by Penny Reid
“Yes,” she whispered, her smile beaming back at me. Sienna shifted on the bed, arching her back and straining so she could kiss me.
It took me another few seconds to comprehend that she’d accepted. And when I did, I finally exhaled.
“Yes?” I couldn’t believe it.
I held her smiling gaze as she nodded, grinning wildly.
“Holy shit,” I cursed, beyond happy, beyond joy and elation. I was equal parts euphoric and stunned.
Wrapping her in my arms, bringing her body flush with mine, I kissed her. And then I made love to her again, taking special care of my woman.
Because I’d just won the lottery of life. Sienna Diaz was going to be my wife. The least I could do was show my betrothed how much she was loved.
***
I fished the ring out of my pants pocket while she slept—after we’d made love for a second time and as the sun rose. I slipped it on her finger where it belonged. She stirred just as I fixed it into place.
Her lashes fluttered. She saw me and reached for me. I grabbed her hand, pressed our palms together, and brought her wrist to my lips. She gave me a sleepy smile. But then she blinked, her eyes snagging on her third finger, her gaze sharpening, and her mouth opening.
I grinned. She looked like a cartoon character—exaggerated wide eyes, gaping mouth, disbelieving wrinkle between her eyebrows—I loved how expressive she was.
“Holy shit.” Her gaze moved back to mine and she repeated breathlessly, “Holy shit.”
I grinned wider. “It’s platinum, a two-carat, old mine cut diamond, passed down on the Oliver side of the family for three generations, from father to oldest son. Each giving it to their betrothed. After my grandmother passed, my momma—who was an only child—kept it in a safety deposit box my daddy didn’t know about.”
Before meeting Sienna, I’d tried to give the ring to Drew for Ashley. He’d turned me down, saying, “Your momma wanted you to have it, for your woman. She liked to talk about you as a father, raising your own babies. She thought you’d make a great dad someday.”
Even I appreciated the epic nature of this ring. An heirloom, impressive, irreplaceable, important beyond its monetary value. Priceless. It caught and captivated the light. Glittering like a thousand stars. The ring looked important. And that was good, because it communicated to her and to the world how I saw her. She was important, impressive, and irreplaceable to me.
“This is my ring?” Her words caught, her voice cracking.
I nodded, happy she was happy. Her happiness was all that mattered to me. “This is your ring.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she moved them to mine. “This is my ring. And you’re going to be my husband.”
I laughed, though my throat was also tight with some emotion I couldn’t quite pin down. It was more than contentment. More than relief. More than joy. It was all of those things and more.
I decided it was love, because nothing else had ever come close to feeling this good.
CHAPTER 32
“When the debate is lost, slander becomes the tool of the loser.”
― Socrates
~Jethro~
We didn’t announce our engagement to my family. I hated lying, yet I would in order to protect Sienna. But I wasn’t about to ask my family to tell falsehoods. So we said nothing during the few days that followed our engagement, neither confirmed nor denied the truth. Luckily, no one asked. They just eyeballed the ring and arrived at their own conclusions.
Though Cletus was huffing more than usual since he caught sight of it.
She wore the ring on her right hand most of the time when she was on set or when we were at my house. But when we were together, just the two of us, she’d slip it onto her left and stare as though she expected it to disappear.
Like now.
We were in her trailer, five days after my proposal, the sun just rising in the sky. Though we hadn’t planned to, we’d spent the night. I’d stopped by with takeout from The Front Porch, expecting to take her home after. One kiss turned into several kisses, then kisses all over, then urgent lovemaking on the kitchen table.
Neither of us wanted to leave after that. She was off to London in the morning and this was our last stretch of time together before she left.
So Sienna had made coffee and we’d talked until late, sharing one bunk. The twin bed should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. The small space meant I held her tight all through the night and that suited me just fine.
“You’re staring at it again,” I teased, drawing her attention to me.
She started, her gaze flickering to mine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were awake.”
I slid my hand from her back to her thigh, savoring the feel of her. Christ, I wanted to touch her everywhere at once.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know.” She laughed lightly, then sounding like she was speaking to herself, she added, “I’m just not used to caring so much about what someone else thinks.”
I inched my head back and stared at her profile, thinking on her words.
She must’ve felt my attention, because she closed her eyes, cleared her throat self-consciously and joked, “I think I’m going to be a very clingy fiancée. You’ll be tactile, and I’ll be clingy, and we’ll be very happy just as long as we sleep in a twin bed and call each other seventeen hundred times a day.”
I chuckled. She was joking, but her words held a kernel of truth. It didn’t take a mind reader to see she was afraid.
“It’s good to care, Sienna. It’s good to care about what others think, but only when those other people matter.”
She lifted her chin and gazed at me, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks as she blinked. “But how do you balance it? I mean, I care what my parents think because I love them and know they love me, and I trust their judgment. But, in the end, I always just do what I think is best.”
“Then that’s what you keep doing. I trust your heart and so should you.”
She hesitated, searching my eyes, then blurted, “But I don’t want to let you down.”
I caught my bottom lip before I grinned. “You won’t.”
