Ivan, sensing her sudden emotional withdrawal, pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick kiss.
“Now let's get you outfitted properly.”
He picked out a suit for her, again with matching shoes, instructing her to change.
“This outfit and the shoes are more fitting your new persona and will be more appropriate than your jeans for our next stop.”
“Where are we going next?”
“The Marriage License Bureau. They should be open now.”
Once dressed in the resplendent forest green Anne Klein suit, jacket and A-line belted skirt, Andrea followed Ivan out of the shop.
Ned, who hopped out to open the passenger door for them, offered Andrea an appraising smile but said nothing, yet he did give Ivan a nod of approval, which Andrea saw, making her feel even more like an auctioned prize soon to be added to Ivan’s private collection.
As Ivan settled beside her in the limo, Andrea found the courage to ask. “Is there anything you haven’t thought through?”
“Is that a sarcastic question? I believe I detect an acerbic tone.”
“Ah—no,” she stammered, blushing as he held her eyes.
“I believe it was meant to be, but I’ll overlook it this time. And no, I don’t think I’ve left a stone unturned because I want this day to be perfect. Don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“So tell me, what do you think of your wedding gown? Does it meet with your approval?”
“I think it’s lovely.”
Knowing he was waiting for something more, she added, “Thank you.”
Ivan looked at her with critical approval, taking in her new sophisticated hairdo, the professionally applied make-up that enhanced her complexion, the muted rose lipstick, a shade darker than she had ever worn, accentuating the fullness of her lips, and the subtle eye shadow that drew attention to the swampy green of her eyes and perfectly matched the green day suit he had selected for her to wear.
“Well, I couldn't have you looking like a waif when we marry. I’m sure the press will be on hand, since they seem to be everywhere I am lately,” he said irritably. “I’m just thankful they weren’t at the gate when we left this morning so we could have a modicum of privacy in our shopping.”
When she didn’t reply, but simply kept her eyes downcast, Ivan snapped, “Andrea, if and when they track us down for pictures, for God’s sake, smile. Don’t act like you’re being taken to the guillotine. Perhaps you can at least pretend your wedding day is the happiest day of your life.”
Andrea bit her lip, wanting to say, it should be, and it would be, if it were my choice.
But she said nothing, merely nodded.
Once they had the license and were once again in the limo heading back to his estate, Ivan continued to study Andrea’s pensive face, wondering, what is she thinking? Damn, but she looks wonderful. I only wish she didn’t look like she wants to jump out of the car.
He reminded himself, I have to be patient with her. It will take time for her to get over that debacle of a scene between her father and me, but it will be worth the wait.
He smiled, remembering how beautiful Andrea was in that designer gown, molded to her young body like a second skin. And he had caught her look of surprise when the final alterations were being considered and she realized the gown had been fashioned explicitly for her.
I knew she would be sharp and quick witted, given the opportunity to think for herself.
His musing was interrupted as they neared the house and Ned lowered the soundproof partition to announce, “Brace yourself, boss, for the onslaught.”
Ivan shook his head, cursing under his breath as he saw the milling paparazzi waiting for them at the gate, many more than usual.
He longed for those days when he had first arrived in Vegas and had enjoyed a brief stint as an unknown, before the story on him had gone viral over the Internet. What had begun as a typical rag embellishment had morphed into what everyone believed was his reality; beginning with the unauthorized popularity contest that voted him the most eligible, yet mysterious billionaire bachelor in Vegas. Followed by the story that he was a notorious, womanizing playboy; and then the most insidious rumor of all, that he had longstanding mob ties.
Ivan knew that ridiculous lie had been fueled by the man who had become his business rival and arch enemy in Vegas, Carl Cothane, in an attempt to discredit him locally with an eye toward thwarting any future deals he might choose to make in Vegas. But actually, it had done just the opposite, adding to his mysterious, typical Vegas persona.
