Two-Penny Wedding

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Jake’s desire to tease her fled. “Sometimes I say the damnedest things.”

  She met his gaze across the table and smiled, sort of sadly, he thought.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “Sometimes you do.”

  They sat quietly, letting the past slip back into the safe, manageable framework of memory. The moments whisked past one by one, linking hands to reach an uncomfortable silence. Gentry was the first to break it, and she chose the category called “regrets.” “You shouldn’t have come here, Jake.”

  “I believe we’ve pretty well reached consensus on that, all around. If it makes you feel better, I wish I hadn’t.”

  A faintly unhappy smile grazed her lips and was gone. “At last we’ve found something we can agree on.”

  “Don’t be stingy, Liz. I bet we could list dozens of issues on which we see eye to eye.”

  “Name three and you can have another beer.”

  He tipped his head back and stared at the sky. “Rain, green and pasta,” he said. “Hand over the beer.”

  “Wait a minute. Rain, green and pasta? What kind of issues are those?”

  “Okay, maybe issues was the wrong word. But you said name three things we agree on and I did. So give me the beer.”

  She refused with a shake of her head. “That’s cheating and you know it. I could as easily say we agree on snow, pink and potatoes. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the soft, sensual, familiar scent of her. “We agree we could never eat pasta too many times in the same week. We agree that green is a good color for a child’s bedroom. We agree that rain is the most erotic setting for a kiss.”

  Her stillness drifted over him, sharing the bittersweet memories contained in three random words.

  “Now, do I get the beer?” he asked quietly. “Or do I have to tell you why we agree on snow, pink and potatoes?”

  “No.” She picked up another bottle and held it out to him.

  He took it with one hand, wondering why he hadn’t left this morning, or yesterday, or anytime before now. “I’m going home tonight,” he said, so he wouldn’t be tempted to forget. “Catching the red-eye flight back.”

  “You mentioned that before.”

  “Did I?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He looked at the bottle in his hand and then at the ones still on the table. “Am I crashing another party here?”

  Her gaze followed his to the evidence. “Oh, no. I was expecting to find my friends out here, but apparently I misinterpreted their plans.”

  “And here I was hoping you had come to kiss me goodbye.”

  Her short laugh was meant to scoff at the idea, but it caught a note of husky wistfulness in her throat and lost the intended effect. “That would be a stupid thing to do.”

  “Yes. And you’re not stupid.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “It would be a mistake to think we could find that closure you mentioned last night…at the police station…while we were sitting together on the bench.”

  She got the picture, as he’d meant for her to, and the memory of that angry, impulsive, passionate kiss joined them at the table like a guest who stayed on and on, not knowing the party was over.

  She stood abruptly, unfolding from the chair like a long-stemmed rose, her body enticingly encased in a maillot. He admired her with a hunger born of deprivation and the same intense emotion he’d felt the first time he set eyes on her. He watched her take a running step and dive into the pool, escaping from him and the uncomfortable memories he’d brought with him.

  If he had a grain of sense about self-preservation, he’d walk away right now.

  But he set the beer on the table, followed her to the edge of the pool and dived in after her.

  GENTRY DIDN’T KNOW why she was still running from Jake. But her impulsive plunge into the water was only another form of escape. Why had she stayed at the pool when she realized he was in it? Had she wanted to watch him gather himself and rise from the water like Poseidon? Did she need to see each drop of water kiss him in a caressing stream, bathing his hard body in glistening adoration? Was this her punishment for not being the wife he wanted? To see him one more time and know she would never desire any other man with the same intensity, the same aching need?

  Maybe she was trying to postpone the goodbye she didn’t want to say, running away from the moment when she would toss off a casual word of farewell, as if she didn’t mind at all that she would never see him again.

