Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  Feeling her hormones springing to life, she gave herself a mental shake, then gently chastised him with an edge of concern in her voice. “Granger, don't you know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?” Looking down at her silver watch with ivory cameos on the bands, she frowned even more. “We only have four hours to go before we walk down the aisle. We don't need any more bad luck, baby. Lord only knows that in the past three short years we've had a lifetime’s worth of bad luck.” she finished, doing her best to sound put out, but failing miserably. “I think you should leave, let's not tempt fate, Ok? This time, I want to start off with all the good luck we can get.” Wobbling to her feet because the heel of her foot caught the back of the hem of her dress, she struggled with her balance for a moment.

  Hurrying to her side, he gripped both her arms gently yet firmly, in order to steady her. Wondering what had made her struggle with her balance, he glanced down at the jeweled heels she was wearing, and his dark brows furrowed as he frowned slightly. He really didn't think she should be wearing high heels in her advanced state of pregnancy, but this was their day, and he wasn't going to start an argument over something as silly as high heels. Seeing the serene look on her face, he smiled. Smoothing the tie of her Ivory Maxie dress at the waist, he thought she looked beautiful, sexy, even. Noticing the tie at the halter around her neck was loose, he reached around, making sure it was secure. “There, I would hate for that halter to fall and show our guests the goods. Although I think the male guest would like that, I want to keep your beautiful breasts for my eyes only.” he voiced his naughty thoughts aloud as his eyes locked on her breasts for a moment. Shaking his head, he looked up at her to address her concerns. “I'd like to think our stretch of bad luck is over.” he whispered as he nibbled at her earlobe.

  Giggling, and still trying to sound exasperated, she said, “Granger, really, don't!”

  Dropping his hand to hers, he grabbed it and led her to a peach colored sofa next to the room's large picture window, which overlooked the serenity garden. The garden had been decorated for the ceremony and reception earlier that morning.

  Sitting down heavily, she held her swollen stomach and let out a tired sigh, holding her tired ankles off the floor and wiggling them around to give them a good stretch.

  “You know, I popped in here just to give you something, but now, for some reason, I'm suddenly very worried about going through with the ceremony today. Just a gut feeling I can't quite put my finger on.” he said as he reached out, touching the hand on her stomach, smiling again as he felt the baby move. Since the day of the hit and run, the baby had became very active, almost like she was reassuring him that she was fine. “You think we should postpone at least until after Nicolette is born?” he asked. Thinking about the name his wife had chosen for their daughter, he frowned, and with a vague hint of disapproval in his voice said, “I still don't know why my daughter is going to be named after him.”

  The name had been his brother's idea. After a quite a bit of begging, pleading, and bribery, Nicola finally sold the idea to her after feeding her a delicious, steaming plate of his specialty, chicken supreme with gravy.

  “Why, what's the big deal?” she asked innocently.

  Gritting his teeth, he remembered his cock-sure brother strutting around bragging that HIS little girl would be name after him. “My wife, the mother of my precious offspring, selling her daughter's name for a plate of chicken supreme.” he mused, suddenly and inexplicably finding the humor in it. But, pretending to be annoyed, he grunted, “If he wants children named after him he should get one of those bony wenches he's always tomcatting around with to have a baby by him. Then he can name it whatever the hell he wants.”

  Feigning annoyance, she sat up tall, still holding her stomach, and looked down her nose at him with false hauteur. “I'll have you to know, dear sir, it was not just chicken supreme with gravy, but.....” she said dramatically, then help up one hand and began counting off items on her fingers. ”Also....a huge, party sized bag of sour cream and chive potato chips, aaaaannnnnnd, a huge glass of ice cold RED Kool-Aid. As far as postponing this ceremony, no way, Jose'. We've wasted three years apart, and I'll not waste one more day without beginning all over again, fresh.”

  “Alright alright.” he grinned. “You're right. And Good Lord, woman, remind me to never stand between you and your grub! Just talking about it, you had a look in your eyes like a junkie needing a fix! I would bet a cool million you would trade my cute ass for a slice of apple pie any day!”

  “WOULD NOT!” she laughed, slapping his arm, then giving him a hard look.

  “Alllllrighty then, I know that momma don't play that look. I know your hormones are raging, and today is stressful enough, plus, I don't want Regan catching me in here. But can you believe we pulled this together for him in such a short amount of time? We did it, we made our son's dream come true.” he said, his blue eyes lighting up like a summer day.

  “Oh, don't tell him we helped him with this, at least not yet. He believes his allowance paid for all of it. We're going to have one hell of a time explaining to him later that fifty dollars a week doesn't go quite that far.” she laughed. “But we'll worry about that later. You should have seen him dressed like a miniature-you, with that clipboard tucked under his arm, barking orders.” Reaching out, she caressed his face with the back of one hand. “I'm so proud of him. He's becoming more and more like you every day, with that take-charge attitude. I saw him earlier, marching around with one of Raidon's men, making sure everything is perfect. He had the poor florist ready to cry about the center pieces on the tables, he actually gave the poor woman a frowny face and said we wouldn't recommend her to anyone else. Now who do you supposes he gets that from?” she teased.