Thinking of that irony brought a crooked smile to Ivan’s face and a familiar phrase to mind—every time you throw dirt, you lose a little ground.
As soon as the paparazzi spotted the limousine, they came bounding down the street, surrounding it, bringing them to a screeching halt and soliciting muttered obscenities from Ned.
Ivan hated the notoriety that had been thrust upon him. His life had changed dramatically since that initial story had spiraled out of control, snowballing into a continual series of others, most of them speculative and untrue, all appearing regularly now in every gossip rag displayed in every store rack, the aftermath being that he found himself constantly on display. No longer could he find even a small corner of privacy to hide in, as he was constantly plagued with paparazzi determined to get a scandalous money shot.
As Ned did his best to maneuver the limo carefully through the onrush of clamoring bodies, Ivan heard his muttered expletives and smiled to himself. He knew Ned was as aggravated by the way he was hounded now as he was.
Ivan’s mind drifted back to the beginning of his and Ned’s coming together. What had begun as an employee-employer relationship with Ned had quickly morphed into something quite different.
Ned Garrett, an impressively large African American, was an ex-marine and one-time member of a Special Ops team. He had come highly recommended to Ivan by one his maternal grandparents’ personal bodyguards, also an African American, who had served with Ned in the armed forces, as had his other two bodyguards, Sean and Marty.
Ivan recalled how he had initially protested even having a bodyguard, believing he could physically handle any situation himself, until he was forced to admit it would make life simpler if someone he trusted was on hand to occasionally run interference, if not to actually guard his person.
That had certainly been proven true after the Internet story broke and he became besieged, which was when he had brought Sean and Marty, recommended by Ned, on as additional bodyguards and the four alternates who worked in shifts around the clock, guarding the grounds and house’s exterior. They did not actually live on the estate grounds as did Marty and Sean but came every morning to walk the perimeter and offer whatever assistance needed.
Ned turned to pose the sarcastic question, “Want me to run them over, boss? Say the word and by God, I will!”
Ivan chuckled. “I’m tempted to say yes, Ned. Damn, I’m sick of this.”
“I know what you mean. Do you think they believe if they keep blocking our way and demanding answers to their idiotic questions, you’ll get out and talk to them?”
“They’re probably hoping I’ll lower the window at least, which, if they weren’t so damned rude and aggravating, I might.”
“I’ll keep inching forward.”
As they slowly proceeded, Ivan’s thoughts took him back in time, to those early days of being watched and guarded and never having a moment alone.
Having constant protection wasn’t a new concept. His own parents had always had personal bodyguards, also recommended and insisted on by his maternal grandparents, Cyrus and Paulette Myerson, who were notorious for an impressive array of bodyguards. Ivan remembered having heard all his life that the Myersons were more heavily guarded than the President and as he grew older, he came to realize just how true that was.
Ivan’s photographic memory suddenly replayed his grandfather’s snobbish, condescending remark made to him when he
was five and had inquired about the ‘army of men’ who constantly watched them.
“Wealthy people have to take extra precautions, Ivan. You always have to expect the unexpected from both the lower class and unscrupulous criminals. Bodyguards are expendable creatures who do just that—guard our bodies with their very lives, in the event of an incident. That is their job and only purpose in life.”
Ivan remembered asking, “What do you mean by expendable?”
And his grandfather had replied, “It means they would not be missed should they take a bullet meant for me or you. They are expendable, my boy, whereas we are not.”
Ivan shook his head with that memory.
He hoped no one who knew him believed he felt that way because he had never thought of himself above anyone, and he had never thought of anyone else as expendable. Certainly not Ned.
Having grown up being watched and followed by stone-faced men who rarely even spoke to him; having had to accept that as his way of life that he hated, Ivan regretted that circumstances now dictated he had to have that same bevy of bodyguards.
His eyes met Ned’s in the rearview mirror as Ned declared, “Doing the best I can to get through them, boss. It’s crazy the way they refuse to move! Makes me wanta get out and knock some heads together.”
