by Heidi Betts
“Are you kidding me?” he returned.
He shot her a wide, wicked grin and added a wink that made her toes curl inside her pretty pastel slides.
“Older women make better lovers. That’s what the song says, right? I happen to know whoever wrote it is one hundred percent on the money. And as for you being a former showgirl…if anyone gets on my case, I’ll simply explain that you can cross your ankles behind her head. They’ll not only understand, they’ll beg me to introduce them to some of your dancer friends.”
They both knew the situation was more serious than that, but she buried her face in his chest and laughed, anyway. His sense of humor was another one of the traits she loved best about him, so as long as he could hold on to it through thick and thin, she really believed they would be all right.
“And your grandfather…?” she ventured.
“Granddad will learn to accept you. And if he doesn’t, then he’ll learn to keep his mouth shut or he won’t be allowed to see his first great-grandchild.”
“Oh, no, Cullen—”
He covered her mouth with two fingers. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll work it out. Whatever it is, we’ll work through it together. Together, okay?”
“Together,” she whispered, and they sealed the deal with a kiss.
Thirteen
Two weeks later
C ullen stood outside the Tides, the Elliott family’s palatial estate in the Hamptons, tugging at the bow tie of his black tuxedo. The darn thing was all but cutting off his circulation.
And his brother was late, dammit.
Everyone else was inside, flowers were arranged, his family and the minister were present, guests were seated. Only Bryan—his best man—had yet to show up.
Even to the casual observer, Cullen would probably look nervous. And considering that it was his wedding day, he figured he had every right.
But he wasn’t. His tie was too tight and he was starting to get annoyed with his brother’s continued absence, but he was far from anxious.
He’d been wanting to marry Misty for too long—longer than he’d even realized until recently—to think about backing out now. If he had his way, he and Misty would be standing at the altar already, saying their vows. Then he would be that much closer to whisking her away on their honeymoon.
He’d wanted to take her somewhere such as Paris or Greece, but since she was already five months into her pregnancy and had suffered complications early on, it was recommended that she not fly very far.
Actually, the doctor had said it would probably be okay, but Cullen had nixed the idea. He might not be a nervous groom, but he was an exceptionally nervous and overprotective father-to-be.
They’d already flown back to Vegas once so that she could gather more of her belongings and deal with a few aspects of the dance school, but he didn’t want to risk letting her board another plane until after the baby was born.
So instead, they were spending a long, uninterrupted week at the Carlyle, right in Manhattan. She’d never been there and had always wanted to see the inside of the luxury hotel.
And see the inside of it, she would. Once he got her to their suite, he didn’t plan to let her leave—not even for a meal—for at least forty-eight hours.
And God help any member of his family who dared to disturb them. He had already threatened them with dire consequences if they so much as tried.
Blowing out a huff of breath, he checked his watch and went back to pacing along the edge of the circular drive that fronted the foyer entrance of the Tides.
Where the hell was Bryan?
His brother should have been there an hour ago. He had the rings for the ceremony, and they were supposed to take their places at the front of the church well before Misty walked down the aisle.
He was about to go back inside to try reaching Bryan on the phone when he heard tires squeal and an engine rev. Next thing he knew, Bryan’s silver Jaguar Xje careened up the drive and skidded to a stop sideways behind another car parked several feet away.
Cullen rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatic entrance and started forward with purpose.
“It’s about time,” he said as Bryan opened the driver’s side door and climbed out.
He was dressed in worn, comfortable looking jeans and a plain blue button-down shirt. He also had a split lip, and when he moved to slam the car door closed, Cullen noticed he was walking with an obvious limp.
“What happened to you?” Cullen asked, halting in his tracks.
Bryan shook his head. “Fender bender,” he said casually. “I knew I was running late, and wasn’t paying close enough attention on my race to get here. Of course, having to stop and exchange insurance information didn’t exactly help matters.”
Cullen glanced from where Bryan was poking gently at his split lip to the bumper of his car. Not a scratch anywhere that Cullen could see, front, back or side. And the cut on his face was already scabbed over.
Cullen’s brows drew together and he’d opened his mouth to question his brother further when Bryan slapped him on the back.
“Come on, little brother. It’s time for me to get changed into my monkey suit, and for you to tie the knot.”
Cullen’s gut dipped in anticipation as they headed back to the house. The Tides was a sprawling, two-story stone structure bought by Patrick Elliott forty years before. Located on five acres on a bluff above the Atlantic Ocean, the entire house had been lovingly decorated and filled with family photographs and memorabilia by Cullen’s grandmother, Maeve.
Throwing together and carrying out a ceremony of this size with only two weeks’ notice had been no simple feat, but there had never been a question that it might be held anywhere other than the family estate. His mother had taken her role as wedding planner seriously, clearing every detail with him or Misty, but not letting her soon-to-be daughter-in-law raise a finger.
Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mother so excited or determined. She was obviously thrilled at the idea of seeing her younger son married and expecting a child in only four more months.
