by Tessa Layne
I follow him out. "Have you forgotten I don't fly?" It's the one fear I still haven't managed to shake.
"It's a sixteen-hour drive. Too long."
"Why don't you video conference me in? If they want the standard security set-up, that's nothing new."
Stockton's jaw pulls tight. "I was hoping we could spend the weekend. I have to fly back to California on Monday and then we have a regatta in Seattle the following weekend."
I wave a hand. "I'll be fine. Your schedule is nothing new to me."
"But we could spend so much more time together if you'd just fly with me."
I shake my head. "You know how I feel about flying."
"And maybe it's time you get over it."
"And maybe it's time for you to get over yourself," I snap back, the stress of the last week slamming back into my body.
"Am I interrupting something?" Honore asks.
We both spin to see her standing at Stockton's door, with a woman behind her who looks faintly familiar. We both speak at the same time.
"Yes," Stockton snaps.
"No," I answer, deciding to throw my lot in with Honore instead of arguing with Stockton about all the reasons I can't get into a flying machine.
Honore strides in and settles herself at the small round conference table, motioning for her companion to do the same. Stockton folds his arms and perches on the edge of the desk, right where we were fucking not fifteen minutes earlier. He meets my gaze and lifts an eyebrow, and I recognize it's his own form of rebellion.
"I've hired you two a wedding planner. This is Marissa Wilson. You may remember her from the dinner at the Nelson.
"Mother, we really don't have-"
Honore waves a hand, cutting off her son. "I know you don't have time, darling. You never have time, which is why Marissa and I can take care of all the details, so long as Penny's family is okay with that."
Stockton's gaze swings back to me and he stares at me long and hard. My heart starts to bang erratically. Is this it? Is this where our charade ends? It's too soon, barely a month. I'm not ready. This was supposed to last so much longer. And if the charade is up now, it means one of us is leaving Steele Conglomerate, and of course, it will have to be me. Nausea roils my stomach.
Keeping my eyes locked on his, I find my voice. "I..." It occurs to me Honore has no idea about my history. No one outside the C-team knows anything about me except that I'm smart. I swallow. "That would be okay," I murmur, voice cracking slightly.
"Excellent. There are just a few details we need before we begin planning."
"Okay?" I shut my eyes, bracing for the onslaught of insipid questions. My phone rings again, but no one moves to get it.
"Do you need to take that?" Honore asks, waving in the direction of my phone.
I shake my head. "Sorry. It will go to voice mail."
Stockton's not looking anywhere except at me. Fear flutters into my conscious, as soft and light as a butterfly. My mouth goes dry and the only taste left in my mouth is of metal.
Honore's voice cuts through my panicked fog. "What is your full name, dear?"
"Penelope Anne Fischer," Stockton answers, still holding my gaze.
"And your father's name?"
My throat closes. I don't know. My mother never told me. I don't even know what he looked like. When I was little I used to imagine he had red hair like me, but I honestly have no idea. I don't even know if he knows I exist.
"Penny?" she asks again.
I swallow, chest heating like there's a hot coal in my sternum. "He died before I was born," I say just above a whisper. The lie slips out as easily as it did in elementary school. Some things never change. Or maybe it's because I hope with all my being that that's really the case, because the fervent hoping of a little girl wasn't enough to make my one wish real - that he would have come for me if he'd known about me.
"And what about your mother?"
"She's gone." This time a choice, not a lie. "I'm alone."
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Who will give you away?"
"Ruben," I say without missing a beat.
Stockton's face darkens.
My phone rings again, and with a curse, Stockton crosses to my bag, fishes out my phone, glances at the number then shuts it off.
"Who's Ruben, dear?"
"No one," Stockton barks.
At the same time I say "My oldest friend."
"Mother, we're not doing this. Penny and I are doing things differently."
"What do you mean you're doing things differently?" Honore says sharply. "You're a Forde, dear. You don't simply do things differently."
