by Tia Louise
“Here. So our family can join us.”
Family. “You always wanted a family.”
“I always wanted you.”
Leaning down, I cover her lips again with mine. She pushes her arms around my neck, and meets my strength with her own. Our mouths open and tongues collide, and I almost change my mind about leaving her tonight.
Breaking away, my lips are at her ear and sweet jasmine scent floats around us. “I’ll find out how long it takes to get a license. Let everyone know we’re getting married next week.”
I kiss the side of her neck, and she shivers. It almost does me in, but I pull back, opening the door. “Will that give you enough time?”
She laughs, her pretty eyes twinkling for the first time in too long. I step back and kiss her once more. “Don’t say no.”
“I’ll be ready when you are.”
Another kiss and I’m out the door, ready to make good on my promises.
23
Promises
Mariska
Kenny waits at the top of the pier for me as Amy arranges my veil. As soon as Stuart left my apartment Friday night a week ago, I called my best friend, who immediately got Patrick involved, who put Amy in charge of tracking down my dress. Sylvia flew in to help with Lane, and Elaine called over Skype to tell me all the places she’d used to pull her last-minute ceremony together.
“I guess Stuart has one thing in common with his little brother,” she laughed as we clicked through websites ordering flowers and renting furniture.
“What’s that?” I’d asked, trying not to feel overwhelmed.
“When they decide it’s time, you get exactly seven days to make it happen.”
“But hang on…” I had to correct her. “Patrick said he’d been asking you to marry him for two years, and you kept turning him down!”
“Well, I guess you’re right,” she acquiesced. “Maybe Stuart and I have something in common.”
Last year, when I’d taken off to Montana following nothing but a dream and one encounter with a wounded cowboy, Elaine had been right there with me, covering for me and making a place for me in the Knight clan. Today she is one of my bridesmaids, along with Amy and Kenny.
We decided to set up a small enclosure, and Kenny had the idea of arranging the chairs in a swirled design. “Like a seashell!” she’d said.
Now the two of us wait at the foot of the pier where we both have gone in the past to cry or stargaze or wish for the ones we love.
“I can’t believe Amy found this dress,” she says, smoothing the front of my lace gown and wiping her eyes.
“That makes two of us,” I agree, fighting tears as well.
It’s a full-length lace slip-dress with delicate spaghetti straps. I’d seen it in Chicago the last time we visited, and Amy had gone straight to the store and ordered it rush delivery.
“She flew the whole way here with it on her lap.” Elaine is carefully pinning the large piece of tulle that forms my veil to the back of my head. A thin ribbon runs all around the edges, but otherwise it’s uncut.
“I didn’t want to risk my suitcase being lost or delayed and ruining everything.” Amy guides the delicate material over my shoulders and down my back and arms.
“It wouldn’t have been ruined.” Our glistening eyes meet, and we smile.
Amy’s light-blonde hair is styled in a loose bun at the back of her neck, and she looks as always like a supermodel.
All the groomsmen wear khaki pants and white button-down shirts, including Lane and Dex, who are adorable in shorts and suspenders and light-blue bow ties. The bridesmaids are in strapless, A-line cocktail dresses the color of sand and strings of beaded thongs are on their feet. They’re leftover from Derek and Melissa’s beach wedding last spring.
“Does that count as something borrowed?” I ask, but Sylvia answers me.
“It does not. Here.” She reaches under my veil and slips a double-strand pearl bracelet around my wrist. A silver starfish with sparkling crystals covers the center clasp, and it hangs loose on my arm. “It’s only borrowed if you give it back.” She winks, and I hug her.
“It’s gorgeous! I love it.” She kisses my cheek before ducking out of my veil.
My short hair is styled to the side with a large white jasmine flower over my ear. Looking around at the group, I take a deep breath. “I think we’re ready.”
