Elena and I both look up at the same time from across the table, and I make a pregnant motion over my belly. She rolls her eyes while Topher smothers a laugh with a cough. Aunt Clara snags a roll, takes a bite, sees us looking, then mimes rocking a baby.
Mama keeps her head bowed and continues. “Lord, give special attention to my sweet Giselle, who recently got a book agent when I spent thousands of dollars to send her to college to be a scientist. She’s writing romance about aliens. Dear Lord, I’m sure there’s no extramarital sex in it. She would never do that. Please, Father, let her finish her doctorate. I’ve invested enough money to retire in Boca, and I don’t want it to go to waste.”
Ugh. I’m going to finish school, and I have plenty of scholarships to help with my education. She’s still salty. And she’d never live in Boca! It’s too far away from us.
Elena mouths sex and makes a hole with one hand, then pokes her index finger inside with the other. Aunt Clara, who’s since read my book and knows there’s sex, chokes on a sip of tea, then dashes off to the kitchen.
Mama took my news of my writing with a straight, slightly disapproving face when I told her, but when my sister designs sexy lingerie, there’s not a whole lot she can say—except for now—in her passive-aggressive mama-prayer kind of way. I was shocked yet thrilled to hear from Robert on Friday. I never would have dreamed of seeking out an agent at this point, but with Myrtle’s encouragement over the past months, I discovered I want Vureck and Kate’s story out in the world.
“Father, thank you for our guests today, Dr. Benson and Devon.”
Devon’s hand tightens on my knee. He was nervous this morning when we got ready to come to Mama’s. His head is bowed, eyes shut, and I’m tempted to lean over and kiss him. Instead, I lean into his neck, inhaling his scent. He peeks at me with one eye and gives me a look that says, Behave. He admitted he’s never gone to lunch with a girlfriend’s family.
“We pray that Dr. Benson finds solace and comfort in the absence of her mother. Guide and help her navigate this world. Let us be a light for her. Let us find her a good husband.”
I peek over at Susan—she insisted we all call her that—but Mama likes the doctor status. Eyes shut, Susan wears a slightly rueful expression. Sorry, Susan.
“For Devon, Lord, we ask that you bless his football season along with Jack. I’ve never seen a team that needs a Super Bowl more. They’ve come in second the last two years, and it’s embarrassing for them. Help them be fast and quick and defeat their opponents with the vengeance of your mighty angels.”
Eyes clamped shut, Jack’s lips twitch, while Elena mimes throwing a football to me, and I pretend to catch it. Topher does the touchdown motion. Devon has one eye open and shakes his head at us. I sneak a kiss, just a peck, and he tries to push me off as quietly as possible. He darts a glance at Mama—Behave or else, his eyes say—so I stop, biting back my laughter. I can’t help it. I’m crazy in love with him.
“Lord, be with Devon and Giselle. Forgive them for living together before marriage. She assures me they are not having sex. You know her heart and his. Help them as they date. Give him patience and gentleness. He will need it. Also give him the perseverance to not be tempted by her.”
I glare at Mama. She’s gone too far. Elena rocks in her chair and holds her stomach to keep from laughing. I flip her off, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
“Keep her chaste and sweet until the day she walks down the aisle.”
Devon whips his hand off my knee—Ah, so that one got to you, huh?—and I snatch it back just as Elena throws a black-eyed pea at me and hits me on the cheek. I grab a roll and toss it at her head. It bounces off her and lands on the floor, just as Aunt Clara tiptoes back in and takes her seat.
“Finally, Father, bless my sister.”
Aunt Clara throws her hands up in a “give it to me” motion.
“She’s in love with a man years younger than her and is scared to tell us, when the whole town already knows he sneaks in her back door every night.”
She means Aunt Clara’s literal back door and not the other kind.
“I pray she sees the light and makes an honest man of Scotty—who isn’t here because she won’t invite him. Amen.”
“Amen!” Elena says and smiles. “Wonderful prayer, Mama.”
“Indeed,” I mutter.
“I know,” Mama says sweetly. “Now, pass the fried chicken around.”
“This is a beautiful bouquet on the table,” I murmur as I hand the basket of rolls over to Devon. “Red roses aren’t your usual.”
“Didn’t see a reason to let them go to waste,” she replies as she takes the bowl of green beans and spoons some on her plate. “I sent all the flowers from your party to the assisted-living facility, so they came in handy.”
