“Works for me.” Under the table, I crossed my fingers.
“I’ve never been to Vegas. What’s it like?” Picking up her cup, she sipped her juice.
“Overwhelming, exciting, non-stop action,” I told her honestly, lighting up as I recalled my first trip there. “I think we’ll have a blast. You should look online to get an idea of what you might want to do while we’re there. We’ll come up with a plan.”
“I’ll do that this afternoon. This morning I want to get some painting done.” She got to her feet. Before she turned to go, she pressed a kiss to my hair. “I love you.”
“I love you too, flutterby.” No sentence had ever held so much meaning yet felt wholly inadequate as those handful of words.
I watched her as she strolled in the direction of our shared studio. She’d been spending her mornings in there for the past few weeks. But she hadn’t let me see what she was working on yet.
As I sat at the table, I shot off a group text to Wilder, Jett and Maddox.
Me: Brooks can’t come to Vegas with us. Rest of wedding party is in. You 3 will be bunking in one of the suites so the girls can share the other suite.
Jett: Hate Brooks can’t make it.
Maddox: Won’t be the same without him.
Maddox: Gina doesn’t know yet if she can come. Fingers crossed.
Wilder: Britt’s coming?
Me: Yes Britt. And Cleo, Sky, Tansy, Mireille and hubby.
Maddox: Is Sky bringing Jarrod?
Me: IDK
Jett: We hitting up the Crazy Horse while we’re there this time?
Maddox: Count me in
Wilder: Me too
Me: Count me out
Wilder: Dude, this is like your bachelor party.
Me: Don’t care. Unless for some reason Izzy wants to go.
Jett: She’ll probably want to go to the Magic Mike show with the girls.
Me: That’s her call. I just don’t want to go. It doesn’t appeal to me.
Wilder: Tits and ass no longer appeal to you?
Me: Only Izzy’s. One day you’ll know what I mean.
Wilder: You may as well get married while we’re there. You already act married.
Me: I’d marry her this afternoon if I thought our parents wouldn’t kill us.
Me: Can’t enjoy a honeymoon if we’re dead.
Jett: True
I knew they weren’t serious about the grief they were giving me for wanting to skip out on a party at a strip club. All the guys loved Izzy and had from the beginning. They just wanted to yank my chain a bit since I was the first one officially settling down. But honestly, I’d been serious about Izzy for so long—even when we were apart—that the guys were used to me not participating in the single guy shenanigans. My heart had belonged to Isabelle since we were six years old. It had taken me a while to fully accept that. But once I had, I was all in.
I took my time cleaning up the kitchen. Lyrics of love and forever floated in my mind. I hadn’t quite nailed them down yet. They’d been elusive, but I wasn’t worried. Yet. I still had plenty of time to get my vows finalized before our wedding.
With my hands covered in suds and dripping, I grabbed Izzy’s notepad and glittery pen to jot down a couple of lines.
You are my love
Now my wife
Forever to have and hold
As our souls grow old.
I added a few guitar chords and notes. Satisfied, I dropped the pen and ripped off a paper towel to dab at the little puddles on the page so they wouldn’t make the ink bleed. Carefully, I tore the page from the pad and folded it neatly, so I could tuck it into my pocket for safekeeping.
Moving back to the sink, I finished washing the frying pan then loaded the other dishes into the dishwasher. Outside, a beautiful California day beckoned to me. While Izzy was lost to her art, I decided to line up a few things for us to do in Vegas. I slipped through the glass doors and out onto the back deck.
Using my thumb to navigate my phone, I pulled up Luca’s contact info. He was the Hard Rock Casino exec who’d been assigned as the band’s point of contact.
“Hey, Luca,” I greeted him when the call connected.
“Dawson, how’s it going?” he answered enthusiastically.
“Good, man. Izzy and I decided to turn our band trip into an engagement celebration of sorts while we’re there. So, we’ll be joined by her friends in addition to the band. I hope that’s OK.” I probably should’ve checked before I had Izzy invite the girls.
“No problem. Do you need more accommodations than the three suites?” Luca asked.
“Yes. We’d like to add a regular suite for our friends who are married with a toddler. It’s been a while since they’ve enjoyed any time away, just the two of them. We thought it would be nice for them to have some privacy.”
“So, the three large suites and one executive suite. Got it. Of course, you’ll have fully comped meals at any of the casino’s restaurants and room service during your stay. Are there any other places you’d like me to arrange meals for you at?”
“I’d like to have reservations for me and Izzy at the Eiffel Tower restaurant. As private of a table as we can get. And I’d like to take her up on the observation deck. I’m willing to pay extra to reserve the deck for us so we won’t be bothered for like fifteen minutes if that’s possible.” I loved our fans, but they often intruded on moments that I wanted to be romantic.
Tapping clicked over the phone, as I was sure he was noting my wishes. “That’s definitely not a problem. What else?”
“I’ve been wanting to check out the High Roller Ferris wheel ever since it was constructed. Can you arrange for a private car for us?”
“Absolutely. Do you want a bartender at your disposal?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” I wanted to be alone with Izzy high above the city. A metaphorical rising above all the things we’d been through on our journey back to each other.