"Get used to disappointment," he says firmly, eyes back on me. "There will be no church wedding. We're going to get married in Kirkwood Hall at the Nelson. We're not going to have a Bride's side and a Groom's side. We're not going to have a crew of bridesmaids and groomsmen. There will be no bachelor party, bridal teas, or a post-wedding brunch. I don't care what we eat or drink, or what we wear. I don't even care what day it is. Book the hall for the first available date and I'll adjust my schedule."
I blink, not sure I heard what I heard. I cock my head but all Stockton does is flick his eyebrows.
"And there will be absolutely no talk of grandchildren, publicly or privately, unless Penny chooses to bring it up."
"Stockton?" I rasp when I finally find my voice.
He pushes off the desk and closes the distance between us. He cups my cheeks and stares straight into my eyes. "I love you Penny. I want you in my life and in my bed forever. I don't care how we get married, or when, so long as you promise to spend the rest of your life with me."
I blink again, trying to process the cascade of words that just poured out of Stockton's mouth, while dimly registering Honore's shocked gasp. "Do you really mean it?" I whisper, heart fluttering wildly. "You're... not just saying all that?"
His eyes are warm, his smile warmer. "I mean every word. I think I've always loved you, and I can't imagine a life without you in it."
"I love you too. So much."
"Penny." A knock sounds on the door, and we turn to see Harrison hesitating in the entry and Andrew hovering right behind him.
"Yes?" Something about the set of his jaw sets off alarm bells. "What is it?"
Stockton's arm comes around me, as if he too senses something and wants to shield me from it.
He rubs his face. "There's been an accident."
My stomach drops to the floor. "What? Who?" But there's only one person it could be. Only one person.
Harrison's eyes tell me everything I need to know, and I feel Stockton catching me as my knees buckle. "Your mother was found unconscious this morning and unresponsive. They tried for forty minutes to revive her. I'm so sorry."
Somebody cries out, but I'm not sure it's my voice. My ears fill with buzzing and my vision goes dark. I see my mother two months ago playing with the telephone cord at the visitation center. I see my mother hollow-eyed and strung out, surrounded by paraphernalia I was too young to realize was meth. I see her smiling face pushing me on a swing, I hear her yelling in the hall outside my secret hiding place, and I hear her laughing as she shows me how to make a wish and blow on a dandelion.
My chest caves in, crushed by an unimaginable weight and a keening wail fills my ears. A deep rumble vibrates next to me and I'm encased in a vice-like grip, but I can't breathe, and I can't talk and I surrender to the dark.
Chapter Eighteen
Penny
We bury my mother, Anne Marie Fischer, in a quiet cemetery that overlooks the Mississippi not far from where she spent the last twelve years of her life, give or take a few days.
Stockton's made every single arrangement, only overriding my wishes once. He refused to let me do this on my own. For the last week he hasn't left my side. The day we bury her, the C-team, the cybersquad, Sparky, Lisa, little Polly, Honore, and Ruben all make the helicopter ride across the state to Clarksville. Edward drives Stockton and me.
We're
the last to arrive at the plot. Someone has put out three rows of chairs. Stockton ushers me to the front row. My mother's casket shines in the late spring sun and the grass is filled with a cheerful carpet of dandelions. Ruben clears his throat and moves to stand by the gaping hole in the ground which will soon be my mother's final resting place. Beside me Stockton stiffens and he places a protective arm around me. The gesture's enough to pull my mouth upward for the first time in days.
"I'll never forget the day you came to our house, Squirt. You were tiny and scared, and your trash bag didn't hold much. But even then, and even though you were frightened, you showed a toughness and determination to survive. You didn't get to choose the family you were born into, and in that respect, you got a raw deal. But look at the family that's chosen you. Your mama's troubled soul is finally at rest. But you are not alone. And who you are is made up of the best of both your parents. The best of them lives inside you and has made you who you are today."
Stockton squeezes my shoulder and nods, leaning in. "He's right, you know."