  The confusion flowed into her arms and legs and she set off across the pool to work it out, to convince her heart she didn’t care. But she barely made a half lap before she felt his arm snake around her waist and pull her against him. She was ashamed she didn’t summon the will to push him away, but what was the point? Her body would only have followed his, found some way to bypass the voices of reason and sanity to find the pleasure she had discovered so many times in his embrace.

  Turning in his arms, she found his mouth and filled it with her tongue. From cool sensibility to eager intensity, she let the passion flood her senses like a drug, and they sank together, clinging and careless of any need but one. His hand tugged at her suit, found a way inside, and grasped her breast in a pleasurably painful massage. She dug her fingers into the taut muscles of his shoulders and clung to him until, inevitably, the kiss pulled them through a sea of regret to the incandescent twilight.

  They broke the surface and the kiss at the same moment, splashing away from each other as if that would disguise the reality of the passion that drove them. Jake swam a lazy backstroke to the ladder, then climbed from the water. Gentry poured the tension inside her into long strokes, swimming the length of the pool, striving for exhaustion and forgetfulness. When her muscles protested the abuse, she pulled herself partially up onto the tiled rim and laid her head on her hands.

  Her breathing was torturous and slow, as much a result of the intensity of that watery embrace as from the exercise. She tried to recover a normal rhythm-anything normal would be good. But then she heard the splash his wet feet made as they approached and her pulse soared out of control again. Touch me, she pleaded with him in silence, but kept her head down, embarrassed to let him see the desire in her eyes and know how badly she wanted him.

  He stopped in front of her…she could feel the splatter of the water drops that dripped from his body to the ground…and then a pound of soft cotton towel dropped on top of her head. A moment later, a corner of the towel lifted and she opened her eyes to see him peering in at her. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t want to be here. To be so close to him and know they had never been further apart. “Jake, I…”

  “Want another beer?” He sounded normal. As if they hadn’t just shared a watery and erotic kiss.

  She frowned beneath the thick cotton terry, unexpectedly annoyed by his casual tone. As if he were offering one of his buddies a cold brew after a successful fishing trip. “No, thanks,” she said, pulling the towel off her head. “I’ve had one too many already.”

  Ignoring the offer of a hand up, she boosted herself out of the pool and gathered the towel around her, uncaring that he watched every move, but intensely aware that he did. She intended to leave then, but stubbornly, returned to her chair instead, unwilling to run away yet again.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he began hesitantly. “But your fiancé is being held hostage by a fairy.”

  She looked at his teasing smile and then at the ransom note open on the table, realizing she ought to thank him for forcing the tension to ebb beneath the comfortable pattern of their bantering. “I know,” she said, searching for the light tone he would expect. “Three fairies, to be exact.”

  “Three fairies.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I was going to guess this was the work of the Tooth Fairy, but if she’s not working alone…How many fairies are there altogether?”

  “Well, let me think.” With him so close, his body glistening with the interplay of
moisture and light, it was difficult to concentrate, to hit the rhythm of theirusual wordplay. “There’s the Fairy Godmother, the Fairy Princess, the Queen of the Fairies, the Sugarplum Fairy, Woodland—”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s concentrate on one at a time.” He pointed to the note. “Do you recognize her?”

  “Yes, that’s Tinkerbell.”

  “Is she from this area?”

  Gentry twisted her rope of wet hair into a thick knot on top of her head and noted the level of her tension by the erratic tapping of her foot. “Haven’t you been to Disneyland, Jake? The Magic Kingdom?”

  “I thought Tinkerbell lived in Never-Never Land.”

  “Only in the off-season.”

  He picked up the note and scanned it, then had to brush the glitter from his fingers. “What’s all this sparkle stuff?”

  “Magic dust.”

  “Oh.” Impressed, he looked more closely at his fingers. “Does this mean I can fly?”

  She couldn’t think of a response, much less a witty one, so she just sat there, her body begging for his in a mute, hopeless silence, as her foot tapped and tapped….

  “I can see you don’t believe in magic dust, Liz.” His tone sounded a little forced as well. “But if you ever want to see Sonny again…” He looked up. “I suppose you do want to see him again?”

