My gaze catches on the gorgeous crystal angel on top when Liam announces, “This way to the ladies’ department,” and starts pulling me forward.
“Wait,” I say, digging my heels in and halting our process, pointing at my discovery.
“The tree topper?” he confirms.
“Yes.” I step in front of him and place my hands on his chest. “What do you think? Because I think it’s magnificent.”
“Magnificent,” he repeats, his eyes lighting with my description. “Sounds like we have to have it.”
“Not if you don’t like it. Do you like it?”
He cups my head and kisses me. “Yes, baby. I like it.” Releasing me, he glances around, motioning to a petite red-haired woman who rushes to our aid. “We want it,” he states, indicating the angel.
She laughs. “You wouldn’t believe how many people ask about that angel, but unfortunately that’s how I discovered it’s not for sale.”
Liam doesn’t laugh. “We want it,” he restates, removing his wallet from his pocket. “If you don’t sell it, we need to know who does.” He hands her his store card. “Whatever the cost, we’ll pay it, including your services to locate a new one.”
Her eyes go wide and she looks uncomfortable, glancing at the card. “Mr. Stone. I apologize. It’s not really a matter of cost. It’s been on the tree for years. The manufacturer went out of business.”
“Then we’ll take this one.”
She shakes her head. “You aren’t the first to ask that, either. Management won’t allow us to sell it.”
Liam’s lips quirk as if she’s said something amusing. “Why don’t you let me take the pressure off of you,” he glances at her badge, “Ms. Williams? I’ll talk to your manager.”
“Oh well. Yes, of course. I’ll find her. Where will you be?”
“Ladies formal wear,” Liam says, his hand settling on the small of my back.
“Yes sir. I’ll find you.” She turns and rushes away.
Liam and I start across the floor toward the elevators. “We’ll just have to find another one,” I say. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“You want that one,” he states stubbornly. “You’re getting that one.”
I stop and grab his arm, halting him. “Liam. I’m fine with another topper.”
“I’m not,” he says, lacing our fingers together. “Come. We need to find a dressing room.”
He puts us in motion, forcing me to double-step to keep pace with him. “We don’t need to find a dressing room, Liam Stone,” I insist, feeling panicked at the idea of being caught. He ignores my words that are a measure of defiance in the act that is all kinds of sexy when it shouldn’t be. Not now. I’m just too used to staying off the radar to take this risk. “I’m locking the door,” I vow.
He casts me another one of those wolfish looks he’d given me in the car and leads me between the racks of clothes. “If there is one.”
I glower. “You have to behave, Liam Stone. I know you’re just teasing me. You’re too private of a person to be serious. And I need to find a dress and eat. I’m starving.”
This time, he’s the one who stops and faces me. “I’m starving, Amy, but not for food.” His voice is pure wicked heat, his aqua eyes a shade deeper than normal. “But,” he adds, “you are right. I am private in all things. I fully intend to have you all to myself. Which is why you need to try on a dress.”
We take an elevator, continuing our banter as we go to exit and walk down a hallway where he glances at the glass doors beside us. I follow his lead to discover that we’re at the entrance to the store’s private bridal boutique.
My chest pinches with some unrecognizable emotion I don’t try to analyze. “No. No. We don’t have time to do this today.”
“They’ll bring you party dresses to try on.”
“We haven’t even decided on where we’re getting married. I don’t know what kind of dress I want.”
He pulls me to him, pressing me into a nook behind a wall of clothes that hides us from the open shopping area. “Let’s decide now. Baby, I want to marry you. The sooner we make decisions, the sooner I make that happen.”
“But we said New Year’s Eve?”
“Are you happy with that?”
“Yes. I love that idea.”
“Then we have a date. What about a location? Anywhere, Amy. On a plane. In Egypt. In Texas. Italy is romantic, or—”
“In our home. I want to be home. If that’s okay with you?”
He strokes the hair from where it has fallen over my eyes. “I said anywhere and I meant it. The time, the place, the details—they’re important because they’re what you choose. I just want you, Amy.”
It’s exactly the right answer. “I swear, Liam Stone. Somehow you manage to be bossy, arrogant, and demanding, and remarkably still say and do all of the right things.”
“Because you understand me the way I do you. We belong together, Amy. On some level, I believe I knew that the moment we first made eye contact. We were always heading to ‘I do.’ ”
The idea that I met him because my parents died and neither could exist in my life in unison is like glass in all my many open wounds. Tears pool in my eyes. “I swear, I’ve wanted to cry way too much the past two days.”
Liam cups my face and thumbs away the dampness. “What just upset you? Talk to me.”
“I wish we could share this with the people we’ve loved and lost. My mom and dad. Your mom and Alex.”
He turns his head a moment and I can almost feel his mood shift, before he looks at me. “We’ve both loved and lost too much, too young. It’s why we were both alone when we met. It’s going to impact who we are together. I know it’s why I’m overbearingly protective and impossible at times. You’re going to have to call me on it, Amy, but know that it’s because I love you.”
I smile. “Remember you said that, when I’m being overbearingly paranoid and worried.”