“You got it. How about tickets to one of the Cirque shows or VIP passes to some of the strip clubs since you’re having a bachelor party of sorts?” Luca seemed eager to grant any wish our hearts desired.
“I’m letting Izzy chose a few things for us to do. I suspect she’ll pick a Cirque show. But I don’t know which one yet. As for strip clubs, I think the other guys might be interested in checking one out. But not me. I’ll let them get in touch with you about that.”
“Sounds like a plan. Once your girl has picked a show or anything else she’d like to do, just hit me up, and I’ll take care of it. And any things you want stocked in the rooms, let me know about that too. I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks, man.”
“We’re really looking forward to meeting with you and hopefully coming to a favorable arrangement with LO.”
“Us too. See you soon.”
“Ciao.”
Before I could put my phone away, a text came through.
Lila: You should get an awning installed over your back deck.
Me: What???
Lila: For privacy.
Then a link came through. Without thought, I clicked it. It opened to a gossip website, where the headline read: #Dizzy get hot and heavy in the LA heat. Beneath it was a grainy photo of me and Izzy in our backyard. I had her lifted against the wall. We’d gotten a little distracted by each other one night while we were cooking dinner on the grill. Izzy was completely blocked by my body, and my jeans covered my ass. But it was pretty apparent what we were doing from Izzy’s bare legs around my waist and her nails digging into the flesh of my back. The article said as much.
Shit.
Me: How’d they take the photo?
Lila: From one of your neighbor’s windows? Helicopter? Drone? IDK.
Me: I’ll get that awning installed.
Lila: I’ll text you the name of a company who can take care of it.
Me: Thanks
Sighing heavily, I glanced at the time. Enough had passed that Izzy might be ready to take
a break from painting. I had to tell her about the photo. We’d been featured in the gossip rags off and on since our reunion. We generally ignored everything they had to say. But we did it as a team.
Izzy
I stepped back, paintbrush in hand, to examine the three easels in front of me. Two contained completed pieces. Pieces that had been completed for years. But they didn’t tell the whole story, hence the third canvas.
The final piece was coming along nicely. To an outside observer, it would probably appear finished. But something was missing. I just wasn’t sure what that something was. I paced the floor in front of the easels. It would come to me. I just had to give it time.
A soft knock sounded on the door behind me. “Izzy, can I come in?” Dawson called through the wood.
I dragged my fingers through my hair. “Sure.” He’d seen some of my work in far less states of completion. Besides, he was my muse. Maybe he could help me figure out what was missing.
The door opened quietly behind me. The air shifted, lightened as his presence moved into the room. Strong arms wrapped around my middle.
“Careful. There’s probably wet paint on my shirt,” I warned.
He spun me around. “Have I ever told you how sexy you look wearing my old button-up shirt as a smock?” The look in his eyes was feral.
“I think you might have mentioned it a time or two,” I said with a laugh.
“So, you’re far enough along in the process that I can see what you’ve been working on?” he asked.
“Yep. It’s still not done. I’m just not sure what it needs to be finished.” I stepped away from him and tugged him to the space in front of the middle easel so he could see the three pieces together.
“The first two, I’ve seen before,” he said with a note of hesitancy in his voice.
“Yeah. The first one you saw the small version as I worked on it in Amsterdam years ago. Remember, I captured the kaleidoscope roses while you worked on new music in bed.”
He brushed a gentle finger along one of the multi-colored blooms. Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he, like me, recalled my visit to him in Amsterdam.
That was before.
Sorrow filled his eyes as he turned his attention to the middle canvas. He dipped his finger into the painted puddle of color that had dripped from the flowers. The lifeless roses, with their withered and colorless petals, embodied the broken version of myself I became not long after I returned home from Amsterdam.
“That one, I did as the roses you sent me when I got home gave up the ghost, and I was mourning our relationship.” The lump in my throat was thick.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Tell me about the new piece,” he murmured softly, stepping behind me to view the painting from the same angle I was.
“Well, I was sorting some of my pieces and came across the pair. They no longer tell the full story. I’m no longer grey and lifeless,” I explained of the flowers on the canvas which were perking up and regaining their color. Life was figuratively being spread down the canvas.
“No. You’re vibrant and breathtaking,” he breathed against my neck.
I squinted at the work in progress, examining it critically. “What’s it missing?” I whispered.
“Hmm,” he mumbled.
As an artist himself, I trusted Dawson to be honest with me. He wouldn’t sugarcoat any failings or criticisms he saw in my work.
“I’m not sure. I get what you mean that it feels incomplete. Maybe because you’re story isn’t over?” he suggested.
“I don’t think that’s it.” I wrapped a lock of indigo hair around my finger.
“Maybe you need to think back on the moments where life began again for you. Like when you started your own bucket list. Or when you had your kidney transplant. Or …” He swallowed hard behind me. “Or when you met Beckett and his research saved you,” he whispered. Pain and remorse laced his words.
I spun in his arms. “You’re a genius.” I planted a hard kiss on his lips. “Now go. I need an hour.” I shooed him out the door as the perfect idea took shape in my mind.
