Perfect Timing

by Spinella, Laura

  Shoving the strip of pictures into her purse, Isabel’s first instinct was to take the coward’s way out. She could leave a heartfelt note and vanish. No, it was too open-ended. It would fall short of Fitz’s instructions. “Tell him what he needs to hear. Most important, Isabel, be very clear.” There was zero margin for error. Aidan needed to believe everything she was about to tell him. Counting on hardy calm, Isabel waited, constructing the framework of her manifesto. Like Aidan said, he trusted her with his life. That was a good thing. It would make it easier for him to swallow the whopper of a lie she was about to tell him.

  AIDAN CAME OUT FROM THE BATHROOM, A TOWEL AROUND HIS WAIST, ANOTHER draped over his shoulders. “Where were you and Fitz while I was singing? I couldn’t find you in the crowd.” As he spoke Aidan peered in the mirror, thinking about how it would feel to wake up to the snake for the rest of his life. A wedding ring and marriage license; it was nothing. Orlando had it right. Every glance at the tattoo would make him think of Isabel, forever bound to her. Patting it dry, he tossed the towel onto the floor. “Isabel?” he said, watching her in the reflection. A wide-eyed gaze was trained on him. She leapt to her feet. It was as if Aidan in a towel, or perhaps less, was the furthest image from her mind. Damn, maybe he should have put his pants back on. “Isabel, are you okay?”

  “Yes, yes . . . fine,” she said, pulling a hand through a tangle of hair. She brushed by, picking up the discarded towel. “I, um, I just didn’t think you’d get out of the shower and be, you know, naked—half-naked.”

  He shrugged. “Is there a way to get out of the shower and not be naked?”

  “I suppose not.” Isabel kept moving, returning the discarded towel to the bathroom, picking his clothes up off the floor. Coming back around the corner, she stopped. She leaned tight against the wall, clutching his pants. Short of standing in the tub it was as far as she could get and still be in the same room.

  “Anyway, where were you? I was going to sing the Spanish song I usually do at the farmhouse. I thought tonight was the right occasion. I was going to sing it in English. But I couldn’t find you.” It was the perfect opportunity to tell her how he felt. But when he couldn’t find her, Aidan didn’t follow through. He’d purposely written the song in Spanish, never translating it, explaining its evolution, or how it applied to them.

  “Really? I thought you said that song didn’t fit with your usual set. That it didn’t belong.”

  “It doesn’t. It’s not meant for a crowd, but I did want to sing it for you.”

  Isabel cocked her head, an annoyed look on her face. “That’s ridiculous, Aidan. All the gigs you played back home and you never sang it, not once. Why waste Caesars Palace on some meaningless song—in Spanish no less. I don’t think C-Note plans on promoting your Latin side. You’re going to have to be savvier than that. Every song counts from here on out.”

  The romantic notion was lost on her and, just once, Aidan wished she’d weaken, maybe even succumb to his charms. He turned from the mirror, facing her. “What are you getting so upset for? It’s one song.”

  She popped away from the wall and stalked to the opposite side of the room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I was in the back. Fitz and I were watching from the back of the room.” She folded the pants, placing them neatly on a chair. Her gaze drew to his. “He believes in you, Aidan. I can’t even begin to tell you how much. He’s going to do everything in his power to make this happen. He told me that, exactly that.”

  “Yeah, I hope,” he said, a thick wave of Isabel’s hair catching his eye. He was done performing, working the room. He didn’t want to think about anything but the two of them. There was zero pressure to perform with Isabel. He loved the stage, but he enjoyed shedding the persona almost as much. And there was no better place for that than Isabel’s company. To her, the everyday Aidan mattered so much more. In turn, he loved everything about her. Isabel’s quirky nervousness, it was a rare phenomenon that overrode her serene exterior. On occasion, in the right circumstance, there was a sweet and sexy appeal that affected him like nothing else—certainly no other girl. Tonight he’d get the chance to show Isabel exactly what she meant to him. But slow. He had to approach this slowly. Aidan didn’t want a repeat of this afternoon, and thought that maybe he should get dressed. He hesitated. No, let her mull it over. “Hey, do you want to order more champagne?” he asked, knowing she really didn’t care for beer. “They don’t seem too concerned with checking ID in this place.”

  “Not right now. Listen, Aidan, we need to talk.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’ve been trying to talk to you all day. But it’s just been, you know, crazy.”

  “Crazy’s a good word. Insane might be another.” Isabel sunk onto the edge of the bed and Aidan didn’t hesitate, sitting next to her. He watched her eyes brush over his chest, inching toward a tented towel that was showing sure signs of man waiting to stake his claim. An alarm-filled gaze shot to his. “Aidan?”

  “Yeah?” he said softly, stroking her arm with his fingertips, anticipating the moment.

  “Could you put your pants on?”

  “On? You want me to put them on?” He sighed, fighting a nudge of frustration. “No, Isabel, I can’t. I don’t wear pants when I go to bed. In fact, I don’t wear anything at all.” He crossed his arms, staring. If they sat and stared at one another for the next eight hours, fine. But he wasn’t putting his damn pants on.

  “I see, I guess,” she said. “But let me talk first, okay? What I have to say is important and it will save you the trouble.”

