"Thanks," I breathe.
At that moment, a sound like a screeching owl roars out across the wine cellar. I hold my hands over my ears reflexively. "TESSA! WHERE ARE YOU? THIS IS YOUR MOTHER! I NEED YOU."
I groan out loud. "Dammit," I curse. "I'm being paged, apparently." I smile reluctantly and look over at Man Beast, hoping that we can write the moment off with a joke.
But his face has hardened inexplicably. The carefree warmth has been replaced by a stony expression. “Your mother lives here?” he asks.
I smile and laugh. “Yeah, she’s the one getting married today,” I say. I'm confused, but he busies himself with cleaning up the wine glasses, and I take my chance to back out of the room. "I guess I'll see you at the reception, then," I say slowly. "Thanks for the wine. I needed it."
Man Beast doesn't turn around or say anything to me and I’m left to wonder why he was so shocked at hearing my mother’s voice.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TESSA
"Hurry, now! The sun is setting soon. We're going to miss the moment it dips into the water," barks the wedding planner, a white woman with a helmet of blonde hair. I don't know why she is yelling at me. My mom is the one taking forever. She'd had the hair and makeup team redo her look no less than four times. The hair assistant burst into tears midway through the third go around. I'd handed him a packet of tissues.
"You're not the first one," I'd whispered as he fled the room. "Don't worry about it."
Two hours later, I am zipping my mom into her dress.
"We need to go. Now," the planner insists to me.
I figure she is taking her frustrations out on me instead of my mother since she knows who is signing her paycheck. "Mother, you heard her. Let's go," I say, trying to keep my voice level.
A few moments later, we are winding our way down the main staircase. I am astounded at what the team has been able to pull together in the last half hour. Every inch of the main areas, in such disarray when I'd come up from the wine cellar, is now covered in sprays of white roses accented with Swarovski crystals and white twinkle lights. I feel like I've stepped into a winter wonderland in the month of May in Southern California.
The glass accordion doors are open onto the back deck, where fifty-foot-high palm trees line the Olympic-sized infinity pool that drops off and appears to flow into the Pacific Ocean beyond. A platform has been built down the length of the pool as a makeshift aisle. With lights glowing underneath the decking, it gives the illusion that the platform is floating on water with no support. Down either side where the water is still visible, hundreds of tea light candles float amongst thousands of white rose petals.
White chairs line either side of the pool where the guests sit. At the very end is a platform perpendicular to the aisle, where my new stepdad is waiting for my mom along with the white-haired officiant. The orange-red sun glows behind them both. The planner is right: this has been timed down to the second. I walk to the head of the aisle, herded there by the wedding planner.
"Okay, Tessa, you're walking with Jax," the wedding planner sniffs at me.
I feel nerves go through my body unexpectedly. I have yet to meet my new stepbrother. My mother has barely mentioned him at all, only mumbling something about him almost not coming.
The wedding planner looks around, panicking. She puts her hand up to her ear where an earpiece rests. "Where is Jax? Where is the best man? Well, get him here. NOW!" The wedding planner turns back to me and grabs both of my arms. "Face this way, do not look around, eyes forward and ready to march on my queue the second your stepbrother gets here," she barks, pointing me toward the officiant a hundred yards away. "Here is your bouquet. Take it." She shoves a mound of three dozen, perfectly-open white roses into my hands. The diameter of the stem bundle is so wide I can barely hold it along with the protrusion of my belly. The planner sighs. "Hold it by the ribbon, then, and for God's sake, don't drop it."
I try not to roll my eyes. This is nearly over. I can last another twenty minutes. Then I get to sit in a chair for the rest of the reception.
"Thank God, he's here. Jax, stand over there."
I keep my eyes forward, fearing the wrath of the wedding planner. But then I smell familiar cologne and can't help my eyes from darting to my right.
My stomach drops all the way down to my sensible ballet flats. I sneak a second look out of the corner of my eye. Man Beast is staring straight forward, not looking at me.
Man Beast is my stepbrother.
Man Beast is my stepbrother?!
