Homecoming (Speakeasy)

by Rebecca Norinne

  I slid off the edge of the table and onto the sofa next to her. “You’re a strong, smart woman who is so utterly amazing to me in every single way. Each morning I wake up and think how lucky I am to have you in my life. I should have done a better job of showing you that.”

  “I was so upset,” she said, her voice quavering. “Blake was sitting there in my office with that stupid, smug look on his face, taunting me about how you’d gone behind my back. At first, I couldn’t believe you’d do something like that, but then he showed me that message, and I didn’t know what to think anymore.”

  Between the notarized quitclaim deed to their condo and now this, a thought suddenly occurred to me. “Has he ever done anything like this before? Forged documents, I mean?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of. But then, how would I?”

  “Is it too late to call your lawyers?”

  Her eyes sought out the clock hanging on the wall just outside my kitchen. It was just after six o’clock in California. “No. Mariana should still be at the office. Why?”

  “I know you didn’t start that fire. But twice now, Blake’s produced ‘evidence’—” I used my fingers to make air quotes “—that was compelling enough to trick people who should know better. Now, he claims to have a video that proves you started that fire, and I don’t trust him. The man is unhinged, Rosalie. He’s clearly willing to use lies and deception to get what he wants.”

  “And here I thought the worst he could do to me was cheat.” She muttered a low curse, and with a grunt, heaved herself up off the couch to fish her phone out of her purse. Pressing a button on the screen, she raised it to her ear. “Mariana, it’s Rosalie. We’ve got a problem.” She put the call on speaker phone.

  By the time we’d finished rehashing our run-ins with Blake, her lawyer was livid. “Do not speak with him again,” she warned us. “We’re done playing nice.”

  32

  Rosalie

  For the last week, I’d been burning the candle at both ends and was exhausted to my core. When Ty had said they were desperate for someone to step in and pick up the slack during my job interview, he really hadn’t been kidding. Thankfully, he’d given me a couple of days off next month to recuperate from the madness.

  I looked forward to having lots of sex with Preston and vegging out in front of the television wearing one of those terrifying facial masks that made you look like something out of a nightmare. And no, it wasn’t lost on me how my idea of what constituted a perfect vacation had dramatically changed over the last year. Forget Paris in the springtime. I only wanted a comfy couch in front of a roaring fire in my hometown.

  What I didn’t want was to continue dealing with the stress associated with my ex. When both Preston and I had refused to engage with Blake on any front, he had taken to leaving irate, threatening voicemails on both our cell phones. And three days ago, the landline at my mom’s house had started ringing off the hook with disturbing prank calls.

  So on top of my general exhaustion, I was also sick with worry about what he would do next. Something had to give—I just hoped it wasn’t me.

  “What does Mariana think?” my mom asked while drizzling a few glugs of extra virgin olive oil over her pasta.

  Tonight had been Preston’s turn to cook, and he’d made fresh pasta topped with a homemade lemon artichoke pesto. I’d seen the recipe on Instagram and he’d volunteered to make it for us. Even though our schedules were crazier than they’d been when we first met, we still tried to cook for each other as often as possible. I tried not to act surprised when it turned out that he was a better cook than me.

  “She told me they’re working on it, and not to worry,” I answered, refilling Preston’s and my wine glasses. “Which, you know, is easier said than done.”

  The table fell quiet. After all, what more was there to say? Telling someone whose ex was actively trying to ruin their life to chill out wasn’t the most actionable advice. Of course I was worried. Who wouldn’t be? The man legitimately thought he stood a chance of pinning the fire on me, and I had no idea why. The only thing I’d ever done to Blake was leave him. And for that, he obviously felt I needed to be punished.

  As if mentioning my lawyer’s name had summoned her, my phone trilled on the table next to me. I’d taken to carrying it with me everywhere I went—including mealtimes—just in case there was news from California. I glanced nervously between Preston and my mom and then took a deep breath. Blowing it out slowly, I answered her call.