And Patrick had, surprisingly, been more than willing to allow the event to be held on his property. At the very least, he hadn’t put up a fuss.
Ever since he and Misty had announced their engagement, Cullen had expected a call or visit from his grandfather. A lecture about the evils of mixing his fine Elliott blood with that of a lowly showgirl. A demand that he call things off and send Misty and the baby off to be hidden away from the rest of the world, someplace where they wouldn’t bring embarrassment to the family.
He’d been braced for it, ready to defend his future wife to his last breath, if necessary. But Patrick hadn’t called, and he hadn’t stopped by Cullen’s office at EPH to confront him.
Cullen hoped his grandfather’s silence meant he had accepted Misty’s addition to the Elliott family, but a part of him was still waiting for the inevitable.
He and Bryan made their way across the marble foyer to the library and master suite behind it. The groomsmen were using it as their changing area, while Misty and her bridesmaids occupied one of the upstairs bedrooms. Amanda had insisted on the wide separation to avoid any chance of the groom accidentally seeing the bride in her gown before the ceremony.
The old wives’ tale about bad luck befalling them if such a thing happened didn’t worry Cullen. He didn’t believe anything could ruin their day, or the many glorious years they had ahead of them.
The wedding itself was being held outside, on the pristine back lawn. A dark pink satin aisle had been laid on the grass, with chairs set up on either side, draped in a lighter pink fabric. A trellis stood at the end with red roses climbing over the white latticework.
“Hurry up,” he told his brother, shoving a garment bag with the last remaining tux at his chest. “You’ve held me up long enough, and I don’t want Misty thinking I got cold feet.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bryan retorted. “You chased her so hard, I’
m surprised you didn’t just elope on your last trip to Vegas.”
“It crossed my mind, believe me,” Cullen muttered. It would have saved everyone a hell of a lot of trouble, and if they’d done that, Misty would have his ring on her finger and be Mrs. Cullen Elliott right now.
They would be at home, snuggled in bed or holding hands over their breakfast plates, discussing names for their future little bundle of joy. And he wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to get out there and say I do already.
Bryan unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his boots. “You’d have to be barefoot in Antarctica to get cold feet, and Misty knows it. You two are so damn happy together, everyone around you needs a shot of insulin to keep from going into sugar shock. It’s sickening.”
A small smile stole across his face. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I know.”
Cullen slapped the black tuxedo pants into his brother’s hands as soon as Bryan kicked out of his jeans. “Now shut up and get dressed.”
Misty stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror and felt her heart stop.
She couldn’t believe this was her wedding day. That in less than half an hour, she would be walking through this massive house that intimidated her right down to her fishnet stockings, and across the expertly manicured lawn toward Cullen.
Her future husband. The man of her dreams.
In all the years she’d been with him, been secretly in love with him, she had never truly believed they could ever be together. But now she knew they would never be apart.
Despite their differences—age, upbringing, social status—she knew that he loved her. And there was no doubt that she loved him.
He’d been willing to give up his family for her—or his grandfather, at least—and his life in New York so they could be together. Compared to that, giving up her dance studio in Henderson and moving to Manhattan to try her hand at being an Elliott wife seemed a small price to pay.
And she knew she could be happy here. His entire family might not be thrilled that they were getting married, but most of them accepted her and had already made it clear they supported Cullen’s decision.
She had no intention of being a housewife or stay-at-home mother, though. She was content to stick close to the Upper West Side town house until the baby was born—and maybe for a time after. But she and Cullen had also discussed the possibility of her getting a job as a dance instructor somewhere, or perhaps opening another studio of her own in the city.
She wasn’t sure yet what she wanted to do. She only knew that she didn’t want her options limited just because she’d agreed to marry into the Elliott clan.
“You look beautiful.” Breaking into Misty’s thoughts, Bridget came up behind her and slipped into the mirror’s limited view.
Her heart began to race again and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Are there people out there?” she asked timidly.
“Of course,” Bridget offered with a laugh. “You’re about to marry into the esteemed Elliott family. No one who’s anyone would dare miss it. Relatives from both families are here, along with any member of the media who could beg, borrow or steal an invitation. Your mother hasn’t stopped crying since she got here, by the way. Come Monday morning, your face and Cullen’s will be plastered on the cover of every newspaper and magazine in America.”
“Oh, God.” Misty fought the urge to bend over and stick her head between her knees—mostly because, these days, bending wasn’t as easy as it used to be.
“Relax.” Bridget patted her back and fussed with the folds of Misty’s white gown.
Misty had at first resisted the idea of wearing white on her wedding day. It seemed somewhat improper and not the tiniest bit ridiculous, considering she was five months pregnant and looked as if she’d swallowed a volleyball. But Cullen’s mother had insisted, and Misty had finally agreed once she’d tried on the dress for the first time.
The entire gown was made of the same silky satin, but the smooth, unadorned bodice ended just below her breasts in the empire fashion and an overlay of gossamer with tiny seed pearls fell to her ankles, almost entirely masking the bulge of her belly.