“I … uh … OK,” he stuttered as he shuffled out the door, an unreadable look on his face.
As the door clicked shut, I zoned out in front of my easel, already visualizing what I needed to do. I grabbed my brush and palette. With my eyes closed, I let my mind wander back many months. To the moment my life began anew. To when I first emerged from my own cocoon. Back to when life was breathed back into me. Back to him. His face filled my mind’s eye.
In the top right corner of the canvas, I started adding the shape of his face—strong jaw, lean cheeks, high forehead, aristocratic nose, bow shaped lips, wide eyes. The features flowed from my brush to the canvas effortlessly. On my palette, I mixed until I got the perfect shade for his flesh. I added a glow to the apple of his cheeks. Then I moved to his lips. I painted them in a pucker, slightly parted, a perfect shade of blush. I exchanged my brush for a finer tipped one with stiff bristles. Dabbing it into the hickory colored puddle, I loaded the brush. Across the jaw on the woven material, I speckled the paint, creating scruff. Once I’d evenly distributed a heavy five o’clock shadow on both sides and over his chin, I carefully added some above his lips.
A few minutes later, I swept the fine brush tip along the edges of the eyes, creating a fan of lashes. It took several shades of brown and gold to recreate his soulful eyes. Then I moved to his hair. At that moment in time of my memory, his tresses were longer and thicker than normal. The sun had kissed a lightness onto the top layer. A few more brush strokes added shadow and depth to the face that meant so much to me. The one who’d saved me.
Pleased with the likeness on the canvas, I added the illusion of gentle motion across the tops of the colorful blooms. I stepped back to survey the finished piece. It was perfect. Dawson was right. It had needed the catalyst for my resurrection to complete the vision.
I couldn’t wait to see what he thought. I shuffled my bare feet over to the door. Gently, I pressed the silver lever. The door swung open noiselessly.
“Daw?” I called out.
I waited, expecting him to answer right away. But only silence greeted me. I padded out into the hallway and listened intently. The house was quiet. Still, I moved down the hallway to our bedroom. It was empty. He must be downstairs. Maybe he had his headphones on and couldn’t hear me. I called out again anyway. “Dawson, baby, where are you?”
I skipped down the stairs. The living room and den were empty. I knew the music room was empty since it was in the open area downstairs in my art studio. When I entered the kitchen, I noticed him outside on the deck. His back was to me, shoulders slumped and defeat shrouding him. My lips turned down as I wondered what could’ve happened while I was lost in a world of my own creation.
Momentarily forgetting why I’d sought him out in the first place, I hurried out into the sunshine to dissipate whatever storm had rained on the love of my life.
“Baby?” I eased behind him and rested my palm on his shoulder. His skin was warm beneath mine. He’d been out here a while. “Are you OK?” I whispered.
He was lost in thought, staring out at the sliver of ocean visible from this part of the porch. Leaning forward, I pressed my lips to his flesh. “Daw, what’s wrong?”
He turned his head toward me, finally noticing my presence. A small smile tipped up one corner of his lips. “Hey, you.”
My brow furrowed. “Hey. What’s going on?” I asked cautiously.
“Nothing. Just thinking.” His gaze dropped to his lap.
I slipped into his lap, looping my arms around his neck. “Thinking about what?”
“The time we were apart. Darkest days of my life,” he rasped out, his voice thick with emotion. His arms tightened around me.
“Darkest days of mine too.” I hated thinking about them.
“I know, flutterby.”
“Thank God they’re over now though. Nothing but sunshine for us from now on.” I smiled, hoping he’d r
eturn it.
He did. Though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you all done painting? Want to go for a walk on the beach?” he asked anxiously.
“I am done, and I’d love to stroll along the beach with you. After you come with me first. I need to see what you think of the finished piece.” I shifted my weight, so my feet landed back on the wooden decking boards.
Before I could stand up, Dawson’s arm around my abdomen pulled me backwards, landing me more deeply in his embrace. With trembling fingers, I traced his jaw, examining everything written on the face of the man I loved with all my heart. He tried to hide his pain from me. But I’d known him too long. It was there, lingering in his eyes. I just wasn’t sure why.
“You’re scaring me, Daw. Did something happen?”
“No. Nothing happened. At least nothing we can’t handle. I mean there was a stupid tabloid article about us.” He shrugged.
I waved my hand dismissively. “Did they say I looked fat? Or that you were cheating on me?”
“No, none of that.”
“Was my ass or boobs hanging out for the world to see?”
“Nope.”
“Was yours?”
He laughed, joy finally reaching his eyes. “No.”
“Then it’s no big deal. Now come with me real quick so we can go for that walk.” I got to my feet then tugged him up with me.
I led him back to my studio and positioned him in front of the last easel. “What do you think?”
“It’s me. You added me to your painting?” he sounded dumbfounded.
“Of course, I added you. You’re the one who breathed life back into my barren existence.” I gave his hand a squeeze where our fingers were still laced together.
“I was certain you were going to paint Beckett into the picture,” he admitted quietly.
My eyes grew wide as I stepped in front of him. Was that why he’d seemed so pensive and sad earlier? “Why would you think that?”
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 82