"Just hire a wedding planner," Sanford said to me one night as we lay together in bed, drenched with sweat from our recent exertions. "Money isn't an object. Just tell her what you imagine for the perfect wedding, and she'll make it happen. That's her job."
A part of me still wasn't at all used to the idea that I didn't need to worry about money any longer. I kept on trying to cut corners on prices, worried over the pennies adding up, and I think it amused Sanford to no end.
"But you're not working!" I pointed out to him a few days later, when he came home to find me fiercely negotiating with a wedding planner over her fees. "You've got lots of money now, but what happens after it runs out? You'll just start up another business?"
He pulled out the other chair at the kitchen table. "Actually, I was meaning to talk to you about that," he said. "I think I would like to start another one up, although I'll need your help."
"My help?" I blinked at him. "What can I help you with?"
"So many things," he chuckled, reaching out and petting me with one finger under my chin. "But in this case, I'm thinking of going into the business of restoring old furniture. Fixing up some of those antiques that you say are too broken to sell, but not worth the cost of fixing." He grinned at me. "I'm sure we can work out some sort of discount."
Ignoring the lecherous subtext, I blinked as I turned over my fiance's new business idea. "You want to fix furniture?" I repeated. "Do you know anything about it?"
He shrugged. "I might have been working on a few pieces in the garage during my spare time. Want to come take a look?"
Out in the garage, my mouth dropped open as I stared at what Sanford had been doing during the last few weeks. "A few pieces?" I repeated in disbelief, my eyes wide as I took in the expanse of shaped wood pieces, propped-open books, and tools of all shapes and sizes, neatly organized on boards or laid out on tables.
"I wanted to make sure that I got them right," Sanford said behind me. "Take a look at the chair over there. I took it out from the sitting room on the first floor - you said that it was too broken to sell, but not worth repairing on its own."
In amazement, I wandered over to the chair that he'd indicated. The chair was a Louis XVI armchair, and it looked perfect, like it had just been delivered to the king himself. Every single inch of the wood was elaborately shaped into pleasing, smooth whorls, burnished until the entire chair practically glowed. The cushion was a soft ivory color, covered in detailed embroidery that traced out patterns complementary to the shape of the wood.
"You did this?" I asked, reaching out and running one hand gingerly over one of the wooden arms, as if afraid that the whole thing would splinter into matchsticks at a touch.
Sanford nodded. "This was my test piece, of sorts, to see if I could handle this kind of work," he replied. "Would it sell?"
Of course it would sell. A piece like this, even with the disclaimer that it had been restored, could probably set off a bidding war. "I don't want to sell it," I said, gently sitting down on the chair, still marveling at the detail and sureness of his work. "I want to keep it."
Sanford laughed, a happy sound. "Of course you can keep it," he told me, rubbing my shoulder as he beamed down at me with love in his eyes. "But I can match this level of work on other pieces, and I figured that you wouldn't want to keep every antique in this mansion. And there's even a property downtown, that would be perfect for a shop-"
I cut him off by leaping up from the chair and throwing my arms around his neck, dragging his broad frame down to my height so I could kiss him.
"You're amazing," I whispered up to him, not letting go after the kiss ended.
"Only because I'm with you," he replied, kissing me back.
A couple of months had passed since that day when he revealed his dream of a shop, and things had flown along in our preparations. Working with the wedding planner, a smart, no-nonsense woman named Angela, our dream wedding took shape. Working with a real estate agent, meanwhile, Sanford bought a lease on the building downtown, and set up his antique store. Just the mystique of the store's proprietor was enough to draw crowds on its opening day, and he'd done a brisk business ever since. He might have intended the shop to be more of a hobby, just something to fill his days, but his natural business sense kicked in on its own, and he was already estimating that he'd turn a profit for this year, and a much bigger one next year.
"I might even need to expand," he chuckled to me one night, shaking his head at the good fortune of it all. "Not that I'm ready to build another retail empire, but there's definitely the potential there. Maybe as a partner with someone else, if I can find a good business partner."
"As long as she doesn't hog all your time and keep you late at the office," I answered him, snuggling in closer. "After six, you belong to me!"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said immediately, his big, strong arm wrapping around me to pull me in close, making me feel safe and like the luckiest, happiest woman in the world.