  “Hi, Mariana. What’s up?”

  I listened attentively as she outlined the reason for her call.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I hummed.

  A minute later: “No, that’s fine.”

  And another minute after that: “Mmm-hmm. Yes, I understand. Okay, thank you. Goodbye.”

  I ended the call with shaking hands and set my phone, face down, on the table. My ears started ringing, and my pulse thrummed erratically in my neck and wrists. Dimly, I became aware of Preston repeating my name and my mom gently patting my cheek. I blinked and shook off my stupor as my mom forced a glass of ice water into my hands.

  “That was Mariana,” I said, realizing belatedly that they’d both seen her name flash on my screen before I’d answered. I took a deep drink of the water, my throat working overtime.

  My eyes found Preston’s as I set the empty glass back down. “Blake’s been arrested for arson, embezzlement, and felony insurance fraud.” My voice shook as I spoke, and as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I burst into tears, sobbing with relief.

  “It’s finally over,” I whispered, reaching for a napkin to blot the wetness from my face.

  My mom’s hand gripped mine, and when I flicked my gaze to hers, she too had tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thank god.”

  “What happened?” Preston asked, his arm wrapped around my shoulder while his hand rubbed soothing circles across my back.

  “From what Mariana said, the arson investigator grew suspicious when Blake became more and more insistent that I’d started the fire. Then, a couple of days ago, he received an anonymous package containing an unmarked USB stick with security footage from the restaurant across the street from the gallery taken on the night of the fire. It showed a woman who resembled me initially, but on closer inspection, obviously wasn’t.” And this was where things turned truly astounding. “It was Janessa.”

  My mom gasped. “Your assistant?”

  I nodded and blew my nose. “She confessed to everything,” I told them. “Including using a fake I.D. to pretend to be me at the notary’s office and torching the gallery while dressed in my clothes. There were a whole host of other things she apparently did at Blake’s bidding, but since they don’t have anything to do with me, Mariana couldn’t provide details.”

  “Wow,” Preston marveled. “That’s … fuck. I have no words.” His gaze shot to my mom. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize on my account,” she laughed. “It’s fucking amazing.”

  “Oh my god,” I breathed as laughter began to bubble up inside of me. At that moment, I felt more free than I had in years. My exhaustion and fear were immediately replaced by a feeling of triumph and elation. I pushed back my chair to stand. My body was practically vibrating with renewed energy and I couldn’t sit still.

  A ding sounded from the tabletop, and three sets of eyes immediately sought out the source of the noise.

  “What does it say?” my mom asked, her voice quaking.

  “I don’t know.” I reached for my phone and flipped it over. I raised my free hand to cover my mouth as I read Mariana’s follow-up message.

  “In exchange for me not pressing charges against Janessa, Blake won’t contest the divorce any further. His lawyers said he’ll sign the papers tomorrow.” I glanced between my mom and Preston, seeking their guidance.

  “I can’t make that decision for you,” Preston said, his tone resolute.

  After his secret trip down to Boston, we’d talked at length about
our expectations for our relationship, reaffirming our mutual need for honesty and transparency. I agreed not to jump to conclusions without having all the facts, and he promised not to make unilateral decisions about things that affected both of us.

  “I’m not asking you to,” I answered gently. “But this impacts you, as well.”

  When Mariana had advised divorce litigation through the courts, Preston and I had further discussed what our life together looked like should my divorce drag on indefinitely. He’d told me to take all the time I needed, assuring me that he’d be right there by my side the entire time. But I’d also accidentally stumbled on a receipt from a jeweler when I’d borrowed his truck to pick up extra tables for the holiday market. And even though I’d promised not to jump to conclusions, I was pretty confident I knew what it was for.