"Okay, march!" the planner barks as the music from the string quartet begins. We walk forward in lockstep, Jax's sturdy arm entwined in mine. It feels like a tree trunk. The thought of his tattoos being hidden away beneath layers of designer cotton and linen makes all the blood rush away from my head and into...other areas. I gulp, feeling sweat beading up again. I can smell his musky scent and it makes me feel weak at the knees.
My hormones are becoming a problem.
We make it down the aisle at a speed that seems impossible. When I step up onto the platform, my new stepdad, Lyle Hadley, smiles at me. He is more handsome in person than in the photos. He actually looks a lot like his son. His son!
My stepbrother. His son.
Oh, boy.
I feel slightly ill and try to breathe through my nose. Jax and I are now facing each other eight feet away, but he is staring resolutely at a point over my right shoulder. I realize with a lurch that I now have the entire ceremony to stare at him. If I thought he was handsome earlier, it is nothing as to how he looks now in his perfectly tailored tuxedo.
He could play James Bond, but a jacked-up, tattooed version. His hair is combed and sleeked back into a neat bun. The orange sun sets off his tanned skin magnificently. I feel my knees tremble and a flash of Jax licking me in my most private places flies into my head, my legs wrapped around his head and his face in my pussy. I feel wet between my legs and try once again to focus on my breathing.
I glance over at Paul, hoping it will be a reminder to myself that I am dating the man sitting in the front row. Paul looks terminally bored in the front row; he keeps sneaking peeks at his watch. I try to catch his eye and smile, but he is staring out into nowhere. I shift uncomfortably. My belly feels heavier right now than it ever has. It's like the baby has grown an extra two pounds since we arrived in California earlier today.
I do a quick shuffle of my feet to wake myself up. I realize that I’m missing half of the ceremony taking place in front of me. I’d asked the wedding planner earlier if I could sit in a chair during the ceremony onstage, but she had looked at me aghast. It was as if I had asked to be allowed to urinate into the pool during the bouquet toss.
The officiant drones on and on. I catch every fifth word or so. "And on this day, this grand occasion to which we have come together to be a part of..."
I find myself daydreaming about Jax again, the tingle of his hand barely scraping against mine; the way he held the door open for me in the wine cellar, the smell of his cologne. I feel dizzy and realize that I am now sweating so thoroughly that streams of salty water are falling and tickling my back. I tune back in to the minister's words and realize that Lyle is now speaking.
"And I, Lyle Carlson Hadley, take you, Cassie Amelia Bennett to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and told hold, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part, as long as we both shall live."
I try to remember if the woman or the man goes first in these things. I am guessing my mother would have insisted on her having the grand finale, screw tradition. A moment later, I’m proven right. "I, Cassie Amelia Bennett..."
I steal another glance at Jax and am shocked to see that he is actually staring at me. A hormonal hot flash goes up my body. Is it a hot flash? Or is it something else? Again, an unbidden vision of me on my back in a four poster bed flies into my brain.
Jax, rippling muscles, naked on top of me, with my legs and arms tied gently to the bed posts with sil
ky satin ties...an eruption of polite applause tears me out of my reverie. The string quartet strikes up their instruments once again and I see that my mother and Lyle - my stepfather - are in full embrace. I had figured they wouldn't kiss. My mother would consider that as unseemly as my unwed pregnancy.
They walk arm in arm back down the pool aisle. The sun has set completely and the glow of the candles in the pool has the slightly unsettling effect of the water being on fire. I take two steps forward and meet Jax, who has his arm extended out formally.
“Hey sis,” he whispers with a grin.
I feel a pulse of anger as I realize he knew who I was down in the wine cellar. But he hadn’t said anything, preferring to let me be humiliated out here. I steal a glance at Paul, hoping selfishly that he will see us together and feel a pang of jealousy. But Paul is tapping his thumbs on the screen of his iPhone. Anger rises up inside of me, and I practically pull Jax back down the aisle and into the living room where the rest of the wedding guests soon join us. I take a deep breath and focus. My arm feels like it’s on fire entwined with Jax’s.
I will deal with Paul later. For now, I need the biggest sip of wine I can get away with.
