I missed something.”

  “Did you?” Sophie raised an eyebrow. “What did I wear the first day of kindergarten?”

  “A purple dress with heinous flowers on the skirt,” Daphne replied automatically.

  “There. Rest assured: your obsessive nature is still well intact. Sometimes it’s just easier not to see certain things.” Sophie skipped down the long set of stairs toward the limousine, and Daphne followed.

  “What are you trying to say, Sophie?”

  Sophie’s flawless skin looked nearly plastic in the bright sunlight of the afternoon. Her strawberry-blond hair was wrapped in an elegant updo, and the simple strand of pearls around her neck was the perfect complement to the dark sapphire gown they’d selected. One thing was certain: Daphne hadn’t missed a detail in coordinating the look of her wedding.

  “I’m saying . . .” Sophie twisted around so quickly, Daphne nearly crashed into her. “Maybe there weren’t any signs. Maybe things were too perfect.”

  “Too perfect?” Daphne blinked mechanically. “Is that possible?”

  “What was wrong with Mark? I mean, name his imperfections. Just a short list.”

  Daphne turned to make certain the others weren’t in hearing range. “Lots of things.”

  “Name one.”

  “He couldn’t get a job in Paris, for one. I had to give up mine to get married.”

  Sophie continued down a few more steps, and Daphne called after her, “Just because you spend all day dealing with psychological problems does not mean Mark has one.”

  “Then where is he?”

  She hated it when Sophie got like that, so certain in her assessment of another person. “I’m sure he has a perfectly good excuse. Maybe he never wanted to get married at all. Maybe I pushed him into it.”

  “So it’s your fault again. Like the excuse he had for not being employable in Paris. He left you out like yesterday’s trash, and you’re standing here making excuses for him.”

  “You never did like him,” Daphne accused. Did Sophie really think she needed any reminders of her fiancé’s faults at this moment? She was standing alone in a trumpet gown, tailored beautifully, with detailed Chantilly lace on the bodice. Every detail was perfect save one. The absence of a groom. “Maybe that’s why he ran! Maybe together we scared Mark off.”

  As they spoke, random tourists applauded from the sidewalk below, where the limo waited. Rather than point out the obvious, Daphne just waved. They probably thought she and Sophie had just gotten married anyway.

  “Call Arnaud and ask for your job back,” Sophie said.

  “Not an option. Arnaud said if I left the perfumery, he wouldn’t save a spot for me. He was so mad at me.” She looked across the park at the Fairmont Hotel. “Look, there’s another bride. Her groom showed up.”

  “Daphne!” Sophie’s expression lightened and she looked back up toward the church. “Oh, there’s your dad.”

  Daphne turned to see her father standing on the church steps, blinking wildly, cupping a hand over his eyes and searching for her. A dark shame washed over her, and she ran back up the steps to be swallowed up in his embrace. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  He patted the back of her head. “It’s not important now. I want you to take the car and go home and get your things. You’ll just start your job in Dayton early. Your mother and I will clean up this mess. Leave it to us.”

  Her head spun. “But I want to go back to Paris. Sophie thinks I should ask Arnaud—”

  Her father released her. “You’ll go to your new job in Dayton. That will prove to your boss in Paris that you can follow through on something. In the meantime, I will sue that kid for everything he owns.”

  “Daddy, don’t.” She backed away, still wanting to defend Mark and find a reasonable explanation for his absence. “He doesn’t own anything anyway.”

  Her father lifted something from his tuxedo pocket, and it glistened in the sunlight. A key chain. She waited for an explanation.

  “The keys to your new house.”

  “My new house?”

  “In Dayton. It was to be your wedding present. Mark went to Dayton two weeks ago to finalize the details. He gave me the keys so I could present them to you at the reception.” He raked his stubby fingers through his gray hair—a monument to his long work hours. He looked as if he’d aged a year in the past day.

  Daphne watched the keys jangle but made no effort to reach for them. She didn’t want a house in Dayton, Ohio. She didn’t want anything in Dayton, Ohio. She wanted Paris. Perfumery. Mark. In that order? She wasn’t sure.

  “I want to go back to Paris,” she repeated. “I want to be a professional ‘nose’ again. I only took the formulation job to be with Mark.” She looked at her feet. She just admitted she’d been pathetic enough to take a job she didn’t want for a man. A man who cared so little about her he didn’t even give her a reason for leaving. Talk about casting pearls before swine.