Kenny skips to the end of the pier and waves her small bouquet. “They’re ready,” she says coming back to me.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies swirls through my stomach, and tears flood my eyes. “I can’t believe it,” I whisper.
Kenny grabs my hand tightly. “Don’t cry! You’ll ruin the photos.”
Patrick appears from around the scrub to walk Sylvia to her seat. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, and his shaggy hair is perfectly beachy.
“Wow!” he says loudly. “You guys are hot!”
Elaine skips forward and kisses him. “Not as hot as you!”
“Think Mariska would miss us?”
“I would!” I call out from the back.
He laughs and walks a few steps before his mother pulls his arm, making him turn around. Soft laughter filters through my bridesmaids, and my tears are forgotten as Elaine follows next. The girls all walk in a line, leaving me alone. I follow the path in the sand to Bill, who’s waiting just on the other side of the brush.
His smiles, his kind brown eyes twinkling. “Now this is how I like to see you.”
Slipping my hand in the crook of his arm, I give him a squeeze. “Thanks for coming all the way out here on such short notice.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
My stomach is in nervous knots as we get closer to the front. We pass Melissa with Derek, Elaine and Patrick, Amy and Marcus, Kenny and Slayde, until we’re there, and I lift my eyes to Stuart’s. He’s standing beside the minister, and when our eyes lock, those butterflies come soaring back full speed.
The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled like his brother’s, revealing lined forearms. I’m thankful for the bouquet of white roses and jasmine so he can’t see my hands trembling. The sea breeze musses his light brown hair, and he’s so calm and sure. My gorgeous cowboy.
The minister says something about giving me away. “That’s alright, Padre. We’re just going to keep this one,” Bill replies, and everyone laughs.
I reach over and give him a hug for that unrehearsed response, and when I turn back, Stuart steps to my side, wrapping a strong arm around my waist.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and I look up into his smoldering hazel eyes. My nerves float away in the briny air.
The minister leads us through traditional vows. Our rings are simple platinum, with mine designed to fit the rose engagement ring on my hand. We promise to love, honor, and cherish; to be with each other through all the difficulties in life. We’ve already had a little taste of how difficult life can be, and I am confident when I say I will. Stuart’s assent is a low vibration massaging my heart.
We’re at the end, and the minister speaks to the crowd. “By the power vested in me through the state of New Jersey, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Looking up, I fix this moment in my memory. The breakers crash on the shore in a shushy soundtrack, and my long veil swirls around us. Ribbons of sunset stretch above us in gold, pink, purple, and red lines, and white candles flicker in clear hurricane jars.
Stuart lifts my veil, and he’s under it with me, holding my chin as our eyes slide closed and our lips meet. It’s beautiful and perfect, and oh, so magical. All of my doubts are long gone. Stuart has always been the man of my dreams.
* * *
Our reception is only a few feet away on the beach with torches and dozens of candles in white paper bags arranged to light the growing dusk. A long table is set for our small party. One of Melissa’s marketing clients is a baker, and she provided a large cake wrapped in Tiffany blue fondant with real seashell
s and starfish for decoration. Graham cracker crumbs are the “sand,” which is spread out in front of the cake so a small heart with “S + M” inside it can be drawn beside the tiny shells.
We hired a DJ to play our favorite beach tunes, and a bartender keeps the umbrella drinks flowing. I hold a flute of sparkling champagne as I slow-dance in Stuart’s arms to the sweet strains of reggae.
“I can’t stop looking at you, Mrs. Knight,” he says, leaning down to kiss my lips, setting off a delicious hum just under my skin.
“Stuart William,” I sigh, eyes closed, listening to the music. “I wish you would take me home and love me.”
“What about our guests?” A smile is in his voice.
“They should go home and do the same.”
He laughs, and my eyes open. I smile, rising on my tiptoes to kiss him again as warmth unfurls low in my stomach.
“We have to at least cut the cake, or Sylvia will fuss.” His arms are warm around me.
“Your mother will not fuss at us for leaving. You just want cake.”