Aunt Clara titters. “Lance brought them by yesterday. Wanted to woo your mama.” She drags out the word until it’s wooooooo.
Looks like I might have created a monster with Mr. Pig. “How sweet of him,” I say and picture Mama and him together—nope, can’t do it.
“He asked her out,” Aunt Clara tosses in. “She said no, and he said he’d be back with more flowers. I can’t wait!”
“I told him I don’t date and I didn’t want to see him anymore at my door,” she replies primly.
Elena smirks. “Hard to avoid him when he owns the Piggly Wiggly. Don’t you go every other day? You still have those pink handcuffs in your room?” Elena asks me.
“Top dresser drawer,” I say with a smug smile. “Might be some leftover twine in the garage from where we tied up those tomatoes. Lance likes bondage, Mama.”
“Eat your chicken,” she says, never batting an eye. “We have guests.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Susan says, smiling carefully, and for a brief second I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have invited her, but it felt like she needed some cheering up. And if we’re going to be friends, she might as well know my family is insane. “I haven’t had a good home-cooked meal in a while,” she continues.
“You need a man to cook for, dear. How old are you?” Mama asks.
“Thirty-five,” she says hesitantly.
“Still young enough,” Mama says with a wave. “They’ve got those IVF things now. Miracle babies. Tamara Wilkes had triplets using fertility drugs. Even if we can’t find you a man . . . oh my . . . Mike would be perfect. Let me give him a call right—”
“No, Mama,” I say firmly. “Let’s eat together.”
She sighs, settling back in her seat at the head of the table as she cocks her head at Susan, sizing her up. “There’s also sperm banks if you don’t like men. Topher is gay.”
“I am?” He chuckles. “Yep.”
Mama motions at all of us. “You’d have help. I’d love to watch your triplets.”
Susan pales.
I hand her the plate of chicken. “We’re having chocolate pie for dessert. I’ll make sure you take some home.”
Later, while Elena and I clean the kitchen, Mama sits with Devon and Susan, asking the newcomers a million questions. Devon manages to pull himself away, inch by inch, as he gradually gets up and shuffles his way out of the room and into the kitchen.
“You okay?” I ask, handing him a dried plate to put up in the cabinet.
He shakes his head, a harried look on his face. “The woman is terrifying. I told her about my dad before I knew what was happening. She just sucked it out of me. She wants to meet him.”
I pat him. “She’ll add him to her prayer list. It’s very long.”
He grimaces. “I don’t mind the prayers . . . you told her we aren’t having sex. But she knows, Giselle; the woman knows.”
I grin. “She just doesn’t want to think about it. Technically, she asked if I had my own room at your place, and I said yes. Then I ran before she asked me anything specific.”
From behind, he wraps his arms around my waist and whispers in my ear, “She’s got no clue how naughty you are.”
I lean back against him. “Shh, no one does.”
Susan pops her head in. “Hey, hate to interrupt, but I need to get going. Will you walk me out, Giselle? I’d like to chat a little.”
Devon lets me go, and I grab her container with two slices of pie—the woman needs a reward—and head her way as she makes her goodbyes to Mama. She and I stop in the foyer. “Congratulations on the book agent. You’re a multitalented person. I had no idea you were a writer. I think it’s incredible and exciting.”
I blush. “Thank you. It’s good to have your support.”
“I hope it doesn’t interfere with your studies.” She searches my face.
“I had a rough last semester, and this summer hasn’t been much better, but I’m ready for fall semester.”
She breaks out in a smile. “Wonderful. I was hoping you’d say that. I spoke to a colleague Friday, and there’s an opening at CERN.”
I gasp. “Now?”
“Yes. I didn’t tell you right away, but he just texted me during lunch, and I got excited! He wants to talk to me tonight. I’m sure he’s going to say ‘Send her over.’” The rest of her words jumble and get lost, my mind racing as we move out the door.
I find a seat on the porch and sit, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Her words seem far away, and I strain to listen, but there’s a roaring in my head.
“Sent him your records and a copy of the application you filled out for Dr. Blanton. He’d already read your paper and was suitably impressed, but I want to make sure it’s what you want . . .”
“Of course.” My chest feels tight. And wrong. I rub it.