The interior of the house is even more magical under cover of darkness. The living room is now filled with tall cocktail tables draped in silky white tablecloths; the fabric pools fashionably onto the floor. I make my way over to the real sommelier, who is a tall whip of a man with a face like a ferret. "If only I had a photo of you earlier, that could have saved me a lot of time and heartache," I quip to the man, who looks deeply confused.
"Beg pardon?" he asks me, cupping his hand lightly around his jug ears.
"Never mind," I reply. "Merlot, please. The 1972 vintage."
The sommelier looks through the bottles. "I'm sorry, we don't appear to have that."
Recognition dawns over me, and I feel like an absolute idiot. "Of course, sorry," I reply. Jax only pulled that for us. "Then I'll just have whatever you want to give me, then."
The sommelier stiffens as he glances down at my bulging stomach. "May I offer you some Perrier?" he says as politely as he can muster. I feel the judgment pouring out from his thin little lips.
My nostrils flare and my face forms itself into the defensive posture I’ve learned after decades of being around my mother: a close-lipped smile complete with teeth grinding. "Ah, I see. Yes, Perrier is fine." A moment later I have a glass of fizzing, bitter water that I immediately pour into one of the fairy-light-covered potted ferns. I stare at the crowd around me.
I recognize no one here, but this isn't a surprise. My Midwestern mother has suffered for decades trying to claw her way into the upper social circles of Indianapolis, such as they are. Then she meets Lyle on a cruise, they have a whirlwind romance, he proposes, and she sets about erasing nearly every trace of her former life. I am the sole exception to that purge.
I glance around the room again, this time looking for Paul. Where is he, anyway? I make my way through the crowd back to the pool, which has been rapidly cleared of the aisles of chairs. Most of the guests are inside now. I wonder briefly if this chair banishment is a plot concocted by my mother to keep me standing the entire evening. I won’t put it past her to do something like this. I take another lap of the room inside, searching for anything to sit on. Sure enough, there isn't a single chair in sight. I grab one of the staff dressed in all-black suits and shirts. "Excuse me, but is there going to be any seating put in place today?"
The young man looks at me sheepishly. "The lady of the house doesn't want anyone getting too comfortable." He glances at my girth, alarmed that I might go into labor at any second. He looks around worriedly and lowers his voice; I have to lean forward to hear him. "I can bring you a chair. But it will have to be hidden." He nudges his head over to a far, dark corner of the outdoor breezeway. "It’ll be behind one of the trees over there.”
I sigh and nod. "That would be wonderful. Oh - and also, you haven't seen my boyfriend, have you? Dark hair. Skinny. On his cell phone?"
He looks at me and nods. "Yes, he’s over on the other side of the pool."
I thank him and make my way over to Paul, who is indeed on his phone next to one of the towering palm trees. I clear my throat as I get closer to him. He looks up and nearly drops his phone. Then he speaks into it. "Oh, yes, okay. That would be great. If you could just email me that, that would be wonderful." He slides his finger across the screen and looks at me with an air of extreme guilt. "Honey, hey. You were...great up there! Well done." He reaches over to give me a light kiss on the cheek. His lips feel cold.
"Yeah, thanks, it was a struggle for me to just stand there silently," I say sarcastically. "You going to be out here all night? I feel like I haven't sat down since we got off the plane."
Paul suddenly yawns dramatically. "You know, I was just going to grab some appetizers and head on up to our room," he says. "I'm just really, really tired."
I place the back of my hand onto his forehead. "Are you getting sick?"
He squirms away from me. "No, I’m not getting sick."
"But you napped earlier today. You never nap,” I point out. “And now you’re still tired?”
Paul shrugs. "It wasn't the greatest quality of sleep. I could hear everyone downstairs along with your mother screaming at people in her room. Something about hair? Lipstick? I'm not sure."
I laugh at the memory. "Yeah, she made one of the makeup people cry."
Paul looks uncomfortable standing there with nothing to say to me. "Well. I'm going to hit up the shrimp cocktail and head upstairs. See you in a bit?"
I nod, reaching out to kiss his hand. But he walks away before I can reach him. "Don't let my mother see you taking food upstairs. She'll kill you!"
Paul turns around and gives me a rare smile. "I am the chosen one, Tessa. I'm sure she won't mind."