  She made a rueful face and nodded.

  “I was afraid of that.” He sighed and looked at the ransom note again.

  Was it her imagination or did the paper tremble slightly in his hand?

  “How did these three fairies convince Sonny to go peacefully? Did they sprinkle him with magic dust? Give him a couple of painkillers? Get him punchdrunk?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say they overpowered him with their combined charm and talked him into doing something he will regret in the morning.”

  “Hmmm,” Jake murmured. “I’d like to meet these fairies myself.”

  And that was the last turn of the screw. Gentry jumped up, gathering her towel, picking up the remains of this unbearable tension, forcing herself to talk normally, move normally, act normally.

  Don’t think about the fact that he’s leaving in a couple of hours. Don’t think about never seeing him again. Don’t think about kissing him goodbye. Remember how you failed. Remember how unhappy you made him. Remember how unhappy you made yourself.

  “Well, I’ve got to go. Have a safe trip. You should visit Ben and Sara sometime. Maybe the five of us can get together. Play golf. Go fishing. Wouldn’t that be grand? It would be—”

  Then she was pulled fiercely into his arms and his mouth was on hers, his tongue tasting hers, his body hard and demanding against hers, and the tension inside her snapped, uncoiling like a spinning reel, releasing the passion, the hunger, the love.

  In seconds, their hands sought remembered territory, their lips claimed new possession. His desire was the rough thrust of his tongue in her mouth. Hers, the frenzied search of her hand beneath the cool, wet cling of his swimsuit. His deep moan of pleasure filled her senses as his rigid desire filled her hand. He fumbled at her breast, gave up trying to push aside the maillot and took her in his mouth. She kissed his shoulder, his neck, caressed every slick, hot part of him. Their passion was like a separate entity, awakening at a touch, whipping through their bodies with no thought for any need but its own. Taking, probing, reaching…until it exhausted their energy, and simply stopped. She was almost grateful when Jake took the initiative to pull back and let her catch her breath.

  She was shaking when Jake gathered her gently against him; trembling as he held her, touched her hair, whispered words—just words—to her racing heart; quivering as his lips bathed her in soothing, calming kisses. When she finally caught her breath, she lifted her face for his kiss, wanting him to immerse her confusion in a numbing embrace that would annul her failures and wipe away her mistakes, and leave her, finally, whole.

  Jake cupped her chin in his hands and looked into her eyes. With excruciating tenderness, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and brushed aside a strand of her still-damp hair. “You are the most tempting woman I’ve ever known, Liz, and I want you so much it’s a constant, aching hunger inside of me.”

  “That’s the way I feel, too.” At this moment, she would do anything, say anything, to have him. “Let me go with you, stay with you, be with you. This time I’ll get it right. We’ll get it right. I won’t be so demanding. I won’t insist on having my own way. I—”

  His thumb stopped on her lips, stilling her plea. “Gentry, if I believed there was a chance in hell you meant one word of that, I wouldn’t let go of you until sometime in the next century. And I know without a doubt that an hour from now, I’m going to be kicking myself from here to town and back again, but I’m saying goodbye. Right here, right now. I’m going to walk out of your life because you and I are not a perfect fit.. .and we’re never going to be. Sometimes, you have to know when to cut line and move on. That’s what I’m doing, before I ruin your life again.”

  His words took her completely by surprise, and before she could form a coherent protest, he brushed her lips with a softly poignant kiss. “I’ve probably seen a thousand movies with really great exit lines, but not one of them comes to mind. So, I’ll just leave you with my for-what-it’s-worth opinion. On Saturday, wear the million-dollar wedding gown. It’ll make your pop happy. You look like a million dollars in it. And if there should be such a thing as magic and happilyever-after…Hell, it can’t do any harm to wear the silly thing.”