“I will. Right after I respond by being bossy, arrogant, and—”
“Demanding,” I finish, laughing, and loving that he can joke about himself.
“Demanding,” he concurs, his tone softening. “We’ll deal with whatever Godzilla comes our way, baby.”
I grin at the silly metaphor I’d made up the first night I met him. “And the sharks swimming at our feet?” I ask, reminding him of something he’d said.
“And the sharks,” he agrees, kissing my knuckles. “Now. What do you say we go get you a couple of dresses?”
“We?” I ask, appalled. “You can’t see my wedding dress. It has to be a surprise at the wedding.” He ignores my objection, dragging me out of the nook. “Liam,” I warn. “I’m serious.”
He opens the glass door to the bridal boutique. “I’ll stay in the waiting area inside the boutique.”
I glower despite the firm set of his jaw telling me he’s not going to give in on this. Still, I have to try. “If you’re worried about my safety, there’s only one door. You stay out here and guard the door.”
Looking amused at my efforts to dissuade him, he just stands there, not even bothering to argue, as if he’s already won.
My lips purse because he has won. “Fine. But I’m not showing you the dresses.”
His lips quirk. “Understood.”
“Miss me?” Tellar asks, appearing by Liam’s side only to have his eyes go wide at the view beyond the glass door Liam holds. “Clearly I’ve missed some big wedding news.”
I smile and hold up my hand and he whistles in reply. “That’s what I call commitment.”
I can’t resist a little teasing. “Want to be my flower boy, Tellar?”
“Only if I get a new dress, too,” he jokes.
I shake my head, grinning inside and out as I make my way past an elegant white leather love seat to a wall of dresses. Excitement bubbles inside me as I admire one gown after another, but most feel overdone for our small wedding. Deciding I had better focus on tonight’s dress first, I turn to seek out an attend
ant, and find Liam and a gray-haired woman with a measuring tape hanging over her shoulders in conversation.
The woman hustles away and Liam claims the love seat, and I close the short distance between us. Stopping in front of him, my hands on my hips, I start to ask him about his exchange with the attendant.
“Good news!” His hand closes over one of mine, sending tingles all the way down my leg. “I told the store attendant to make sure you spend a ridiculous amount of money.”
“I don’t need to spend a ridiculous amount of money!”
“Don’t say that to her; she works on commission. You’ll ruin her day. Choose what you love, baby. Don’t let price decide. You’re mine. You’re only getting married once.”
I cup his face and kiss him. “And you’re mine, Mr. Stone.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Stone,” is his reply.
“Mrs. Stone,” I repeat, loving how it sounds.
“Here’s the bride-to-be.”
At the sound of the attendant’s voice, I kiss him again and turn to find her smiling, crinkles forming around her eyes.
“Amy,” Liam says. “Meet Betty.”
“Hi, Betty,” I greet.
“Nice to meet you, Amy. Mr. Stone helped me estimate your size, and since the approach of tonight’s event is imminent, I’ve selected some evening gowns and placed them in a room for you.”
“Excellent,” I reply. “I’m ready.”
She turns on her heel and I follow her, waving over my shoulder at Liam before we disappear down a hallway. Betty opens one of the doors and then faces me, lacing her fingers in front of her. “While you try on the formal gowns, I’ll pull some wedding options. Can you share some details about the venue, and if you have a style or dream dress in mind?”
“The wedding is going to be very small and intimate.”
“Then I’d say understated and elegant?” she queries.
I nod and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my. Your ring is spectacular. May I?”
“Oh yes,” I say, proudly extending my hand.
She studies the stone, then says, “I have the perfect dress. I’ll be back.” She hustles down the walkway and once again I’m smiling, something that is becoming a wonderful habit today.
I walk into the giant dressing room and shut the door, looking at the six dresses displayed around the room. I’m instantly drawn to an aqua gown that closely matches the color of Liam’s eyes. Slipping my purse over my head, I drop it on a chair and move closer to view my choice, loving the embroidered bodice and the sheer sleeves and fitted, long skirt. I dig around for a price tag and find none, and when I move to the next dress and do the same, I come up empty. Liam’s doing, no doubt.
Sighing, I cave to the idea that I won’t know the prices unless I ask, and even that is questionable. Feeling rather excited to try on my choice, I undress. Once I’m zipped into the aqua dress, I inspect myself in the mirror, disappointed to find the dress clings to my hips and makes them look wrong in all kinds of ways. A knock sounds on the door and I open it to have Betty enter and hang up a pale pink one-shoulder, A-line dress. I gasp at the perfection of the color. “I love it,” I say. “I can’t wait to try it on. Oh please, let it fit.”
“We can alter it if we need to,” she assures me, and motions to an elegant white lace gown she’s also selected with a pale pink sash at the waist. “This could be paired with a pink veil, or you could go all white except for the sash.”
“It’s pretty. Very pretty, but I really love the pink one.”
She smiles her approval. “I do, too.” Her brow furrows as she gives me a once-over. “That doesn’t fit you right.”
I laugh, and she earns respect for honesty. “I love the color, though.”
“The color suits you, but not the dress. I have another one. I’ll be back,” she says, and disappears out the door.
