Isn't it Romantic?

by Ronda Thompson

  “Fate brought us together, and fate separated us. Your father didn’t leave me alone. He gave me you. When you let yourself care for someone there are risks, but even if you lose at love, there are rewards to be gained.”

  “You mean, something good can come from something bad?”

  “That’s right.” Katrine hugged Shelly tightly. “I have a beautiful daughter, and every time I look into your eyes, I see John again. So, you see, he never left at all.”

  Shelly’s expression grew thoughtful. “I still don’t understand what Trey has to do with this.”

  Her mother worried her bottom lip for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Trey taught me to stop avoiding what I can’t control. Because of him, I’ve learned important things about you and about myself. I hurt inside right now, but I’m not afraid anymore. I understand that pain is part of loving, and I’m strong enough to survive and go on with my life. In time, what I feel will fade, but I’ll still have the important lessons learned from our relationship.”

  “I don’t want your feelings to fade,” Shelly declared passionately. “I want—”

  The ringing of Shelly’s private phone interrupted them.

  “Go on,” Katrine urged, gaining her feet and helping Shelly up. “Maybe it’s Melissa. You should get out of the house for a while. This,” she indicated her room with a sweep of her hand, “will take hours, maybe weeks.”

  Reluctant to leave the matter unresolved, Shelly glanced between her mother and the doorway leading into the hallway. “Can we talk about Trey later?”

  “Yes,” Katrine answered, although she hoped Shelly would give her heart a reprieve. “Later,” the word left her lips in a whisper. “Take Beauregard with you,” she roused herself to instruct.

  She managed to maintain a facade of strength until Shelly and Beauregard disappeared, then Katrine rose and walked to the dresser. With trembling hands, she picked up the hammer and studied it without interest. She hadn’t lied to Shelly about her ability to survive the heartbreak of love—she simply failed to mention how desperately she wanted Trey back in her life. A week without him seemed like an eternity, and yet she’d had time to think, to examine all the good and bad his intrusion brought, and to regret writing her last feature while under the influence of angry hurt.

  Although Katrine hadn’t forgiven Trey for tromping on her emotions for the sake of ratings, or for revenge, she tried to convince herself that she wished him success. Mostly, she failed at it. When she thought about his tactics, how he seduced her, how he made a fool of her, she honestly wanted to do him bodily injury. Noting the hammer in her hand, she suddenly felt the need to pound something.

  ———

  Trey pounded on the horn. “Move it, buddy!” he yelled, annoyed at the Sunday driver in front of him. His gaze darted to a newspaper in the seat beside him. Waiting a week to release the article had nearly driven him insane. More times than he cared to count, he’d been tempted to forget about giving Katrine a public declaration. Storming her house, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her to his cave seemed more in line with his emotions.

  Shelly would be his accomplice today. The little vixen sounded more than eager to help him gain entrance to Katrine’s fortress when he called earlier. Ignoring Shelly all week ate at his conscience, but Trey didn’t want Katrine to anticipate his intentions. Nothing told the truth more than an unguarded reaction. Besides, he deserved compensation for the blow she delivered last Sunday. Shelly said her mother had cried most of the week. Horrible as it was, Trey smiled. His heart sped up when he turned on her street. The front door eased open to his soft knock.

  “You didn’t ask who it was,” Trey said before stepping inside.

  “I knew it was you,” Shelly countered.

  “And you.” He pointed a finger at Beauregard. “Didn’t make a sound. Some watch dog.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to,” Shelly defended. “I told him to keep quiet.”

  Trey smiled and ruffled her hair. “Where is she?”

  Shelly nodded toward the stairs. “Up there. Cleaning out her closet, so be careful when you go in, and, Trey,” she sighed, “try to say the right thing.”

  His smile widened. “I’ll try. I even wrote it down.”

  She eyed the newspaper he removed from beneath his arm skeptically. “Isn’t that what got you into trouble with her to begin with?”

  “I guess it is,” he agreed. “Let’s see if it can get me out of trouble for a change.”

  “If it doesn’t, chew on her shoes and look real sad about if afterward. It works for Beauregard.”

  He laughed softly at her suggestion, then sobered. “Shelly, you’re special to me. You always will be. You know that, don’t you?”

  Her pink cheeks turned pinker. “Yeah, I know. Better go win my mom.”

  Trey took a deep breath and forged ahead. A small voice floated up to him as he mounted the stairs.

  “I love you, too, Trey.”

  He turned, but Shelly had disappeared. A door closed downstairs and he assumed Beauregard had been taken outside. A warm feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Someday, he wanted to hear that little blonde minx call him dad. He knew which bedroom belonged to Katrine because of the night he sat out front and admired her silhouette against the shades, but finding her wouldn’t have been difficult. The sound of banging drew him to her open doorway. His gaze roamed the clutter. He wondered how she’d fit all that into her closet to begin with.

  “Dammit!” The banging ceased.

  Trey stepped over a large bundle of clothes and stared across the room into Katrine’s closet. A shoe rack stood propped against the wall. Katrine had a hammer in one hand and her thumb in her mouth. As if sensing his presence, she wheeled around. Her eyes widened and something incoherent escaped her lips.

  “What?” Trey asked.

  The thumb left her mouth. “What are you doing here and how did you get in?”

  “Shelly opened the door for me,” he answered the last part of her question. “And, by the way, didn’t bother to verify it was me before doing so.”

  “She’s definitely in for a lecture on that mistake,” Katrine assured him. “You didn’t say what you’re doing here.”