Today, however, I had something else to discuss with Sanford, and I sat anxiously in the armchair he'd restored for me as I waited for him to return home.
I heard him before he arrived, the rumble of his sports car pulling into the driveway. Of late, he'd been less willing to have Winston drive him around, instead preferring to keep behind the wheel. Instead, Winston stayed home with me, reluctantly offering his opinions on things like tablecloths and china patterns when I cornered him. Most of the time, I was pretty sure that the butler kept out of the way in the kitchen, cooking up delicious meals and spoiling Whiskers.
Sanford opened the front door to the mansion a minute later, his steps light as he entered the house. "Elaine!" he called out. "Elaine, I've got something to show you!"
"And I've got something to tell you, too," I replied, raising my voice so that he could hear me. "I'm in here."
I didn't have to clarify any further; Sanford knew where to find me. He stepped around the corner into the doorway, beaming down at me. He held some small bundle in his hands. "Hey, there you are! I've got some news - someone new!"
"Me, too," I murmured again. I frowned, however, as he stepped closer and I got a better look at what he held in his hands. "Wait - what's that?"
"This," Sanford said, settling down on the couch next to my chair, "is the little girl who I found huddling under some pallets behind my store this morning."
In his lap, the little bundle of fur blinked a pair of huge green eyes and uncurled herself, revealing tiny paws and a bright pink tongue that slipped out of her yawning mouth for a moment. From inside my chest, I felt an uncontrollable "aww" come bursting out. The tiny kitten blinked and looked around at its new surroundings, but didn't seem motivated to leave the warmth of my fiance's lap.
In my own lap, Whiskers straightened up a little at his realization that he wasn't the only animal in the room. He stared over at the kitten, and then stood up on my lap, stretching up his back, and stepped over to the couch.
"Should we-" I began, but Sanford held his finger to his lips, shaking his head. He didn't move, just watching as Whiskers moved in closer, his nose twitching as he cautiously sniffed at the new kitten.
The kitten didn't seem to have any objections to being sniffed by another cat more than three times its size. It purred and leaned in against Whiskers. My big, fat orange tomcat looked surprised for a moment, but then settled down, and he started licking the top of the little kitten's head.
"Looks like they get along!" I exclaimed, surprised.
Sanford nodded. "I can put up some posters, but she looked like she'd been abandoned," he said. "I watched for the mom or any other cat, but didn't see anything. It looks like we just adopted another cat."
I smiled, looking over at the two cats. "You'll have to name her, you know."
"How about Valencia?" Sanford held up his hands in mock protest as I looked around for something to throw at him. "Hey, just kidding! Take it easy!"
Instead of chucking an object at his head, howe
ver, I took another look at the kitten. "Well, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad name, after all," I said after a moment.
"What? Why?"
I smirked at him. "If Valencia ever does decide to come back, you'll just scold her like the cat, maybe hit her with a spray bottle. That ought to drive her off."
Sanford kept up his frown for a moment, as if he wasn't sure whether this was some sort of trick, but then his expression softened as he looked down at the little kitten, her eyes now closed as she purred under the ministrations of Whiskers' tongue. "Valencia. I guess it does kind of fit her, skinny little thing. Probably going to end up just as spoiled, too."
My mind returned back to other matters. "There's something else, too, that I wanted to talk to you about," I said.
He glanced back up at me. "Oh? What's that?"
"Well, you brought home one new family member..." I paused, unsure if I could get this out, but ordering myself to forge ahead. "But pretty soon, we're going to have another one."
Sanford frowned. "What? What do you mean?"
I didn't answer, but just kept looking at him. Slowly, his eyes tracked from my face down to my belly, where I had one hand pressed in against my stomach. "Really? Are you serious?"
I nodded, feeling tears welling up in my eyes, not sure how he'd respond. Sure, he agreed to marry me, he said he loved me, but what if this wasn't what he wanted? What if he was angry that this happened? What if he told me that he didn't want-
Sanford burst up from the couch, ignoring the meows of protest from both cats at being disturbed, and sank down on his knees in front of me, his hands pulling my waist closer to him. "You're pregnant?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
I nodded, the tears trickling out. "Yes."
For a moment, Sanford's mouth gaped open - and then he pulled me in, nearly crushing me with the strength of his hug. "Oh my god," he whispered down to me. "Elaine, oh my god!"
