“And you can have me,” I promise. “But …” Gulping in a lungful of air, I beg the butterflies in my stomach to stop but it’s too late. My emotions are whipped into a frenzy that’s brought tears to the corners of my eyes. I can’t blink them back before Fenton sees them.
“Brynne. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” A lump sits at the base of my throat. “Nothing is wrong, Fenton.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“I’m just emotional.” I sniffle. My mind races through what the next few minutes might look like and I almost fall apart at the seams. A ripple of energy breaks across my skin. I shake in its wake. “I want to give you something, okay?”
He’s stuck on my tears. “Why do you want to give me something? I don’t like you crying.”
“Because I love you more than words can say.” My voice breaks on the final syllable. Fenton catches my tears with the pad of his thumb. “I want to give you your wedding present.”
“Now?” he asks, stroking my cheek.
“Yes.”
Brows pulled together, he lets me guide him to the sofa. He sits and tries to pull me down with him, but I shake my head.
Legs numb, chest shaking as I try to keep myself calm, I grab the bag from earlier. Taking the small, wrapped box I bought earlier from the bag, I hand it to Fenton. He holds it in his hands. Turning it back and forth, he never takes his eyes off me.
“I …” My throat burns as I try to speak instead of cry. “I didn’t know what to get you.”
“You’ve given me the world already.”
I melt at the sincerity in his words but remember what’s in the box and will myself to stay together until he knows what’s in it too.
“I wanted to give you something to show you what you mean to me. You’re terrible at accepting gifts and you have everything a man could want.” We exchange a simple smile. “I thought about this for weeks and then it landed in my lap. Kind of.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything, you know. I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“But you should have been,” I tell him. “You give and give and give to everyone. You think of everything. You go out of your way for me, my family, your employees. Yet, you never ask for anything in return.”
“I can get the things I want. Like you said, I can buy anything I need.” His chin dips. “Everything except you and I already have you.”
I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “You should let people do things for you sometimes. It makes them feel good.”
“I like to make you feel good,” he says with a wicked grin. “Let’s do this gift thing later.”
I swat him on the shoulder. “Focus.”
“Oh, I’m focused.” He reaches for me but I step out of the way.
“I love you more than anything in the world,” I continue. “And I hope you like what I got you.” I nod toward the present. “Open it.”
“Okay.” He lifts each piece of tape off the paper in a very Fenton-esque way. Each movement is deliberate. Intentional. Frustratingly slow. My leg bounces as he finally removes all the paper and sits it cleanly beside him.
The frame is upside down, so the back of it is facing up. He looks at it and then at me.
“A picture frame?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, my tone much higher-pitched than I’d hoped it would be. “Turn it over.”
“Tell me your naked on the other side,” he begs.
“Not this time.”
He pulls his gaze from mine and to the golden frame. I see the hesitation in his eyes, in his long, powerful fingers as he touches the frame I picked up an hour ago. It turns over in his hands.
He stares at the black-and-white image for a long few seconds.
His Adam’s apple bobs.
His forehead wrinkles.
He doesn’t say a word.
I can’t tell if he doesn’t realize what it is or if he’s unhappy about it and I’m ready to come out of my skin and blurt it out when he lifts his head.
There’s a wateriness to his irises I’ve never seen before. His hands shake in a way that doesn’t even happen in multi-million-dollar business deals. If I thought he looked at me in disbelief a few minutes ago, I was wrong.
This is disbelief. This is shock.
I don’t know what to say but I have to break the ice before my nerves completely fray.
“Fenton,” I say, “I didn’t know—”
“You’re pregnant?” His bottom lip quivers as he looks up at me. “Is that what this is? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
I nod, terrified to say too much in case he isn’t happy about it. I steel myself to prepare for a letdown, to temper my hope, but when tears drip from both lashes and cascade down his chiseled cheekbones, I drop to my knees in front of him.
He pulls me between his legs. One arm goes over my shoulder, the other holding the ultrasound-framed photograph between us.
“You’re pregnant now?” he asks again. His eyes search mine. “You’re having my baby? This is our baby?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I tell him. “I—”
“You’re having my baby.” His eyes shine with a joy that radiates right through me. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
He blows out a breath like he’s been holding it for ages. He tries to speak but, for the first time since I’ve known him, he’s at a loss for words.
“I had a checkup a few weeks ago,” I tell him gently. “I hadn’t been feeling great and went to the doctor. I didn’t want to be sick for the wedding. The doctor told me then.”
His jaw hardens a touch. “You’ve known this for weeks? And you didn’t tell me?”
“I wanted to tell you in a special way and couldn’t figure out how. Then I realized maybe I could tell you like this.”