  Still, she wanted to cling to the idea that he was the man she loved. Mark was the one thing that would finally have been hers alone. She’d counted on him to take the sting out of her lonely childhood. With hindsight, that felt like the dumbest belief system she’d ever embraced. But when she thought of Mark’s eyes and the way they looked at her, she knew she’d do it all over again.

  “You’re not going back to Paris,” her father said. “Take them!” He shook the keys. “You have a job in Dayton, and you need a place to live. Now stop living in your dream world and get out of here. The guests will be out soon.” He jutted his chin toward the limo.

  A fresh wave of shame washed over her. It was a natural response. She’d never measure up. Maybe Mark’s behavior only confirmed what her father had thought all along—that something just wasn’t quite right about Daphne.

  “No offense, Mr. Sweeten, but Daphne will live where she wants to live.” Sophie snatched the keys from his outstretched hand, placed her other hand in the small of Daphne’s back, and guided her firmly down the steps toward the limousine.

  “Sophie, isn’t part of being a therapist letting people take responsibility for their own lives?”

  “Just get in the car, Daphne.”

  “I’m only doing what’s best,” her father called after them.

  Daphne did as she was told and climbed into the car with her fluted gown shoved from behind by Sophie, who then ran around the other side and climbed in beside her. From behind the darkened windows of the limo, Daphne felt detached from the scene playing out above her. The people filing out of the church with shock and awe on their faces. The other bridesmaids milling about on the steps. On some level she was enjoying the spectacle. Like a guest at her own funeral.

  “Other people just get married. Nothing happens. Their daddies walk them down the aisle and send them off in majestic triumph.” She smelled the soiled leather of the aged limousine and knew the latest scent of failure.

  The driver didn’t ask her where they wanted to go; he just headed toward the bay. Sophie rapped on the window that separated them from him, and it slowly came down. “Where exactly are we going, Mr. Driver?”

  “Tony,” the man said, his brown eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror. “My name is Tony. I’m going to the Embarcadero. I thought you’d enjoy the fresh air.”

  Daphne looked at Sophie. “He knows I’ve been dumped.”

  “Of course he does. You’re in the limo with your maid of honor and no groom. There’s no shame in this, Daphne.”

  The driver kept talking. “First I thought about the Palace of Fine Arts, but there will be too many tourists there on a Saturday. I think what our bride needs is peace.”

  “I’m not a bride,” Daphne said. “I just play one on random Saturdays in June.” She looked at Sophie. “If I ever choose t
o be humiliated again, remind me to pick a weekday. Fewer crowds.”

  “You should powder your nose. It’s red.”

  Daphne shrugged. “I’m a bride without a groom; do you think anyone is going to look at my nose?”

  “Looking good is the best revenge, and that gown is sheer perfection. You have a reputation to uphold for the designer.”

  “I don’t want revenge,” Daphne said. “I just want to know what happened. Maybe Mark is lying in a coma somewhere and can’t get to me.”

  “Oh, Mark is brain-dead all right, but I can assure you, he’s perfectly alive somewhere. Otherwise, his family would have been at the church.”

  Daphne pouted. She crossed her arms and touched the soft silk of the embroidered flowers on her bodice. “If I want to live in a fairy tale today, I think I should be allowed.”

  “I agree,” Sophie said.

  At the edge of the Embarcadero, a quiet portion of San Francisco’s bay front, Tony pulled into a parking lot and turned toward them. “You both look beautiful. Go out and enjoy the day.” He turned around, draping his arm over the front seat. “You’re not the first bride I’ve seen left at the altar, and you won’t be the last. But you are the prettiest, so go out and revel in your future without this guy. He’ll never do better.”

  The stranger’s words made her smile, but suddenly she shook her head and grabbed Sophie’s leg. “We have to go to the reception. The cologne I made for wedding favors for the guys. I need the bottles back to send to Arnaud so he’ll remember that I’m worthy of the position he offered me once.”

  She didn’t dare say the real reason. She was afraid Mark would get his hands on the bottles and claim he’d created the scent. If they were both going to be in Dayton working at the same company, that would be awkward enough. But if he tried to take credit for her work, her grace would officially run out for Mark Goodsmith.

  “Your parents will grab them,” Sophie said. “Let’s go get some air.”

  Daphne tried to feel Sophie’s sense of calm, but Mark was a chemist and had most of her formula. “What if—” But she didn’t want Sophie to know it was even a fear.