  She watched him walk away, disbelieving, hurt, irritated, and getting angrier with every step he took. He probably thought she’d go running after him, assure him he was wrong, that he wouldn’t, couldn’t ruin her life. Well, he was wrong. There was such a thing as dignity.

  “I’ll show you, Jacob Daniels,” she said softly, over the lump of pride in her throat. “I’ll show you. I will live happily ever after…without you.”

  The only problem with that, Gentry thought, was that he would never know if she succeeded.

  Chapter Twelve

  The wedding dress poured over her in a bath of cool satin and fine lace. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, Gentry drew the bodice in around her in a close and perfect fit, and then, one by one, she touched each button, nudging each into its corresponding loop. She didn’t look at the mirror, wasn’t even tempted to turn and see if Sonny might be hovering like a shadow waiting to appear in the reflection with her.

  “Gen?” Sydney tapped on the dressing-room door. “Need any help?”

  “I can manage, thanks. Is he here yet?”

  “I don’t know. Heather?” Syd’s voice faded as it was directed away from the door. “Any sign of them yet?”

  Heather’s reply was too muffled to distinguish inside the dressing room, but then Sydney’s voice returned, happy and excited. “Not yet, but he should be here any minute now. You sure you don’t want some help getting into that dress? I could get a shoehorn and wedge you into those sequins in nothing flat.”

  “I’m already in my dress,” Gentry called. “Be out in a minute.”

  There was a quiet rustle of silk as Sydney moved away from the other side of the door and the murmur of voices as she spoke to Heather and was answered. Gentry smiled a little at the thought of how many times she had planned this day.

  Her wedding day.

  She and Syd and Hil and Heather had gathered in her bedroom dozens of times over the years to plan their weddings, dreaming about what they’d wear, what everyone else would wear, what colors they’d choose, what music would be played, the candles, the flowers—even the vows were subject to change. They had imagined all the little details…except the groom. In their make-believe “at my wedding, I’m going to have…” he was a stick figure in a tux of whatever color they liked at the time. He didn’t get to speak or do anything but wait for her at the end of the aisle. Gentry had always felt he should look like Barbie’s Ken…tall, handsome, smiling and plastic. The perf
ect man.

  She fastened the last button—they were all in order, not a missing one among them—and fluffed the satin skirt. When she turned to check her appearance in the mirror, she didn’t look for misty images or allow herself to remember Jake’s wonderfully roguish grin looking at her, eager to make contact. Her cheeks were a little flushed…either with excitement or the memory of how easily she had accepted the idea that his would be the face she saw…if there was such a thing as a magic wedding gown.

  Which, of course, there wasn’t.

  “Gentry?” It was her mother’s voice, her mother’s quick tap on the door, and then Frannie entered. “Oh…” The clasp of hands, the instant tightness of lips, the shimmer of tears in green eyes just like Gentry’s own, made the ageless connection between mother and daughter. “You look…lovely.”

  With a smile, Gentry invited her mother into the dressing room and got ready for an adjustment. She stood patiently, facing the mirror as Frannie adjusted the fit of the wedding gown, the drape of the veil, an uncooperative strand of hair, a smudge of makeup, a smudge on the mirror, her own dress, hair, hat, shoes. Somewhere there was probably a mother’s handbook in which the rules were laid out so that the ritual of adjustment could be completed. Frannie finished in record time, her anxious energy turning to the arriving guests, locating the photographer, checking on the caterer and the florist, keeping Pop from rearranging the seating, and all the other details that would take her through this ceremonial rite of passage.

  Gentry breathed a sigh of relief when her mother left, and with a passing glance at her reflection, she opened the dressing-room door. Her bridesmaids were gathered by the window in a huddle of rose petal pink and curiosity as they watched the arrival of guests and activity going on outside.

  “Gentry!” Heather saw her first and her brown eyes widened with pleased surprise. “Oh, I’m so glad you decided to wear that dress.”

  Hillary turned, affection shining in her blue eyes. “You look beautiful, Gen,” she said.