“My parents have to love me, so does my family. They have no choice. We’re stuck with each other. I do stupid things and I know they’ll forgive me. But you, you could just leave me and—”
I cut her off with a kiss, because she was talking nonsense.
Once I had her restless and out of breath, I broke the kiss and smoothed her hair from her face. “I don’t do things by halves, Sienna. I tell you I love you, I mean it. I ask you to marry me—”
“Technically you never asked.”
I ignored her, though the truth she spoke made me smile. “I’m not going to change my mind. After your sister called, after she pointed out some hard truths, I needed time. And I took it. And I couldn’t let you go, though part of me thought it would be for the best.”
“It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be for the best. You should never think that.”
“I won’t. I’ve made my decision—selfish as it is—and so have you. We’re in this together. We have a good deal to learn about each other. You can’t ever be certain of another person, and that’s where faith comes in. I’ve asked a lot of people to have faith in me when I didn’t deserve it, and I’m asking the same of you now.”
Her fingers gripped my bicep, squeezing. “You do deserve it.”
I nodded. “Fine then. I deserve it. You should give it to me, and move on from your worry.”
“But don’t you see? It’s not you, Jethro. It’s me. Do I deserve your faith?”
“Do you want my faith?”
“Yes.” She shook me a little for emphasis, her single-word answer loud in the small trailer. “Yes, I want it. But I’m not used to considering someone else in my decisions. I’ll need your patience.”
“Then you have it.”
“Thank you.” She sighed.
But I wasn’t fini
shed. “I’ll give you my patience, but don’t expect me to be a statue or a doormat. If you make me angry, I’m going to let you know.”
Her eyes widened and lost focus, clearly thinking back on a memory. “You’re a little scary when you’re angry.”
I lifted an eyebrow at this and frowned, concerned. “I would never, ever hurt you, or touch you in anger.”
“Oh, I know.” She lowered her eyes to my neck. “It’s still scary, though.”
I studied her, the way she was biting her lip. “Sienna, I might leave to cool off, but I’ll always come back. That’s part of the promise I made when I gave you this ring.”
She nodded, still not looking at me, but then she said, “I guess I just have to trust you.”
“Yeah. Just like I have to trust you.”
Her mouth tugged to the side. “Trust me to not drive you crazy?”
“Oh no,” I laughed, “you’ll definitely drive me crazy. I have no illusions about that. Your name is Insane after all.”
She scrunched her face and pinched my shoulder. I flinched away, still laughing, and grabbed her hand to halt her assault.
“What I meant was,” I waited for her to meet my eyes again before continuing, “I trust you. I have faith in you that no matter where you go or what you’re doing, in the end you’ll always come back to me.”
***
I left Sienna’s trailer wearing yesterday’s clothes and a big smile. Who knew tight quarters could be so much fun? We couldn’t get far enough away from each other to allow any measure of space. So of course accidental touching became on-purpose touching. I blamed my size and hers.
In other words, we were perfect for each other.
“It’s the lumbersexual.”
I looked up, finding Mr. Low strolling toward me, an unpleasant expression on his face. Now here was a guy who was an asshole. I hated these guys because they reminded me of who I used to be.
I nodded my head once in greeting but had no intent to actually stop and converse. Unfortunately, his plans didn’t align with mine.
Blocking the path so I’d have to stop or walk into him, he held his hands up between us and said, “Aren’t you going to say hello? Or is that business about southern manners an exaggeration?”
I stepped back, thinking it would be a bad idea for him to be within easy punching distance, and shoved my hands in my pockets. “Morning, Mr. Low.”
“You can call me Tom. After all,” he shrugged, “we’ve both fucked the same woman.”
Yep. Good. Thing. He. Wasn’t. Within. Punching. Distance.
Good decision.
I blinked at him once then turned on my heel and walked away. I would take the long way around to my truck. No biggie.
He jogged after me.
“Hey. Where are you going? Busy planting trees or whatever you Boy Scouts do?”
I made a list of what needed to be picked up from the grocery store for dinner. Making lists helped. Cletus had taught me to do that. Not many people knew, but Cletus had a terrible temper. As a kid his tantrums were legendary, and as a teenager his rage made him blind.
He kept it all locked up now by making mental lists whenever he felt the urge to pummel someone.
Of course, he also hatched maniacal plans of revenge against anyone who crossed him. Beau and I often considered giving Cletus a hairless cat as a present, so his James Bond supervillain image would be complete.
But then Tom pushed my back, making me stumble forward a few steps.
I didn’t like to be pushed.
Righting myself, I turned slowly. Mr. Low was obviously after a confrontation.
“What do you want?” My voice was gruff, but that’s to be expected. I kept my hands in my pockets, another trick I’d learned from Cletus.
“Man,” he shook his head, sneering, “she did a number on you. You actually think you’re special, don’t you? People are laughing at you.”
I stared at him, giving him nothing. Running late for work wasn’t a worry. I figured he’d wear himself out eventually.
“I know you’re a simple people, but do you honestly think Sienna Diaz is interested? In you? Her sister would never allow it. You have heard of Marta, haven’t you? Sienna listens to her sister about everything. See, Marta and I are good friends, and I know she hates the idea of you. You’re already as good as gone.” He chuckled, and it was forced.