  Plus, Mikey was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. If I hadn’t already seen the receipt, I would have known something was up because he kept commenting on how small my hands were, challenging me to measure them against random objects. The most ridiculous—and obvious—instance had been when he’d lined a thin, copper pipe up alongside my ring finger. He’d studied it for a few seconds quite intently before pulling it away with a satisfied glint in his eyes. I’d done my best not to laugh.

  So yes, I knew Preston was eager to marry me. And I wanted nothing more than to become his wife and truly start our lives together.

  But I also had this simmering rage burning deep in my gut over Janessa’s involvement in everything Blake had tried to do to me. First, she’d burned down my gallery, colluding with my husband to frame me for the crime. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d also defrauded me out of the home that was rightfully half mine! She deserved to pay for the role she’d played in the nightmare that had been my life for the last several months, no matter what Blake might have said to convince her to do it. She was an adult who’d made her own decisions, and those decisions deserved consequences.

  But by making her pay, I’d be paying, too. If I pressed charges, the divorce would drag out even longer, and marrying Preston would be further away. Did my desire to be his wife outweigh my thirst for revenge?

  For my mom, the answer was no. “Let her rot,” she seethed. “Hell, let ‘em both rot.”

  “That’s not very zen of you,” I said, chuckling over the vehemence of her words while Preston rolled his lips between his teeth to stifle a laugh.

  My mom lifted her chin defiantly. “They’re just lucky I haven’t asked Lily or Rose to put a hex on either one of them.”

  “That’s not the kind of magic they practice, and you know it.”

  “Well,” she huffed. “I’m sure they know someone who does.”

  I really wasn’t sure they did, but it wasn’t worth arguing over. My mom obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.

  But I was. Finally.

  A sense of peace washed over me as I turned to face Preston. “Take me home and show me that ring you bought.”

  He faltered, but only for a fraction of a second. “Yeah?” he asked, his lips quirking up in a happy, sexy smile that I couldn’t get enough of.

  “Yeah,” I hummed, reaching for the wine as my mom’s gaze swung wildly between us. It was my favorite, and we had some celebrating to do. “Rosalie Kelly has a nice ring to it, don’t you—”

  Before I could get the last word out, Preston hoisted me up and into his arms.

  “Be careful. The wine!” I exclaimed as some of the chardonnay sloshed out of the bottle.

  He pried it from my grip and set it down on the counter as he marched us through the kitchen. “Leave the wine. I’ve got a bottle of Pol Roger chilling at home.”

  Mmm, champagne. “You do?”

  “Always.” He pressed his lips to mine, and the sound of my mom’s voice died away as I pulled the door closed behind us. “Fuck, it’s cold out here,” he said, hitching me tighter against him just before he sprinted across the yard, our euphoric laughter filling the night air.

  I yelped when he kicked it into high gear, and held on for dear life as he took the handful of stairs to his front door quicker than he had any right to considering he was carrying an extra one hundred and thirty pounds of pasta-laden flesh. I leaned down to twist the knob and flung the door open. The second he stepped through it, I found myself suddenly on my feet, his hands tugging at my clothing as our lips crashed together with frenetic energy.

  “You get you, and I’ll get me,” I said between kisses, yanking my sweater off over my head and flinging my black motorcycle booties off my feet. The right one landed with a thud somewhere in the kitchen, and the other knocked his prized Roger Clemens baseball off its shelf near the door. “Shit,” I muttered, moving to pick it up.

  Preston grabbed me around the waist and hauled me back toward him. “Leave it.”

  “But—”

  He silenced me with another searing kiss. “Naked, now.”

  “Yes, sir.” I saluted him playfully, taking several backward steps as I removed my bra and tossed it toward him.

  “God, I love it when you’re obedient.” His devilish grin stretched into a wolfish smile as he stalked toward me, his gaze lustful.

  I laughed and darted away when he lunged for me. I continued moving about the room, divesting myself of all remaining clothing until I stood naked in front of the sliding glass doors that looked out over his deck and the meadow beyond.