  “Yeah, I saw that too. He probably knows about recommendations from listening to Grace, she was organizing parties and such around him since before he could walk.” he chuckled, remembering how his mother would carry their son around as she organized various social events. “But listen, this is the main reason I slipped down here. I wanted to give you this before the ceremony starts. Here.” he said as he reached behind his back, then withdrew a beautifully made, box shaped object wrapped in black velvet, with her name stitched in gold thread.

  Accepting the object reverently, she ran the fingers of one hand over the velvet slowly, then unwrapped the gift, which was a tiny, yet beautiful cherry wood box, with Italian lettering hand carved in the lid. The workmanship was extraordinary, and it was clear the box wasn't of the mass-produced variety.

  “I'll tell you about the lettering in a bit, but first I want to tell you a short story. As you know, my family are descendants of Italian Nobility. One of my ancestors, a very powerful Nobleman, summoned four of his most trusted advisors to court, all of them good and decent men, and gifted them all with boxes identical to this one. He then sent them to the four corners of the earth, charging them with the task of finding a woman, a lifetime companion, whom each felt was worthy of bestowing their special gift upon. Granger smiled as he watched her run her long, perfectly manicured nails over the carved lettering, her eyes wide with wonder. “The legend says the men who received these gifts still roam the earth, and that none of them, to this day, have ever found another they deemed worthy. Such is the solemn nature of their mission, and their oath to their Lord. My grandfather gave this box to my grandmother shortly before they were engaged, and last night, he gave it to me, to give to you, my one, true love.”

  Clamping her lips tight to keep from crying, her lips trembled as she slowly opened the lid of the box and looked inside, then touched the center of her chest where her heart was beating quickly with happiness. “Oh...Granger.” she whispered breathlessly, and with one trembling hand reached inside and picked up the beautifully crafted pewter key from its bed of red silk.

  Leaning towards her, he kissed her on the edge of her mouth tenderly and whispered, “It's the key to my heart. You're the only woman that can touch my soul. Cas
sandra, that's what the inscription says. Never forget you hold the only key to my heart, and remember, my love, that only YOU can or ever will possess that key.” Reaching out with one hand, he turned her face to him and kissed her full lips, burying his fingers in her thick curls, heedless of the immaculate job the hair stylist had worked so hard to finish.

  Knowing their time alone was quickly running out, she broke the kiss reluctantly and breathed, feeling a warm glow flow through her. “Thank you baby, I'll treasure and cherish this forever!” Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek softly and said, “You never have to worry about me willingly giving up the key to your heart, not without a fight.”

  Getting up, she hurried over to the makeup vanity and returned a moment later with a small black box adorned with white and lavender ribbons, then handed it to him. “Open it! It's something you can keep with you at all times. ” she said in an excited voice.

  Lifting the present to his ear and shaking it carefully, he wondered what in the world she could have bought him. Opening the box carefully, he looked down at what was inside. It was a large, half-heart shaped token, and he knew from a glance (experience) that the token was solid gold. Looking more closely, he strained to read the tiny Italian engraving: Non importa dove andate. Transportate un a parte dei nostri cuori. (No matter where you go, you carry a piece of our hearts) Swallowing hard, he turned the things over and read, Love Cassandra, Regan, and Nicolette. Fighting his own tears, he turned and gave her a grateful smile. “I'll never go anywhere without it. Ever.” he said. Leaning towards her again to kiss her, he groaned in frustration when there was a light rapping at the door.

  Standing, he reached out one hand and helped her to her feet. Watching his pregnant wife practically waddle to the vanity to freshen up, he was pleased when she put his gift down on the vanity and began fussing with her hair. “It's probably Regan, with that damned clipboard, coming here to order us about.” he laughed softly, then adjusted his tie. Satisfied he was presentable, he slipped the pendant in the right breast pocket of his suit jacket.

  Making his way to the door, he opened it. “Regan, you'll have to be more patient, I......” his voice trailed off in surprise when he saw who was standing there.

  Chapter 57

  Latasha tried to concentrate on the wedding cookies she was arranging on the crystal platter, but she knew that he (Nicola) was somewhere close by, watching her like a wolf ready to pounce on it's prey.

  As she laid the red knotted confections on the platter, Chris Nagle, one of Raidon Bishop's men, walked up to her and leaned against the stainless steel counter casually. Chris, a tall, lanky, former Marine, had spent more time keeping his eyes on her that morning than he had his young charge, Regan. When she had sauntered into the kitchen that morning, the sexy way she was dressed, and that whole earthy Jill Scott look, not the one with the afro he found hot, but the one with her hair straightened in waves, softening her pretty round face, well, it had set him on fire. She was hot, and he planned on leaving the reception with Ms. Latasha Weeks. After all, with all the model-types who would be present later, he figured she would be grateful if he gave her a little play. Watching her nice, firm behind sway back and forth from the stove to the counter, he felt himself becoming aroused. Between the wonderful smells tantalizing his senses and the young woman's alluring body hypnotizing him, he couldn't control his mouth. “Mmmmm....MMMMM! Damn, girl, your ass is wearing that dress!” he murmured, then whistled softly.