More deep laughter, and his eyes flicker with desire. “I’d rather have you.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the cake table, where he picks up a glass and taps it lightly with a spoon. Our guests stop dancing and turn to face us.
“We’d like to thank you all for joining us this evening,” he says. “Now we’re going to cut the cake so we can leave you all to enjoy yourselves.
“You mean so you can enjoy yourselves,” Patrick shouts, and everyone laughs.
Stuart smiles, and looks at me. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”
Picking up the large knife, I reach forward and place my hand on the top of his for the photograph. One slice, and Kenny is at our side, plating it and handing us each a dessert fork. We cut small pieces of the fluffy white cake topped with French vanilla cream frosting. A ribbon of toasty coconut, zesty lime, and rum is in the center, filling my mouth with a burst of the tropics.
My eyes go wide. “I changed my mind. I want to stay and eat cake.”
We laugh, and Kenny cuts a bigger piece. “I’ll save this for you,” she says, giving me a hug. “Now get out of here.”
“You’re the best friend anyone could ever have,” I gush, and we laugh more.
Stuart is shaking hands with Derek, and I hear a bit of their conversation.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be in Princeton long.” His handsome former partner is grinning.
Derek’s wife Melissa pulls me into a hug. “The wedding was beautiful. I can’t wait to visit you both in Montana again.”
At last we’ve greeted all our guests, and we’re walking hand in hand toward the parking lot where Stuart’s truck is waiting.
“This time tomorrow we’ll be in Great Falls,” I say, looking up at the starry sky and thinking about my wish from so long ago.
24
Peace
Stuart
Mariska’s tiny apartment wouldn’t have been my first choice for our wedding night, but her bridesmaids apparently sneaked in and transformed it into a resort escape. A silver bucket holds a bottle of champagne with two flutes on the counter in front of it, and tall candles in hurricane lanterns are arranged on every shelf and mantle.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mariska sighs as we walk through the yellow light. “It’s going to take forever to blow them all out.”
“We’ll have to open a window.” Soft laughter, and I pull her into my arms.
Her small hands rest on my chest, and I want to kiss her long and hard before slipping her lace dress off her body.
“It was very thoughtful,” she says just before I claim those lips.
A breathy moan escapes her throat as I slide my hands up the material of her gown.
“This dress,” I say, stepping back to survey the filmy network of lace. “All I could think about was touching you in it.”
“That’s the point.” She steps into my arms, a naughty gleam in her eyes.
Cupping her breasts, I slide my thumbs over her nipples, feeling them peak just beneath the fabric. She hums a happy noise, and I trace my fingers higher, lifting the thin straps off her shoulders and guiding them down her arms. The entire garment drops away to the floor, and she stands before me in what I suppose are panties. It’s nothing more than a triangle of lace with tiny lines over her hips.
“Turn around.” My voice is low, and her eyes darken. She steps out of the gown, turning her back and looking over her shoulder. “Fuck me,” I hiss taking in the long sweep of her beautiful back, the curve of her ass, leading down to her long smooth legs.
My fingers work quickly to unfasten the buttons on my shirt. “Come here.”
She steps back, and her slim fingers join mine in removing the remainder of my clothes until at last we’re facing each other, nothing between us in the soft glow of candlelight. Her hair is loose, and she’s stopped straightening it. Now it hangs in gentle waves to the tops of her shoulders. I reach out to remove the white flower behind her ear.
Looking down at the bloom, I confess. “The scent of jasmine haunted me when we were apart. When the sun set, I could see your eyes…”
She steps forward and slides her hands around my waist before pressing her face to the center of my chest. I toss the flower aside and run my palms down the length of her back. Her soft lips press against my skin, and it’s enough.