Ten times more excited than I was about the party dress, I waste no time stripping it off and reaching for the pink one, eager to try it on. Zipping it up, I warn myself not to be too hopeful. The odds of loving the first gown brought to me are next to zero. Inhaling, I turn to the mirror and elation follows. The form-fitting style is elegant and sexy, and the sheer drape over one shoulder is romantic the way a wedding gown should be.
But shouldn’t it be white? This is my one wedding, and white is traditional the first time you marry. Unbidden, a memory of my mother and me shopping for my prom dress washes over me. I miss her and suddenly feel very alone. I have no one but Betty to ask about my dress. Or Tellar, I think, and the thought is so comical it cheers me up a bit.
Still, I swallow a ball of emotion and unzip myself to hang the dress back on the hanger, reaching for the second choice. Once it’s on, I tie the pink sash and inspect my image again, and it’s really quite lovely. I like that it’s strapless and the white silk material is simple elegance, the skirt’s slight flare quite feminine. And the pink sash is just enough to highlight my ring.
I sit down and sigh. I need an opinion. I’ll ask Betty. She’s honest, at least. Heck. Maybe I really will ask for Tellar to come back and look, or break tradition and ask Liam. I stand up, liking that idea. He’s my other half and my best friend, too. I sit back down. I like tradition. I’m not asking Liam. I want the dress to be a surprise for him on our wedding day. Maybe I’ll buy them both and return the one I don’t wear.
The door opens abruptly without a knock and I jump to my feet, thinking Liam has come to make good on his erotic promise, only to see a young woman with a dark bob and thick glasses walk in and close the door. I blink at her face and blink again. I can’t be seeing right—but then I realize the hair is a wig, that this brunette is actually a blonde.
I gasp. “What are you doing here, Meg?”
PART SEVEN
Control
“IS HE REALLY DEAD?” MEG DEMANDS, her voice trembling, her fingers clutching a soft cloth purse to her side, a perfect hiding spot for a gun, I fear.
I hold my hands up and take a step backward, appalled that she’s obviously been watching the house and following us. “Meg—”
“Is Chad dead?” she all but hisses at me. “I need to know if he’s dead.”
She sways toward me and I sit down on the seat, clutching my own purse and mentally planning how to reach my gun inside. “He’s gone,” I say. “It’s true.”
“I didn’t ask if he was gone,” she growls from between gritted teeth. “I asked if he’s dead.”
“He’s dead,” I confirm, resenting how easily her betrayal of my brother could have made it true.
She searches my face and shakes her head. “No. No! You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You wouldn’t be out shopping two days after you buried your brother if he was really dead.” She gives me a once-over. “And for a wedding dress? No way.”
“I’ve spent the past six years pretending bad things aren’t real. It’s how I survive. He’s dead, Meg.”
“He’s hiding. Just like before.”
“You think I didn’t want to believe that?” I demand, my voice wavering at the truth in her words. “The police used dental records to prove it was him.”
She chokes out a disbelieving laugh. “He faked those records like he faked his death in the past. I need to see him. I need to explain what happened.”
“What does that even mean? What happened?”
“I didn’t want to betray him, Amy. You have to believe me. Rollin made me do it all.”
Rollin being the man responsible for killing my family, and I’ve seen photos of her kissing him, while she was supposed to be in love with my brother. She’s not sorry for anything. She’s digging for information; she’s after Chad and that cylinder. “It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do or why,” I say tightly. “He’s gone. I buried him for real this time.”
Anger flares in her eyes and she grabs the pink dress I love so much and shakes it in the air. “You’re lookin
g at freaking dresses. You don’t look at dresses two days after you bury your brother.”
Defensiveness flares. “It’s called survival. Focusing on the one person I have in my life who’s still here and loves me.”
She glares at me. I glare back, ignoring the fear in the pit of my belly at the certainty that she’s about to snap. Heavy seconds tick by, the challenge crackling between us, and I can feel her searching my expression for proof of the secrets I will not reveal. Expecting confrontation, my fingers tighten on my purse; I’m worried that I can’t retrieve my weapon before she does hers.
Suddenly though, her spine softens, her face crumpling as she sobs. “He can’t be gone.” Her hand leaves her purse to press to her face. “He can’t.”
My teeth clench at what I am certain are tears of manipulation, a tactic she’s used on me once before with a success she won’t have now. “I wish it weren’t true,” I say, my voice quaking with the anger she’s stirred in me. “But it is.”
She swipes at her wet cheeks and hugs herself. “Who killed him? Was it Rollin?”
My anger deepens at the name of the man who is responsible for killing not only my family, but at least one of this woman’s employers when she betrayed my brother. “I don’t know who did it.”
A knock sounds on the door and she whirls around to face it, her hand flying to her purse, her fingers slipping inside.
“I need a minute more, Betty!” I call out, desperate to defuse the moment. “I’m on the phone.”
“Okay, honey,” she replies. “I’ll hang the dresses I brought you on the door.”
“Thank you!” I say, holding my breath to listen for her retreat and the instant I am certain she’s left, I warn Meg, “She’s going to return. What do you want from me, besides driving a stake in my heart over Chad?”
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