Ivan nodded. “Yeah, me, too.”
Flashing back to those bodyguards he’d had when he was younger, Ivan was thankful for Ned. Ned Garrett was different. He was not only his bodyguard and chauffeur, but the closest thing to a best friend Ivan had ever had.
Ivan knew Ned actually cared what happened to him and he trusted Ned’s judgment; trusted him as he did no one else, to always tell him the truth about any situation and, if push ever came to shove, to stand with him regardless.
As old images replayed in his mind, Ivan again cursed his photographic memory.
Dammit, I wish I could sweep all that old garbage out of my brain once and for all.
But the past persisted, the floodgates of total recall opening to vivid images of his early, chaotic days.
He saw himself being driving to school by his bodyguards; remembered how he had felt being the odd-man-out, constantly watched while his peers either ostracized him or openly made fun of him. The taunt from the bully who tormented him before he took Karate lessons and learned how to protect himself, rang loud and clear in Ivan’s mind.
“Hey rich boy, does your bodyguard wipe your ass, too?”
Ned broke into Ivan’s reverie with his command to the other bodyguards following in the Escalade as they were within yards of the gate.
“Okay, Sean, pull around now and take the lead. Just keep blowing the damn horn until they let you through, and once you make it through the gate, get the fuck out and run interference with the horde so I can get Mr. Littlefield and Miss Parker inside without a hassle. As tempting as it is, don’t run any of those fools down on the way. What? Yeah, resist the temptation because it would be bad publicity and it would spoil Mr. Littlefield’s wedding day.”
Chuckling, he caught and held Ivan’s eye in the rearview mirror.
Hearing Ned speak into the mouthpiece he always wore, Andrea, who had been quietly witnessing the debacle, was fascinated with the way Ned and the other two bodyguards were in constant communication, much the same as she had seen secret agents talk on TV shows. It was yet another reminder of the strange world into which she was about to be plunged.
She cast an eye toward Ivan, wondering why he was so quiet; wondering at his somber expression; wondering if she would ever really know him.
She watched as Ned touched the earpiece, positioning it more firmly in his ear as he responded again to something that had been said to him.
“Come again. Didn’t catch that.”
He laughed. “Yes, it would be a perfect strike, like pins in an alley. That’s a good one.”
As soon as the Escalade, horn blasting, pulled around, splitting the crowd, the limo was once again surrounded by paparazzi, re-closing on them like displaced water seeking its level.
The sparkling glare of their flashbulbs only slightly penetrated the darkly tinted windows of the limousine, as did the cacophony of shouted demands. But Andrea heard one of the loudest.
“Is it true, Mr. Littlefield? Are you getting married? Who’s the lucky woman?”
She asked Ivan, “How in the world did they know?”
“I’m sure someone at the marriage license bureau informed them. Just be aware, Andrea, now that we are together, everything you do or say from now on will be open to public scrutiny.”
Ned, who had once been a bodyguard to a movie star, said, “I thought this kind of insanity was behind me when I left Hollywood. Guess this means you’ve achieved movie star status, Mr. Littlefield.”
“Just what I needed,” Ivan gritted.
Ned chuckled as he was finally able to pull the limo through the estate’s opened gate, muttering a thanks to Sean and Marty as they controlled the crowd with the added help of two of the perimeter guards.
Andrea, turning to watch once the gate had been closed behind him, declared, “My goodness! Do you think they’ll follow us to the chapel later?”
“Not if I can help it,” Ivan said. “We’ll throw them off by riding in the Escalade with Sean while Ned takes another route to another chapel. Marty will ride in the back of the limo so they will see the outline of someone there and think it’s me. Hopefully by the time they discover they’ve been duped, we will already have been married and gotten away without the chaos.”
When their eyes met, Andrea asked, “Is it always like this?”