  He smiled. “I wanted to read you my feature.”

  “I read it,” she said stiffly. “It was garbage, but I’m sure Jerry is pleased.”

  Caldwell was the last person Trey wanted to discuss. His thoughts leaned more toward surrender. Hers. He’d been fighting the need to touch Katrine from the moment he saw her standing in the closet with her thumb in her mouth.

  “This is a new feature, and Jerry’s on his way to Philly with Linda. She’s taking him home to meet Papa.”

  “Well, Mr. Hot Commodity, I suppose you’ll be filling his shoes?”

  Trey shrugged. “Only until I make a few sales in fiction. That’s what this article is about. I wanted your opinion.”

  When a dark tinge of color crept up her neck, his smile widened. She was getting mad as hell.

  “You’ve got nerve,” Katrine bit out. “Next, I suppose you’ll be asking me to read your manuscripts or speak with a publisher on your behalf?”

  “Would you?” he asked innocently.

  She glanced toward the hammer in her hand. “No,” Katrine answered strongly.

  “Then, would you listen to this one? I think you might find it of interest.” Without waiting for her permission, Trey removed the paper clutched beneath his arm and snapped it open. “It’s another special, entitled, The Real Story.”

  He waited for her to react. When her brow lifted in a gesture of curiosity, Trey cleared his throat, embarrassed when the paper quivered in his hands.

  “She walked into my life and rationality ceased to exist. Was it the length of her legs that first caught my attention?” Trey paused to glance at her legs. Katrine’s slacks were covered in lint and dog hair. “To say no, would be a lie. Could I have ignored the fullness of her lips, the slant of her eyes
, the silkiness of her hair, and instead, thought she seemed intelligent—a woman I’d like to know better on a intellectual level?” His gaze lifted. “To say yes would also be a lie. It began as it often does, with a physical attraction, but ended as it often doesn’t, within the heart.”

  The hammer in Katrine’s hand made a loud thud as it hit the floor. He watched her walk out of the closet to stand directly across from him. Trey didn’t need to read the rest, he knew the words.

  “I’m not a story-book hero. I’m only a man, flesh and blood—one who makes mistakes. There are no real dragons, Katrine, but the demons that torture our minds, our hearts, are often worse.”

  When her eyes filled with tears, it took all his resolve not to go to her, but he couldn’t. Not yet.

  “I can’t slay them all for you, but I’ll stand by your side in battle. I will promise you forever, but I can’t promise to be with you forever. Life delivers death. Love delivers pain. Time is short. There’s nothing predictable about true love. It writes its own story and leaves the proof of its heaven and hell in the lines on our faces, in the children that follow behind us. And without struggle, there are no victories, no rewards. Dare to dream beyond the scope of your imagination. Share life’s joys and sorrows by my side. I did find love in the twentieth century. I found you, Katrine Summerville. Give me a happy ending. Marry me.”

  Katrine’s heart pounded loudly inside her chest. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. Love, she supposed, was meant to be a private emotion shared between two people, but Trey’s public proposal reached deep and plucked at the strings of her heart. She couldn’t think of anything more romantic, and knew she would never doubt him again. He was her hero.

  When he held out his arms in appeal, she rushed forward. Her feet got tangled in a twisted wad of belts on the floor and she felt herself falling. A panicked glance at Trey allowed her to witness his heroic leap over a pile of clothes. She lunged, fell on the bed and into his waiting arms.

  “Ouch.” Trey dislodged a black pump from beneath his back, then tossed the shoe aside. His lips brushed Katrine’s. “I love you, Katrine. Give me an answer.”

  She smiled. “You’ll have to wait and read my response in tomorrow’s edition. I have an ‘in’ with the new editor.”

  His mouth grazed her ear. “I know ways to make you talk.”

  “Mmm,” she sighed as his tongue traced a path down her neck. “I love … that,” she admitted.

  “How about this?” His hand slid slowly up her thigh.

  “I love … that, too.”

  When he gently nipped at her breasts through the material of her blouse, Katrine moaned softly. “I do love you, Trey. I’ll always love you.”

  “You’ll always love me and…” he prodded, unfastening the top button on her.

  “I’ll always love you and … Shelly!”

  Both Katrine and Trey sat up abruptly.

  “It got awfully quiet up here,” her daughter said from the open doorway. “Me and Beauregard were wondering what was taking so long.” She glanced between the two of them, then winked at Trey. “Looks like you said the right thing.”

  Katrine saw him blush. Trey would have to adjust to the fact that they couldn’t always throw caution to the wind and surrender to passion when the mood struck them.

  “Ah, I haven’t managed to get a full-fledged ‘yes’ out of your mother, but with your help, I believe we can convince her to say the right thing.”

  Katrine’s gaze darted nervously between her daughter and her prince, who sometimes wasn’t in the least charming. Her heart was full to bursting with joy. Trey had given her a special gift today. He’d proven one special hero existed for every woman.

  “How do we get her to say it?” Shelly asked curiously.

  “We can tickle it out of her.”

  “Trey,” Katrine warned.

  Shelly’s grin stretched. With a squeal of delight, she made a dash for the bed, a muddy-pawed, drooling Beauregard fast on her heels. After the dog managed to decorate not only the bedspread, but everyone’s clothes, as well, Trey pinned Katrine to the bed so Shelly could tickle her feet. The light of desire still shone brightly in his eyes when he leaned close to whisper, “Later?”

  Noting the soiled condition of his shirt, Katrine smiled wickedly. “I’ll meet you at the washing machine,” she whispered back.