I stick my tongue out at him as he turns his back. He’s right: in my mother’s eyes, he can do no wrong.
I manage to find pregnancy-friendly cocktails (bacon-wrapped dates) that are so good I devour six before I find my secret chair. I sit down on it; it creaks under my weight. In one hand, I have a glass of sparkling apple cider. In the other I have a porcelain plate loaded up with biscotti, smoked salmon on toasted baguettes, and roasted gruyere-filled apples; tucked under it is a starched white linen napkin. The plate is heavy in my hand as I take the cloth napkin and spread it over my ample bosom and stomach like a picnic blanket.
I sigh, happy to be away from the room of noisy people and my mother flitting around from one person to the next. She’s wearing her Socialite Mask. The food is intensely good. I have to stop myself from moaning out loud. After I polish off everything on my plate, I put my aching feet up onto the edge of the cement planter filled with a riot of bougainvillea. The sound of the crashing waves not too far in the distance immediately fills me peace. I want to take a nap here in this dark corner; the gentle buzzing of conversation behind me, the ocean before me, and nobody around. As I close my eyes to drift off, I hear footsteps approaching.
I listen closely to make sure I don't recognize the manic tapping of high heels that indicate my mother, mid-meltdown, searching for me. Thankfully, the footsteps are dull and decidedly male.
"Hello?" I call out into the darkness. A face appears around the corner, alight in the glow of a phone screen. It's Jax. "Oh," I say involuntarily. "Hi." I feel a stab of annoyance. Why can I not utter anything other than monosyllables in his presence?
Jax looks up and freezes at the sight of me. He puts his phone down and his face is once again cast in shadow. "I didn't know anyone was back here," he says, taking a step backward as if afraid I’m going to bite him.
"I'm hiding from my mother," I confess. "She confiscated all of the chairs." I hesitate for a moment. "You can stay here, if you want. Nobody else has come back here so I think you're safe if you're trying to hide, too." I say the last bit without entirely meaning to. I am annoyed that he has lied to me and I'm none
too ready to give up my hiding place. So why did I ask him to stay? I feel a tug below my navel and pinch my arm.
Step. Brother.
He is my step brother.
Jax rocks back and forth on his shoes for a moment as if trying to decide. "This is normally where I go when I visit my father. This is kind of my spot, actually. So if you really think about it, I’m the one who should be giving you permission to sit here.”
Rage prickles through me. He doesn't sound like he’s kidding. "I'm pregnant and exhausted, excuse me for taking up your space," I retort. What’s his problem? "And by the way, I don't appreciate the fact that you lied to me earlier today. What the hell was that? What's wrong with you?" My words are returning to me and my rage is complete and hormone-fueled. I am embarrassed about earlier but I can’t let him know that. Instead, I’m going to take my anger out on him.
Jax grins at me. His feet move and there is a gentle scraping of woven fabric as he leans against the stucco wall. "I thought...I thought you were one of the staff," he replies evenly.
"The staff? You think my mother would hire an eight-months pregnant woman to work an event?" I scoff. "You clearly know her just about as well as I know your father."
"You weren't exactly forthcoming about who you were," Jax spits back.
"I'm not in the habit of disclosing my identity to complete strangers. But at least I didn't lie about it. Mister sommelier.”
Silence falls over us again. I am suddenly aware that the buzzing conversation from the party has stopped. I hear the screech of feedback from a microphone and panic sets into my soul. "Oh God," I say, struggling to pull my feet off of the planter and slip my shoes back on.
"What?"Jax asks me, sounding panicked.
"They're about to do the toast," I say, unable to heave myself out of the rickety chair. "A little help here, please?"
Jax is in front of me in a flash. His strong hands pull me up easily, the callouses scraping the soft skin of my palms. Tingles erupt across my body. I trip slightly and fall forward into him, my belly stopping me before my tits are smashed against his chest. I suddenly realize with our height difference that my bellybutton is digging into his crotch. I feel a growing hardness in his pants and I blush. He doesn't let go of my hands quite quickly enough.
Forbidden: A Stepbrother Secret Baby Romance Page 4