  Stiffening momentarily, Latasha concentrated on the task at hand, ignoring him, hoping that the wannabe player would take the hint and move along. She had always wished he and other people would just leave her alone and let her do her job, especially men. All she wanted them to do was let her do what she was paid to do, in peace. And that went for her off-duty time as well. When she wasn't working (she lived on the premises of the old estate, the one now owned by Nicola) she simply wanted to be left alone in the company of her books, and memories of what her life had been like before the day she had found her mother dead in the family pool, of an apparent stroke.

  She couldn't understand why people were always wanting to get to know her, connect with her. Trying to distract herself as she went about her mundane tasks, her thoughts wandered to something that had happened earlier that morning. She had been summoned to Cassandra Mortensen's suite, and she remembered how nervous she had been, thinking she was going to be either fired or reprimanded for something, but instead, had an unexpected surprise waiting for her.

  Cassandra and her friends, Cynne' and Satin Johnson, stood looking at her like she was a rare, beautiful piece of bone china, as if they could see past the oversized, drab gray dress she had chosen to wear, along with her large afro and mousy features, which were devoid of any makeup.

  “LATASHA, we have a surprise for you!” Cassandra addressed her like a long-time friend or baby sister. For the woman to be heavy with child, she certainly could move fast, and descended on her before she could say or do anything.

  Before she knew it, the three attacked like a whirlwind, and by the time they finished, perming, curling, waxing, applying makeup, and dressing her in new attire, she looked like a completely different person, one she didn't even recognize herself. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling washed over her as she realized she was looking at a young version of her mother, before she had hooked up with her step-father.

  For the longest time she stood looking at her reflection in the floor-length mirror, tears streaming down her cheeks. As she drank in the sight of her hourglass figure in the long, beaded dress, she wondered what her mother would think if she could see her.

  Apparently worried that she had offended her somehow, Cassandra's motherly concern showed on her face as she fretted, “Oh, honey, don't cry, we just wanted to make you happy.” Hugging her tightly, Cassandra held her at arms length and gave her a warm smile. “Darling, you're such a good person, and you deserve to be pampered sometimes too.”

  The women then helped her adjust the beaded dress, and gave her a pair of matching brown heels. Looking pleased, Cassandra handed her a gift card for a local day-spa. “This is for all your hard work on the wedding cake and cookies, we wanted you to know just how much it means to us.

  In a rare display of affection, she hugged all three of them, touched that they had cared or even noticed how hard she had labored that morning. As a matter of fact, for the first time since she had began working for the family, she was glad that she had been noticed. Thanking all three of them as graciously as she knew how, she rushed out and practically ran to a guest bedroom she knew was unoccupied.

  Once there, she looked in her own mirror, admiring the way her sable hair was now relaxed, and laying in waves. For the first time since she could remember, she actually thought she looked pretty.

  Later, as she went about the wedding preparations, she couldn't help but notice that her new look, coupled with the dark brown beaded dress, seemed to attract several male admirers Not only that, they seemed to be following her around, asking questions she was uncomfortable answering, paying unwanted attention to her.

  One of the worst was Nicola, who seemed to find numerous plausible excuses to insinuate himself into her work space, to tell her about a flavor he thought she should use in the assortment of Italian cookies, supposedly giving his expert advice on every little thing. Earlier he had walked over to a table she was working at and touched the small of her bare back lightly, making a knot rise in her throat. He then leaned over and dipped his bejeweled pinkie in the mixture she was working on. Looking in her eyes as he slowly pulled his finger out of the batter, he put the tip of his pinkie in his mouth as if tasting it. Smiling suggestively (it could be nothing else, this, she knew) his eyes had brazenly appraised her from top to bottom, and his deep-timbered voice had addressed in her in a way that made her toes curl. “The chocolate is very good, but you must remember to balance the taste with hazelnut.”

  “Yes sir.” she had replied in a near w
hisper, uncomfortable, yet aroused at the same time at the way his body was so close to hers, yet not touching her. She could feel his heat, that's how close he was.

  Looking at her as if he was photographing her with his eyes, he said, “They should blend like lovers, making the scent and taste of their passion unique.”

  She could do nothing but stare in his blue eyes for a moment, instinctively knowing that he could indeed fulfill the passion he spoke about, only in a carnal manner. But....remembering she had seen him whispering to other women as well, in much the same manner, she felt her defense shields rise again. Stepping away from him reluctantly, she said, “Mr. De Luca, I know you're a chef and I'm only a cook, but I know what I'm doing, sir.” Tilting her chin in defiance, she addressed her employer in a manner that had horrified her, as if an alien entity had suddenly possessed her and was speaking through her vocal chords. “Maybe you should go check on your own MAIN dish, that red-headed date you brought with you. Perhaps you should feed her some DATES before she dries up and blows away!” she had hissed, turning and glaring in the direction of the tall, swanky red-head who was decked out in a clinging, skimpy green dress. To her amazement, he simply chuckled, his muscular chest rumbling and his eyes smoldering more fiercely than ever.