“You look amazing,” Bridget continued in an attempt to allay her fears. “All you need to remember is that this day is for you and Cullen, no one else. When you walk out there, pretend you’re the only two people in the world. Keep your eyes on him and ignore everything else.”
When she put it that way, Misty didn’t think she’d have any trouble getting through the ceremony, no matter how many guests were watching or how many flashbulbs were going off in her face. To her, having eyes only for Cullen was as natural as breathing or waking up in his arms.
She gave herself a final once-over in the long oval looking glass, nodded and turned to face the woman who was quickly becoming her new best friend.
Bridget was wearing one of the strapless lilac bridesmaids’ gowns Amanda had chosen, her blond hair swept up and decorated with sprigs of spring flowers.
“Thank you. And thank you for all of your help this morning. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Bridget had picked her up at Cullen’s town house bright and early, whisking her away to the Tides for what would turn out to be several hours of bridal preparations. She’d done Misty’s nails, hair and makeup, then even helped her get dressed when it became obvious Misty couldn’t see her feet, let alone slip into delicate stockings or a handmade, nearly priceless gown.
The other woman grinned. “That’s what maids of honor are for.”
They were gathering Misty’s bouquet and getting ready to head downstairs when a light knock sounded on the bedroom door. Bridget hurried over, prepared to bar the groom’s entrance on the off chance Cullen had decided to risk his mother’s wrath and try to get a peek at the bride before the ceremony.
“Granddad,” she said flatly, stepping back to let the older man inside.
Patrick Elliott was tall, with short gray hair, and though Misty knew him to be in his late seventies, he looked about ten years younger. His eyes were a twinkling blue, making it clear who had passed that color on to most of the other Elliotts.
She’d only met him once before, at a small Elliott family gathering where Cullen had stayed by her side and remained staunchly protective of her. And though Parick had been cool toward her that day, he hadn’t seemed outwardly hostile.
Today he was dressed in a crisp gray suit and looked only slightly nervous about entering a room that was so clearly the domain of wedding-minded women.
“I’d like a private word with the bride-to-be, if that’s all right,” he said.
His voice was deep, but not as gruff or demanding as one might expect from others’ description of him.
Bridget crossed her arms over her chest belligerently. “I don’t think—”
But Misty interrupted. “Of course.”
Every anxiety that Bridget’s encouraging words had managed to calm flared to life again in screaming apprehension, but she would never refuse to speak to Cullen’s grandfather. Not even if she expected that she was about to get the dressing-down of a lifetime.
The man had made it clear—albeit through second parties—that he disapproved of her. Of her upbringing, her choice of career, her involvement with Cullen. But he was still going to be her relative by marriage, and he would be her child’s great-grandfather by blood. The least she could do was let him speak his piece.
But no matter what he said to her, or how upsetting the encounter might turn out to be, she was still going to walk downstairs and outside and exchange vows with the man she loved.
“Are you sure?” Bridget asked, doubt, concern and more than a little loathing of her grandfather written clearly on her face.
Misty forced the corners of her mouth to curve upward in a show of confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “I’m sure.”
With a reluctant nod, Bridget opened the door again. “I’ll be right out here if you need me.”
She cast her grandfather on
e last distrustful glance, then disappeared into the hallway.
Patrick watched her go, then turned back to Misty. “Thank you.”
She inclined her head, her mouth too dry with uneasiness to speak.
He looked around the room, taking in all the signs of wedding day preparations. Discarded clothes and shoes, flower arrangements, trays of makeup, nail polish and perfume. Then his eyes moved back to Misty, sliding down her shapely frame, only to settle on the swollen bump at her middle.
“I’ve seen a change in my grandson since the two of you started seeing each other.” He stuffed his hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels, clearing his throat before saying more. “I started to notice it a few years ago, when he first took up with you, I believe, but it’s become more obvious since you came to New York and moved in with him.”
Misty’s pulse was pounding so hard it echoed in her ears. She opened her mouth, closed it in hopes of creating enough saliva to form words, then opened it again.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I know you don’t approve of Cullen’s involvement with me, but—”
The elderly man shook his head, his brows coming together sharply and his mouth turning down in a frown. “That’s not what I mean. What I’m trying to tell you is that Cullen seems happier these days, more at ease. He obviously loves you very much, and is excited about this baby.”
He nodded in the general direction of her stomach and made an all-encompassing up and down gesture with one hand.
“You’ve been good for him. Even a hardheaded old man like myself can see that.”
He cleared his throat again, and this time Misty realized he was nervous. Patrick Elliott, patriarch of one of the wealthiest, most influential families in New York, was uncomfortable around her.
Her, a former Las Vegas showgirl from a humble background who’d become his grandson’s mistress, for heaven’s sake. She found it almost beyond belief.
“I’m glad you’re joining the family,” he added in a harsh tone. “I have a feeling you’ll do us all some good.”