I notice her taking the seat next to me. “It starts September sixth, so you’ll need to expedite a passport if you don’t have one—”
“Devon’s first home game is September sixth,” I say, interrupting her. “We play the Cowboys.”
She gives me a quizzical look. “Is that a problem? The football player?”
He isn’t just a football player. He’s everything.
She continues. “We can use your research as credit for your classes. Usual internships range a year or longer if you get in a deep study. Some students are awarded doctorate degrees based on their work—just an incredible opportunity. Giselle? Are you okay?”
I nod, but my head bangs, a throb right in the front. I swallow thickly.
Twenty-one days, and I can be in Geneva, Switzerland. “Yes, I’m fine, just shocked. I . . . I didn’t expect this.”
She smiles and pats my hands. “Of course. I don’t have the okay yet, but I feel confident I will tonight after I talk to him and tell him you’re on board. I’ll text you what he says; then we can meet at my office later and work out the finer details. Sound good?”
I picture Devon in his yellow-and-blue jersey, taking the field and looking up to the stands for me. And I won’t be there. Dread washes over me.
“Giselle? Are you sure this is what you want? He’s already had one cancellation, and I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Right, he’s her friend and colleague, and she’s gone out of her way to work this for me.
“Are things serious with you and Devon? I thought your mom said you’d only been dating a short time, but . . .” She trails off, waiting on me to reply.
Are we serious?
He hasn’t said, but my gut feels what he can’t say, and I know that leaving right now would not be good. Nausea bubbles in my stomach.
“I don’t know” is what I settle for, and she nods.
“I was in a similar situation at Harvard.” She half grimaces. “He left for Caltech, and I went to CERN. Leaving him was the hardest thing I ever did.”
“You couldn’t make it work long distance?”
She shakes her head. “We tried at first, but eventually work took over, and we drifted apart. He’s married now with kids.” A sad laugh comes from her. “She’s a physicist as well, and I ran into them at a conference last year. Talk about awkward. I barely made it back to my room before I cried.”
My heart dips. “That’s terrible. Do you still have feelings for him?” It helps to talk to her; it gives me time to think through my muddled mind.
A sad smile graces her face. “Sometimes I think I made a mistake, you know, but then if it was meant to be, then . . . well, he wouldn’t have married her, and we would have ended up together somehow. Silly, right? To believe in fate?”
“No, it isn’t,” I assure her and describe how Jack and Elena met, a mistaken blind date, then how he showed up to be Romeo to her Juliet. “There’s an ancient Chinese myth that says if two people are destined to be together, then no matter how long it takes, their paths will continue to cross and intertwine. They believe there’s an invisible red thread that ties destined couples. The thread may knot or tangle but will never break.”
She sighs. “Ah, that sounds very romantic. I guess he wasn’t my thread.” She pauses. “Will your and Devon’s thread break if you go to CERN?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, a niggling sense of doom tugging at me.
She gives me an unsure look, then nods and tells me goodbye and leaves. I watch her drive away, my throat dry.
Devon comes out the door. “Hey, you were gone for a while. Everything okay?”
I start, a long breath coming out of me as Devon laces his fingers through mine. Trepidation sneaks over me, thick and vicious. I can’t leave him. Right?
“Was she weird about your book?”
“No, not at all,” I manage to say. “She’s no Dr. Blanton.”
“Good.” He smiles. “So why do you look like someone just stepped on Cindy and her babies?”
Unease swirls in my gut. “Dev . . . I . . .”
“What is it, baby?”
I swallow down the words hanging in my throat. I can’t say them. “I want to go home.” It’s the truth.
He stands and holds me, rubbing his hands down my back, and I cling to him. “Me too,” he murmurs, his lips pressing a kiss to my neck. I arch closer, needing the reassurance of us.
My heart is already breaking. My body already misses him, picturing nights without him next to me, his leg thrown over mine, his arm curled around my waist as we lie under the stars.
We can do this together. We can.
I just have to tell him.
Chapter 26
GISELLE
I was going to tell him on the way home. I really was, saying the words in my head over and over: Devon, my dream of going to CERN is here. Will you wait for me?
Preston never minded the possibility of CERN, or perhaps he never believed I’d go, or more than likely he just planned on screwing around on me while I was gone.