He pulls me into him. The move is so swift I’m not expecting it but landing in Fenton’s arms is never a bad thing. I’m pressed so tight against him I can barely breathe.
We sit like this for a long time. So long, in fact, that the sun begins to change positions in the sky outside the windows. Finally, he plants a lingering kiss to the top of my head and lets me pull away.
“Hey,” I gasp as I take in the redness in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
It’s his smile that reassures me. It’s one I’ve never seen before, something almost shy. Stripped of his usual confidence. Filled with an emotion I can’t pinpoint but one that swamps me with so much love I’m back in his arms again.
“Thank you,” he gruffs out. He sniffles, laughing at himself as he does it.
I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. “Are you happy?”
There’s something on the tip of his tongue, something that makes him smirk, but he keeps it in check. Instead, he lifts me up and places me next to him on the sofa. “Am I happy?” He repeats my question. “I don’t think that begins to describe what I’m feeling right now.” His fingers trail down my arm as he holds me close. “I’ve always figured I’d end up alone in this world. And, really, I was okay with that. I’d made peace with it. And then you go traipsing into my world with your laugh and defiance and I couldn’t imagine not having that in my life. It was like …” He squeezes me closer still. “You changed the way I see things, Brynne. For the first time, I felt like I belonged somewhere.”
“With me,” I whisper.
“With you.” He kisses the top of my head again. “I can’t even process this.”
“You’re okay with it though, right?”
He laughs, his chest rumbling under my cheek. “This must be what it feels like to have it all.” He lifts my chin so I’m looking right at him. “I’ve always felt like getting you to marry me was some kind of trick, an answered prayer, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. It was as if God gave me the perfect woman to have at my side. How could I possibly hope for more?”
Tears well up in my eyes as I take in the flood of emotions running through his. “Because you deserve it,” I tell
him.
“No one deserves you and a baby.” The corners of his lips almost touch the corners of his eyes. He looks down to my stomach. His hand lays flat, applying more pressure as he gets comfortable with his actions. “My child is in there.”
“Yes,” I whisper, laying my hand on top of his.
“Giving yourself to me was one thing,” he says, the lump in his throat evident. “But giving me a piece of your body, a piece of your soul …” Tears flow freely as he looks at me. “I hate to tell you, but you just trumped our wedding day as the best day of my life.”
Laughing through my own tears, I press my lips against his. “I love you.”
“I love you.” He kisses me once more. “I’m really conflicted right now,” he says, skimming his hands around my body.
“About what?”
“I want to take you into the bedroom and kiss every square inch of your body.”
“Okay.”
He laughs. “But I have this need to buy every parenting book ever written and find the best doctor for you I can and—”
I silence him with kisses. Unlike most days, it barely distracts him.
“Brynne,” he says against my mouth.
Doing what I know he can’t handle is all that will get his attention. So, I break the kiss and climb off the couch before he realizes what’s happening. Not having contact is like a cold bucket of water being thrown at him. It shakes him back to reality.
“Hey,” he says, flinching. “Why are you standing over there?”
“We have months to figure out doctors and parenting styles and all that,” I tell him. Lifting the hem of my dress up just a few inches, just enough to catch his eye, I grin. “Right now, I’m going to get this dress off.” I lift it a little farther and watch his eyes glue to my thighs. “Get in the bath. And—ah!”
He’s off the couch and has me in his arms before I even get the sentence finished. Squealing with delight as I’m carried into the bedroom, I stare into the face of the man that I love.
“Get undressed.” He sets me on my feet. “And then pull your hair up.” The ferocity is back in those steely gray eyes.
I whimper.
“I’ll be right back.” He takes off his jacket and tosses it onto a chair as he heads toward the door we just came through.
“Where are you going?” I call after him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do and then leave.”
He stops in the doorway. Turning to me with a smile that gets him whatever he wants, he shrugs. “Have you eaten today?”
“What?” I ask. “Um, breakfast. Presley and I had chocolate croissants. Why?”
“I figured as much.” He starts walking away from me again. “I’m getting you something from room service. I’ll be back.”
“Fenton! I’m not hungry.” I laugh, heading to the doorway so I can watch him. “You can’t force feed me, you know.”
He pauses next to the sofa, receiver in hand. He winks. “If you thought I was bossy before, just wait.” He glances back to my belly. “You’re having my baby.”
There are a million things I could say back, a million things I would normally respond. I’d tell him he wasn’t my boss. I’d tell him I’m capable of deciding what I eat and when. I’d remind him I’m a grown woman that doesn’t take orders from overbearing men. Of course, he’s none of those things. Not really.
Fenton Abbott can be overbearing at times and there are moments he makes me want to pull my hair out. But with every silly thing he does, every unnecessary step he takes, it’s all done with one common thread: love.