Harrison stands and replaces Ruben at the grave. "In some ways, your mother was a victim of a system that wasn't designed to support her. While we can't bring her back, we wanted to do what we can to make sure the next addict leaving prison has a better chance."
I nod and blink hard, determined not to cry. It dimly registers that he's made a donation in my mother's name to a nonprofit that works with addicts coming out of prison. And then it's over. There's nothing left to say. The group retreats to a respectful distance and I approach the casket, placing my hand where I think her heart might be. I bat at a tear that seems to have made its way down my cheek. "I think you'll like it here, mama. And I hope this place gives you peace in your heart. Thank you for showing me how to wish on a dandelion," I say thickly.
Stockton's hand is warm and steady at my back and I draw strength from his presence. I can't quite bring myself to leave. Not yet. I shouldn't care this much. My mother wasn't capable of being a parent. She doesn't deserve my tears. But with her death dies the hopes of a little girl still wishing for a real mother. And I know the moment I turn around and walk away, those hopes are gone forever. I sniff as more tears slide down my face.
"We can stay as long as you want, sweetheart," Stockton murmurs behind me, giving me a squeeze.
And then I see it. A tiny butterfly lands on one of the red gladiolas lying on her casket. It stays for just for a moment before flitting away, and instinctively, I know it's her, giving me one last smile. "Goodbye, Mama," I whisper.
I turn to Stockton and slip my hand in his. "Let's go home."
Three months later
At precisely eleven-thirty-seven a.m., Honore sweeps into the front office, Lisa and Polly in tow. She takes one look at me and shakes her head. "Did you forget?"
It's Friday, and even though I've kept my red hair, I've returned to wearing my black jeans and rocker tee shirts at least once a week. "No. Did you? I don't wear fancy clothes on Fridays."
"Wedding dresses are fancy, not skirts and well-tailored shirts."
I bend down and scoop up Polly. "Polly knows there's nothing wrong with jeans and tees, doesn't she?" I blow a raspberry on her neck, just so I can hear her squeals. "Are you ready to help Aunt Penny find a dress?"
It's time. And even though there will always be a hole in my heart where my mother was supposed to be, the family that has chosen me has filled the rest of my heart to overflowing. So when Honore called on Monday and suggested a shopping trip for a wedding dress, I agreed.
Stockton appears at my side. "See you tonight?" He bends to kiss me.
"Unless something happens with Dubai. I can pop back in."
He shakes his head. "Cameron's on it, and Hector's on call for anything that may go wrong tonight."
I kiss him again, because there's no resisting his firm mouth, especially when he looks at me with eyes full of promise for things to come later.
Honore claps her hands. "Come along, Penny. We don't want to be late. I've made reservations at Christelle's for lunch."
"Wait, don't I want to try on dresses on an empty stomach?"
"Oh heavens no, dear. You need sustenance. This is a marathon."
I roll my eyes. "Just so you know, I'm saying yes to the first dress I try on."
Somehow Polly makes it through lunch without a toddler-sized meltdown and we find ourselves sipping champagne at Val's Bridal Boutique, the snootiest boutique in the Crossroads. Honore is in her element, consulting with Val and cuddling Polly while Lisa and I look through racks of samples. Not only has Honore not brought up grandchildren once to Stockton or me, she's fully embraced being Polly's surrogate grandma. It's sweet, but children are still firmly off our plate. At least for the foreseeable future.
I drain my champagne glass before diving into another sample rack. The options are mind-boggling. White satin dresses with enormous poufy skirts, sheaths with the midriff cutaway, embroidery, lace, bridal hats and cathedral length trains. "I don't know about this, Lisa. It's all too overwhelming. I think I should just grab one and be done with it."
She shakes her head emphatically. "Oh no. You have to play dress-up for a least a little bit. You're only getting married once."
"You try them on. I'll watch."