"Yeah, that's about how I feel," I said, muffled, into his shoulder. "But don't worry - with the wedding plans underway, we should be able to get married before the bump starts to show-"
"Honey, I don't care if you walk down the aisle at seven months pregnant," Sanford interrupted, kissing me over and over between words. "You're pregnant! This is amazing! I'm so happy for us!"
"You're going to be a good father," I told him, and at these words, I couldn't even attempt to hold back the tears any longer.
But Sanford just rocked me, holding me, wrapping me up in the warmth of his strong arms and his steady love. And I kept on weeping, with happiness, amazed at my life, knowing that I could never have hoped for anything as good as this, that I was truly blessed.
The End!
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A Billion Little Clues
Melinda Gaines, overworked personal assistant, is cursed with permanently bad luck. Her boss keeps making unreasonable demands, and no guy has seen the inside of her apartment in months.
But when Melinda is sent to a party at the CEO's house, she ends up on a romantic, moonlit balcony with an unnervingly handsome stranger. Melinda is convinced that her run of bad luck is over.
That is, until she finds that her latest crush is being accused of murder...
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If you enjoyed this story, check out other works by Samantha Westlake:
Big White Rider: A Motorcycle Club Novella
"I stared up at this leather-clad, muscular man who had just caught me in his arms. I felt keenly aware of two facts:
First, he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.
And second, his hands were wrapped around me, pressing against some very intimate places..."
Deidre Reed is feeling down in the dumps. She's stuck in her dead-end job as a cocktail waitress, she hasn't been laid in months, and there are no boyfriend prospects on the horizon.
No prospects, that is, until she literally falls into the arms of a handsome stranger.
But this man, Ellison Granger, comes with his own set of problems. He's a biker in the True Sons - a gang that does not take kindly to women of color like Deidre. They're so frigid towards Deidre, she feels like she's trapped in a blizzard.
If Deidre wants to be accepted by the True Sons - and have any shot at continuing to see Ellison's sexy, perfectly toned body - she's going to have to pass the True Sons' rituals of acceptance. She'll be tested, both physically and emotionally.
Deidre's determined. This sexy new man in her life is worth it, she's sure - but just how far is she willing to go?
Guns & Dusty Roads: The Iron Brotherhood, Book 1
Kara needed the big, burly biker to keep her secret. She had to keep him happy - even if that meant giving in to his desires...
FBI Special Agent Kara Sybil is composed, capable, and committed to her job. When a gun smuggling case comes across her desk, she doesn't hesitate to dive in. With help from her biker uncle, Kara infiltrates a 1% motorcycle club, the Iron Brotherhood, searching for clues and the culprits.
Undercover, Kara's prepared for rough trials, uncouth bikers, and heavy interrogation and suspicion. But she's not prepared to be coupled with a handsome, sexy biker named Cross - who also knows her true identity!
Cross is willing to help Kara ferret out the gun smugglers, as long as she grants immunity to the Iron Brotherhood for their other criminal activities. But as Cross and Kara become more entangled in their deception, they both start to feel the primal pull of attraction towards each other. How long can Kara hold out, resisting this criminal's sexy masculine appeal?
The Stolen Girl: A Wild Roads MC Novel
"Hello, little kitty," the big biker leered at me as I shrank back in fear. His black glove reached out for me. "You're coming with me!"
When Senator Leonard Sterling comes home from the day's Congressional session, he finds his daughter missing from their family home, her bedroom window shattered, and a spatter of blood on the pieces of glass...
When Elizabeth Sterling wakes up, she discovers that she's in a cheap motel room. Her hands are shackled behind her, attached to a radiator, and she can hear the thudding of heavy boots outside the motel room door...
When Roads, the motorcycle gang's second-in-command, enters the room, he finds that the young woman, forced into a kneeling position on the motel carpet, is glaring up at him. Her beautiful face is filled with fierce defiance as she stares back without a shred of subservience...
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Samantha Westlake has an unfortunate habit of staying up far too late, reading romance and saucy stories when she really should be sleeping and preparing for work. Samantha currently lives in San Francisco, CA. She draws her inspiration from the wonderful people of the city around her, and can often be found relaxing on the wharf, gazing out in the mornings as the fog burns off the bay.
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Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 35