I knew it would get worse after the wedding. He’s already assigned me a “helper,” as he calls it, when, in reality, I know it’s a security guard. He’s had his housekeeper fill the house with my favorite things from toothpaste brands to scented candles. But now? He’s going to be ridiculous.
“I know, I know,” he says, taking my hand as he heads back to the bedroom. “I’m ridiculous.”
I don’t even know how he knows what I was thinking, but it’s par for the course. I laugh. “Yes, you are.”
He spins me in a circle and stops me with a heated stare. “I hate to tell you this, Rudo, but I’m just getting started.”
And I’m looking forward to it.
Note from Adriana
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading my short story. If you liked it and would like more about Fenton and Brynne, I have good news! I have a full, standalone novel called Wherever It Leads about them and it’s available now on Amazon, Audible, and enrolled in Kindle Unlimited. Yay! You can click here to grab it.
If you are not in my Facebook group, Books by Adriana Locke, I hope you’ll accept this as your official invitation. I think you’ll find it to be a supportive, positive, book-loving group of women and we’d love to have you join us. Click here to go there.
Again, thank you for reading. Wishing you the best day.
Xo,
Adriana
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana created her own.
She resides in the Midwest with her husband, sons, two dogs, two cats, and a bird. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather's nice and there's always a piece of candy in her pocket.
Besides cinnamon gummy bears, boxing, and random quotes, her next favorite thing is chatting with readers. She’d love to hear from you!
www.adrianalocke.com
* * *
Subscribe to the exclusive Locke List.
* * *
Text the word adriana to 21000 for release updates.
The Adventure
By Leslie Pike
Also by Leslie Pike
The Paradise Series
The Trouble With Eden
Wild In Paradise
The Road To Paradise
* * *
Sexceptional
* * *
The Santini Series Novellas
Destiny Laughs
Destiny Plays
Destiny Shines
* * *
The Swift Series
The Curve
* * *
The Adventure
Copyright 2018 Leslie Pike
All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication, may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, brands, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
1
Zarah
The sound of mandolins in the piazza, a spoonful of limone gelato melting on my tongue, and the ass-kicking beauty of an Italian afternoon. La dolce vita. It is one hell of a sweet life. A golden glow has settled over the entire scene, making me feel as if I’m part of a Renaissance painter’s masterpiece. I’m the contented woman in the foreground. At thirty-four, the smile I wear is genuine and my sigh an exclamation point.
My month in Italy is coming to an end. There are just three more days to soak it all in before heading back to Manhattan. This trip has been exceptional, and it was more than the hidden beach I found, or the breathtaking zip lining experience in the Alps. As usual, I found God in the details. The food and wine, the play of light moving across ancient stone buildings. It was in
the laughter and conversations shared with friends.
Outdoor cafes like this one are the first thing I look for in a city. They give me a chance to observe and take notes for my travel blog while indulging in the local fare. Other times I make small talk with fellow tourists. I don’t really care that today the German couple at the table to my right are watching me. They think they’re being clever—faces forward eyes to the side. But I catch the stares. It may be my loud sighing or possibly the spiked white hair.
Going prematurely gray at nineteen had its challenges. Now I understand looking this way isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It reflects who I am at the core, a woman made different. I’m a loner and a wanderer who’s not afraid of much. I’ll jump out of a plane or eat disgusting looking insects if they’re the delicacy. There’s been a few times I hesitated, but not once have I regretted embracing the unknown. It’s good not to be aware of what pleasures the day will bring.
I travel the world free of companions. A happy adventurer. Sort of a one-woman band who takes comfort in her own company. Not to say I refuse an erotic romp or week-long affair when it interests me. Shit, I’m only human. Sometimes those are the most interesting journeys of all. And in between my travels I reboot myself in my tiny apartment in New York with a small circle of close friends. Well, mostly it’s me and my BFF, Stori.
Kicking off my sneakers, I stretch my bare legs then bring them up atop the iron chair across from me. Lavender-painted toes wiggle and widen. My attention is drawn to the couple who just sat down a few minutes ago at the other end of the café. That’s not completely accurate because they’re arguing and one of the two of them is always standing. They’re taking turns threatening to leave. I don’t have to be fluent in the language to get the picture.
First, the woman refuses to sit. She tosses long dark hair over her shoulder and gives him a piercing look with eyes ablaze. Then, when he convinces her to stay, she says one word, and he stands and throws his napkin on the table. Both Italian born I’d say. His hands are raising and gesturing dramatically. The fingers of her right hand are pulled together and held up in front of him to emphasize just how pissed she is. It’s fucking funny.
Going to the Chapel Page 9