  Preston stepped close and braced his hands on my hips. “Caught you,” he whispered, digging his fingers gently into my flesh.

  “Maybe I wanted to be caught.” I teased.

  “Is that right?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I hummed, as he kissed a path down my neck, his teeth lightly scraping over my fevered skin. He swept his tongue over my nipple and his eyes flicked upward to gauge my reaction. I let out a breathy moan when he clamped down on the raised tip.

  “More,” I begged with a shiver.

  He moved to its partner and lavished it with the same type of adoring attention until my moans turned to begging and he dropped down to his knees in front of me. “I believe it’s customary for a man to get down on his knees when he’s asking a woman to marry him.” Then he hitched my leg over his shoulder and his mouth dropped lower to lick a slow, torturous path along my seam. His fingers joined his tongue, pumping slowly in and out of me until my hips bucked wildly against his questing mouth. He circled my clit and my limbs trembled. “I got you,” he whispered against my warm, wet skin. “Let go, sweetheart.”

  Goosebumps spread across my skin like wildfire as Preston took me higher and higher before the wave of my desire crested and finally crashed over me, pulling me under. “Yes, oh god. Yes!” I cried, my fingers tangled in his hair and gripping it tight. Before my first orgasm had fully waned, he twisted his fingers to hit that special spot that ripped a second one from my shattered body.

  “Please,” I begged, my voice thin and reedy. I didn’t even know what I was asking for at that point.

  My one leg gave out and he caught me, lowering me down onto the rug. “I’ll be right back,” he said, sliding away from me.

  I canted upward, grabbing onto his arm before he could leave me. “I’m on birth control,” I told him, my voice shaking with sudden nerves. We’d always used condoms, but when I’d found the jeweler’s receipt, I’d had another round of testing done, just to be sure. If I was going to marry this man, I didn’t want anything between us. A couple of days ago, my doctor had assured me that I was in perfect health. “And I’m clean.”

  His eyes flicked between mine, and I held my breath as I waited for him to speak. “I’m clean, too,” he said, dropping back down over me. “I got tested after you played footsie with my dick.”

  I chuckled and twined a leg around his hips. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t want to pressure you,” he said, slowly running the head of his cock through my slick folds.

  “You’ve never pressured me,” I whispered, tilting my hips up in sil
ent urging.

  “You’re sure?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I want you. All of you.”

  In one smooth, flowing motion, he was inside of me, his hips pumping. Propped up on his forearm, he stared down at me tenderly and brushed the hair from my face. “You’re mine.”

  I nodded. “I’m yours.”

  He linked our fingers together and held my hands over my head as he moved harder and faster inside of and over me. He was everywhere. He was everything. His gaze stayed locked with mine until, with a deep, final thrust, he spoke my name and joined me in mutual ecstasy.

  I woke up the next morning on the floor where we’d fallen asleep just before sunrise, my naked body covered with the comforter from his bed. I grinned and stretched, my sore muscles feeling the effects of our night of love making. We’d gone two more rounds after that first time, finally succumbing to exhaustion.

  I sniffed the air, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee bringing me fully awake, and rolled onto my stomach, pitching up onto my forearms and wincing slightly when my skin brushed against the antique wool rug. Lifting the blanket and glancing back over my shoulder, I spied a series of small rug burns along my left side. My nipples pebbled as I recalled Preston’s cock thrusting in and out of me as I begged him to fuck me harder. Those marks were more than worth it.

  “Good morning,” he said, stalking toward me, his magnificent body on full, beautiful display. He crouched down next to me and held out his hand, his palm facing upward. There sat an antique diamond and sapphire eternity band that glinted in the sunlight streaming in from the glass doors behind us. “I believe you said something about wanting to see a ring?”

  My eyes danced over the exquisite piece of jewelry, my fingers itching to examine its fine craftsmanship. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “Are you saying yes?” His eyes danced.

  I held his gaze as happy tears turned my vision blurry. “I’m saying always.”