In a sweep, she’s in my arms. She holds my neck, kissing me roughly, and I almost stumble on the short trip to her bedroom as my erection strains for her. Sheer netting is draped around the bed. I stop in front of it and lower her to stand while I rip back the thick white duvet. Then I sweep her up again and toss her to the center. She squeals a laugh, but my arms are around her thighs, dragging her to my mouth so I can slide my tongue down the center of her sex.
“Oh, god! Stuart!” she cries, slim fingers threading into my hair. Her hips rotate in time with my mouth, and I hold on, continuing the motion, tasting and teasing until I feel her legs break into shuddering jerks. Her back arches, and she releases a low moan. I move quickly up her slim body, kissing her stomach, tracing her small navel, cupping and squeezing her small breast before covering it with my mouth, giving her nipple a firm pull.
Her legs go around my waist and her hands are on my ass as I pull her to me. “I want you inside me,” she gasps, and in one swift thrust, I grant her request, groaning low at the sensation. Her swollen, wet heat massages my aching cock.
“Yes,” I groan, pulling back slightly and pushing deeper.
Her hands are on my shoulders now, and her lips are at my ear. “Harder,” she whispers, and I let go, grasping her hips as I work out my own orgasm.
The room recedes as traces of pleasure wind up my thighs like a vine. I’m chasing the explosion. It’s just in my grasp when she pulls my neck, rising up to nip my bottom lip with her teeth. I release with a groan and our mouths smash together, tongues entwining as we pulse back to Earth. Her fingers twine in my hair before tracing down my neck and back, and all I can do is hold her, buried deep inside, savoring the afterglow.
“Mm,” she sighs. “I love you, Mr. Knight.”
I turn and kiss the inside of her shoulder, across to her collarbone, and up to her chin. Our eyes meet, and I look deep into the golden hazel that entranced me from the beginning.
“I love you, Mrs. Knight.”
* * *
The sun is making its way toward the horizon as we drive the narrow, two-lane road into the middle of nowhere to the ranch. It’ll be setting in just a few hours, but we’ve got time to get home and unpack before it’s dark.
I consider as we cross the endless prairie all my preparations before returning to Princeton ended up being for Mariska and me this winter. I’d done all the chores, cut and cured firewood, and prepared the barn, tack, and horses so Bill wouldn’t be left struggling, and now my uncle says he’ll spend the winter in Chicago. I can’t help wondering if he planned it with this in mind.
&nbs
p; “I know we have the house to ourselves,” Mariska says, turning from looking out the truck window, “But I’d like to spend at least a few days in the cabin before it gets too snowy.
“We can do that.” I say, giving her a grin. I’ve got my straw cowboy hat on, and she’s back to flowing skirts and tiny tees. “I’d like to swim in the spring one more time.”
“Does it freeze in the winter?”
“I’ve never been there in the winter.”
“It’s so warm… we’ll have to check it out.”
Reaching across the back of the seat, I thread my fingers in the soft waves of her hair. “We can do anything you want.”
Winona has dinner simmering on the stove, and she leaves shortly after we arrive at the house. It feels strange but right to be the man of the house now. In the past, I’ve always been Bill’s right hand, but I was also a guest. Now Mariska and I are making the place our home, and I couldn’t be happier.
We each take bowls and spoon out portions of soft carrots, celery, and potatoes mixed with stew meat in a dark gravy and carry them to the living room to sit in front of the fire. On the way, I open a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from a supply of wine I ordered from Princeton and had delivered.
“I called about starting at UGF this fall,” she says, taking a sip of the deep red liquid. “They said all of my credits would transfer, but they don’t have a graduate degree in fine arts.”
Frustration tightens my chest. I don’t want her to give up anything coming here. “What can we do?”
A little smile, and she sets her glass to the side, placing her hand on top of mine. “They have a course of study in expressive arts therapy, and we discussed working it into a graduate program. It’s very interesting.”
I lift my wine glass, noticing the gleam in her eye as she says it. “Okay… Tell me about it.”
“It uses creative expression to help people heal. It’s a form of counseling and therapy.”