I’ve made so many stupid mistakes over the past eighteen months—picking a terrible advisor, choosing Preston over my sister—and I can’t make another wrong move, not when it involves my future. I have to be sensible and pick what matters the most without involving my feelings. I don’t know where Devon and I are going. How can I? He doesn’t tell me—and it’s too soon to ask.
But you know the words he doesn’t say, a voice reminds me.
I have to tell him.
But I don’t, and desperation is a thorny vine around me as he drives the Maserati to the door of the Breton. My chest is cracking open as we walk into the lobby and get on the elevator, my insecurities bubbling to the surface, exposing themselves in capital letters in my head, doubts about our status as a long-term couple, misgivings about his abandonment issues, worries about a virile man who’s faced with sexual advances from beautiful women every day. They chase Devon, give unwanted kisses and hotel keys. If I’m not here one day, one night, maybe he’d give in. And our red thread would be irreparable.
Stop it, Giselle. Stop.
I don’t tell him while he looks for a movie. I don’t tell him when he changes out of his slacks into plaid pajama pants and walks around shirtless and puts freezer cookies in the oven and sends me long questioning glances. An hour later, when my phone pings wi
th a text, I dash to the hall bathroom and read it.
It’s official. You’re in.
My fingers cling to the counter, and I gasp for air. It’s real; it’s happening, right there in Susan’s words. I splash cold water on my face, then hunker over the sink as emotions I can’t name, terror and dread mixing in a toxic concoction, make me dizzy. Seeing a dream manifested shouldn’t make me so unhappy; it shouldn’t. It’s because you haven’t told him; just do it, and he’ll understand, and he’ll hold you and tell you everything’s going to be okay. It’s such a lie.
He’s lying back on one of the leather loungers when I come out of the bathroom. His eyes darken, and his voice is thick. “You’re naked.”
“I know.” On legs that don’t feel stable, I walk over to him and bend down, stroking the tent in his pants. He arches up, a long groan rising from his chest. After shoving down his underwear, I take him in my mouth with desperate eagerness and ferocity, laving his tip with my tongue, licking down his skin, my hands stroking him with feverish devotion. He pumps into me with careful motions, his hands tangling in my hair, his fingers clasping on the ends, the sharp pain welcome, igniting my arousal, my core soaked and primed.
“Giselle, baby, you’re off . . . something isn’t right . . .” He jerks me up until I’m lying on him, and his eyes search mine, and I feel tears building, gaining momentum in my throat. I close my lids and kiss him with vengeance before he can ask, before he insists I tell him what’s tearing me up inside. Our mouths collide over and over, finding new angles, darker than the other times we’ve kissed, my tongue searching out for his, sucking and pulling and taking, until I get the essence of him. Desire has me in her grip, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, as he picks me up, and my legs wrap around his hips.
“Don’t stop kissing me. Ever,” I breathe against his mouth. “I want you so much. My body aches. My mind is consumed with you. I can’t get enough, never enough,” I say, and my voice is broken and ragged, my mouth peppering his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his lips. “Please, please make love to me . . .”
The air thickens around us, knotting and twisting, his fingers digging into my ass so hard I’ll have bruises, his eyes mirroring mine, acknowledging what I crave. He pants and tries to speak, a question on the tip of his tongue, but instead he kisses me with electrifying clarity, sensing my need, feeding off the intensity of my emotions as he shoves me against the wall. His cock does not wait, slamming into my slick entrance with a full thrust, his fit tight and deep, all the way in and back out in a furious pace as I cling to his shoulders. He ravishes me, plunders me, crawling in and making me his. He drowns me with his rough possession. My cries are loud, my hands deep in his hair, latching my mouth to his, never letting go, begging him to take all of me, forever, no matter if I’m going away. When I come, my body clamps around him. Tears pour down my face, and he kisses them hungrily, lapping them with his tongue as we end up on the floor, and he drives inside me. He takes me with greed and lust, his eyes on mine, that questioning look gone, replaced with a frantic need to make whatever is wrong right. Driving, grinding, lunging, he uses me until I fall apart again and scream his name, only to want more. He flips me over and puts me on my knees, his tongue tasting me as he groans, his fingers kneading my ass. I gasp when he fills me back up, pushing hard and wild, no gentleness, just hard and dirty, undeniable need to crest. We spiral into grunts and groans, our skin slapping against each other’s, wetness running down my legs. He roars his release, still pumping inside me, the spill of him coating my entrance, and still, I want more.
Not My Match Page 25