Lisa sighs heavily. "You seriously need to up your shopping game, Penny." And then she squeals. "Ohmygosh, this is it. This is the one. Check this out." She pulls a dress out and holds it up. "This is perfect, Penny. It's perfectly you."
A slow grin spreads across my face. "I think you're right."
One month later
I take Stockton's hand in the parking lot. "Are you sure about this? It's not too late to change your mind."
He pulls on our hands, then wraps our arms around my back and leans in for a slow kiss. "Absolutely," he says, tucking a stray curl behind my ear with his other hand. "I've told you before, I can't wear a wedding band when I row. With this, I'll always have a piece of you with me. A piece of us - even when I'm halfway across the world."
I grin up at him, heart full. "Okay, let's do this." I pull open the door to Ruben's studio and enter. It's not the first time Stockton's been here. I learned from Ruben that Stockton paid him a second visit not long after my mother died to "clear the air." And now that the "air's been cleared," they've become buddy-buddy. So buddy-buddy that Stockton's talking about recruiting Ruben into position three on the boat since Mason Carter's retiring at the end of this season.
Ruben waves us in. "Come on back." We make our way past curio cabinets, vintage velvet chairs, and a wall of Ruben's designs to the bench where he's waiting. "Have a seat." He pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to us. "Is this what you're thinking?"
I inspect the design then look to Stockton.
He nods. "Yep. Looks good."
"Okay, who's going first?" Ruben asks.
"Me," volunteers Stockton with a sideways glance in my direction.
"Aww, how romantic," I tease.
"I'm just ensuring you can't back out."
"Not that I'd want to," I say. My stomach makes a slow roll at the flame that lights Stockton's eyes. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."
We hold out our hands and Ruben cleans our skin, then traces the pattern. When we give the okay, he fires up the machine. Stockton catches my eye as Ruben bends his head and gets to work. I love you he mouths.
I love you too, I mouth back, heart beating just a bit harder. I can't imagine ever growing tired of hearing Stockton tell me he loves me, or experiencing it in all the little ways, every day.
In less than an hour, we're done. "Okay, let's take a look."
Gingerly, we lace our hands together, and there, where they touch, two small swans come together over an infinity sign - half on his hand, half on mine. "It's perfect," I say on a breath. "Just perfect."
"Mated for life," echoes Stockton. "Just like the swans."
Chapter Nineteen
Stockton
October
"Penny," I holler, knocking on the door of the room where the ladies are primping. "Penny?" I knock again. "Penny."
Lisa opens the door a crack. "What are you doing here?" she hisses. "Go away."
I shake my head. "I have to talk to Penny."
"Now?"
"Now."
Lisa glares. "Do not tell me you're getting cold feet." Her eyebrows knit together. "You're not getting cold feet are you? So help me, I will sick Ruben on you and then rip your balls off."
I cringe and raise my hands. "I swear it's not that. Can I just talk to Penny?"
"No. It's bad luck to see the bride before you marry her."
"I make my own luck, Lisa," Penny says from the other side of the door. "Let me just go talk to him. Otherwise we won't have a second of peace until we're married."
She's right about that.
There's a brief scuffle on the other side of the door, and then Penny, my perfect Penny, slips out the door clutching a white satin robe and wearing a beauty mask and curlers in her hair. "Make it fast," she says. "Or I'm walking down the aisle like this."
My hopes of stealing a kiss before the ceremony go right out the window. "Do you know what today is?"
"Besides our wedding day?"
"Yes. What day is it?"
"The day Blinky the Clown got his nose? Your mother's birthday?" Her eyes go round. "Oh dear god, we're getting married on your mother's birthday and I had no idea, that's it, isn't it?"
I don't bother to hold back my laugh. "No. It's six months to the day that I told my mother you were marrying me. Six months ago today I brought you here to the party. And in a few hours I'm going to put a wedding band on your finger."
She sighs, but doesn't really smile because the mask has started to dry. "Aww, I could kiss you for that."
"I'll kiss you all you want as soon as you're Mrs. Stockton Forde."