I tried to ignore his words, but some of them hit a target. Just as we hadn’t told my family, we hadn’t told Sienna’s. We knew Marta was definitely not Team Jethro. Yet.
And yet, Mr. Low wanted me to doubt. He wanted chaos. I refused to give it to him.
So, I needed kale from the store, and tomatoes, and feta. We already had garlic and onions.
“You’re nothing,” he spat. “When filming wraps, you’re gone. And then she’s off to her next fuckbuddy.”
Man, I really wanted to shut his mouth. Breaking his jaw would do the trick. Instead I started making a new list of how many ways I could wreck his pretty face.
“Hey!” He stepped directly in front of me and snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. “Can you hear me, hillbilly? Or are you too stupid—?”
On instinct, I grabbed his wrist and wrenched it behind his back, shoving him away. He stumbled then fell to one knee.
“You’re drunk, old-timer. Go home.” I readied myself for a right hook, because how he was crouched lent itself well to a surprise punch in the face. That was assuming Mr. Low even knew how to fight.
Mr. Low straightened and turned, rage in his eyes. I guess he didn’t like being called “old-timer.” Honestly, I suspected as much. That’s why I’d said it.
“Fuck you.” He seethed. “I’m not old.”
I shrugged, unable to contain my smirk. That was childish. Shame on me.
“Are you finished?” I asked, pulling my phone from my pocket and glancing at the screen. I still had time, but that didn’t mean I wanted to spend any more of it in Mr. Low’s company.
His eyes flickered to my phone. “Let me guess, she took a picture of the two of you, right? While you were kissing?”
I stiffened, my glare lifting to his.
He grinned. “She put it on your phone, right? Made it her avatar?”
I frowned, unable to conceal my stunned confusion.
He laughed. “I know because she did the same thing to me. She does the same thing to everyone. It’s all part of her little game.”
My heart did an odd sinking thing, and my mouth fell open, my mind a mess of contradictions. I’m ashamed to say, he almost had me doubting her. Almost. He was a good actor, plus he was motivated.
But then he said, “She wants you to go with her to London, to the premiere. Marta will talk some sense into her.”
And that was his mistake.
His words came into focus, the key fit into the lock, and the door opened wide.
I laughed, saying, “Of course,” mostly to myself.
Mr. Low’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What’s the joke, hick?”
I surveyed him, this successful man, this icon of film, of our society. Here was a person who cared too much about his image, but spent no time on what actually mattered. I felt sorry for him. His life was sad.
“What?” he snapped, obviously not liking how I was looking at him.
“Let’s see it.” I kept my tone gentle, showing him he had my pity, not my anger.
He stiffened. “Let’s see what?”
“Let’s see the picture. The one Sienna put on your phone.”
He took a half step back. “I don’t have my phone on me.”
“Bullshit.”
He held himself rigid. Though he was a really good actor, I recognized he hadn’t expected me to call his bluff.
I shook my head, pressing my lips together in a sympathetic smile. “Sienna didn’t put a picture on your phone. But her sister obviously told you about the one she put on mine.”
My words did not settle well with him. His bitter
ness and helplessness was just as plain as the nose on his face. Mr. Low’s eyes flashed with hatred. He wanted to hit me. Wanted to beat the tar out of me, make me bleed. Again, I felt sorry for him. It must’ve sucked to be so incapable.
I glanced at my phone again. It was past time for me to leave. “We don’t believe in false pleasantries around these parts, nor do we kick a fella when he’s down. So I’ll just say, bless your heart, and leave it at that.”
CHAPTER 33
“Until you've lost your reputation, you never realize what a burden it was or what freedom really is.”
― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
~Sienna~
I called my mom on my way to the airport. Dave was driving. Henry was next to me in the back, and Tim was in the front passenger seat, leaving me with both hands and all my attention free. I hadn’t spoken to her since she’d given me advice about Jethro. She and my dad had been on a cruise and were due back today. I’d missed our phone calls.
Selecting her number, I tapped the call button and waited. It went to voicemail.
“Hi, Mom. It’s me. I’m on my way to the airport for London and miss your voice. I know you get back today. Call me when you get this. I might be on the flight, but I’ll call you back when I land. Love you and Dad.”
Peering at my screen, my heart sunk. I wanted to tell her about Jethro.
No. That’s not right.
I needed to tell her about Jethro. I wanted her to know her advice had been correct, and that she had been right. He was my one. And I was his.
I needed to share the news about our engagement. I needed to hear her scream and get excited and ask me when we would start having babies. I was the first of her daughters to get married, though Maya and Rena were in committed relationships, they were both career focused and had no immediate plans to have children; that was me just months ago. Whereas my brothers and their wives brought up children as a maybe someday concept.
My mother had lamented, loudly and frequently, to all of us on several occasions about how she wanted grandchildren.
“I love you all, so smart, so capable and accomplished. I’m so proud of you. But where are my grandchildren?” she would ask, her hand on her hip, her eyebrows raised. “Who am I going to give my china to? Hmm? Who is going to inherit my jewelry?”