“Most of the time, yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Giving her a sardonic smile, realizing her sympathetic words were attributed to the unrest of his life, Ivan admitted, “Me, too.”
“Ivan, I’ve been wondering, if you didn’t intend for us to be photographed, what difference would it have made what I wore, or that I had my hair fixed?”
Ivan did not attempt to hide his scowl as he said, “The gown, the hairdo and make-up are primarily for my pleasure, Andrea, and I’d hoped, yours. And we will be photographed, even if the paparazzi don’t find us, because I’ll have a professional photographer meet us at the chapel to take official wedding pictures, to be published along with the announcement of our marriage, and to keep for our personal use. I assumed most brides wanted wedding pictures as mementos of their special day.
Andrea almost said what she was thinking.
Most brides plan their wedding day and want to get married. A true bride marries because the man she loves has asked on bended knee and because she knows he loves her, too.
But all she said was, “You really have thought of everything.”
“I always do,” he said quietly as Ned pulled the limo up the winding driveway, stopping before the mansions’ double beveled stained glass front doors. He got out and opened their door for them.
For the first time, Andrea squarely met the man’s appraising eyes as he helped her out. She wondered at his intense scrutiny of her; wondered if he was as curious as to why Ivan had chosen her to marry as she was.
When Ivan exited the vehicle, he slapped Ned on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man. Good job as always.”
Watching the two of them smile at each other, Andrea sensed there was a deeper relationship between Ned Garrett and Ivan than he shared with the other bodyguards.
She would like to have asked Ned about that; maybe gained some insight into this mysterious man she was about to marry.
If anyone really knows Ivan Littlefield, it's probably Ned Garrett. Perhaps one day I’ll find myself alone with Ned and I can ask him about Ivan.
But when she caught Ned’s eye again, he presented a stone face and quickly turned away, giving Andrea the distinct impression he would be loyal only to Ivan. She felt certain that meant Ned would never discuss anything personal with her.
Studying Ivan quietly, seeing his closed and determined exp
ression, Andrea wondered what it was about Ivan Littlefield that made everyone automatically bow to his wishes. It wasn’t just the money. It was the man himself. Ivan was a force to be reckoned with.
He’s like a mental fortress, impenetrable and indestructible and yet, somehow comforting in a dominant way.
Andrea didn’t understand this enigmatic man who would soon be her husband. She just knew he was, for a fact, complex and undeniably in charge. Knowing that filled her with both dread and an underlying excitement she couldn’t deny. One thing she felt certain was true.
Life with Ivan Littlefield would never be boring.
* * *
The wedding gown was delivered at 12:45 p.m. They had just finished a late brunch and Andrea, still seated at the dining room table, listened as Ivan answered the call from the gate then instructed Sean and Marty, via the intercom, ”Run interference for the delivery truck, guys.”
Ivan signed for the box when it was brought to the door and handed it to Andrea with the terse remark, “As soon as you're ready, we leave. We’re expected at the chapel at 3:30.”
Andrea nodded then hurried upstairs to her room. When she was dressed, she stood quietly before the full length gilded mirror in wide-eyed wonder, almost not recognizing herself.
She descended the staircase, carefully balancing on her high-heel shoes, to find Ivan waiting. The sight of him made her heart race. He was resplendent in his tailor-made tuxedo that brought out the midnight black of his hair, so at odds with those wolf-like gray eyes that watched her with a carnal intensity as she drew near.
Even given the circumstances under which this strange marriage was taking place, Andrea’s pulse quickened as she looked at this handsome man who would soon be her husband.
They left the mansion in the Escalade. Andrea was relieved to find the paparazzi gone, as Ivan had predicted, having followed the limousine driven by Ned, which had pulled out ten minutes earlier.
As the Escalade moved toward the small, out-of-the-way chapel Ivan had selected for their wedding, Ivan reached for Andrea’s left hand that was being tortured by her right hand in a twisting motion.
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