  “What trouble?” His hand rose, fingertips touching her hair.

  “What are you doing?” She grasped his wrist, pushing it away.

  “I was going to kiss my wife.” Aidan didn’t wait for her reaction, guessing it might call for some assertiveness on his part. He was stunned by the intensity with which she resisted, pushing hard against his shoulders.

  “Oh God, Aidan, don’t do that!” she gasped, stumbling across the room, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  He followed, dumbfounded. Nervous, yes, but this was just weird. “Don’t do what? Kiss you?” She nodded, her hand clamped over her mouth like a shield. And he fought the absurd image of Isabel spending their entire marriage that way, her legs crossed too. “Isabel,” he said, forcing her hand away. “What’s going on? Maybe we do need to talk. I don’t know about you, but it was my intention to finish what we started at the farmhouse.”

  “It . . . it was?” She blinked widely, frantically tucking her hair, like two ears weren’t enough.

  “Well, yeah,” he said, hands firm to his hips. “I thought that getting married made it a no-brainer. Jesus, I don’t know, really insane people might call it a honeymoon!”

  “A honey— I . . . But Aidan—” Her mouth dropped open, then shut. It was as if the concept was utterly mystifying. “Aidan, we need to stop this. I think it’s time we quit playing house and admit what a mistake this was.” Isabel took a huge step back, standing out of his reach. “It’s only a honeymoon if two people are in love.”

  Two people. Air wouldn’t move in or out. Had she stabbed him through the snake with an ice pick it couldn’t have hurt any worse. There, she said it. Isabel wasn’t in love with him. Aidan felt the man drain out of him, a boyish tear stinging at his eye. He forced air in, running a hand through damp hair. Staring past her, he squinted into the distance. No, he wasn’t going to give up that easily. He didn’t believe it. There was no way he could feel so much for her and she feel nothing . . . nothing but friendship. His gaze jerked to Isabel, reaching for the right words. Elaborate lyrics flowed effortlessly, melodies following freely. But it was plain prose that Aidan needed and it wouldn’t come. “What . . . what about the farmhouse, what we were just about to do, what we did before . . .”

  “What about it?” she snapped, as though it were nothing more than a vague irritation.

&n
bsp; “Don’t tell me that didn’t mean anything.”

  “I’m sure it was as sincere as all the other girls you’ve entertained there.” She hesitated, shrugging. “We both know I’m not the only action the farmhouse sofa has seen. Seriously, I bet you can’t even count the number of girls there before me.” She folded her arms. “Go ahead, give it a guess.”

  “Zero,” he replied, and her mouth gaped wider, the idea that she assumed as much causing a searing burn. “I’d never take a girl to the farmhouse. Maybe that’s not what you and I were about then. But that place, it belongs to you and me—no one else.” There was a fast blink, her mouth closing.

  Apparently, he ranked even lower than he suspected. There had been other girls, most suggesting they go to the farmhouse. But he’d never disrespect Isabel that way. He wanted to tell her again, prove it, but she was onto other things. “What are you doing?” Aidan watched her flit about, arranging his belongings, as if organizing his life.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re . . . but you can’t. We just got married.” Everything was moving so fast, Isabel rushing by like a passing comet. Leave him? She couldn’t. She held everything together. “Wait!” he shouted, grabbing her arms. “Just wait a damn minute. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She wouldn’t look at him, her head turned hard. “Let go, Aidan. This is ridiculous. Our marriage is ridiculous. Look,” she said, offering him the courtesy of eye contact. Those smoky green eyes, he’d never seen them filled with so much fire. “Everything is going to be fine. Tomorrow you’ll get a brand-new life, everything you’ve ever wanted. You won’t need me to fix your screwups, confirm your gigs, or program your cell phone. I understand they have someone for that. But, Aidan, please . . . I can’t stay married to you!”

  “Why the hell not? I need you, Isabel! Don’t you know how much? I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to!”

  Her face scrunched to a serious look of indignation, the one she used whenever she was busy holding his life steady. “Grow up, Aidan. Don’t be an idiot. Of course you can.”

  If he hadn’t been scared to death, he might have laughed. It was classic Isabel—blunt-force trauma resulting in corrective action. But fear won out, sparking an odd anger. “Goddamn it! Why are you making this so difficult? For the last year it’s been impossible! And somehow, now that we’re married, it’s even harder to say.”

  “What . . . what’s harder to—never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  Isabel blew past, signaling that she was through with the conversation. Like hell. Aidan grabbed an arm and yanked her back, maybe harder than he meant, his towel slipping to the floor in the process. She gasped, struggling to get away from him and his very naked body.

  “Prove it, Isabel. Prove that you don’t want us.” He kissed her hard, his arms clutching tight around her. There was a groan from her throat that he couldn’t place. Under any other circumstance he would have thought it was a hungry growl of desire; now he wasn’t so sure. Then, slowly, the closed fists that pushed against his shoulders eased and opened, her fingertips reaching for him. Her body followed the surrender, curving into tense muscles. Her lips replied, without words, melding into his. Instinct said to just keep going, no pausing for idle chatter. But Aidan knew this would require a more cerebral appeal. “Give me a chance, Isabel. Let me show you how wonderful this can be.” He held on with everything he had. “You did marry me. And I swear, when I married you I meant it . . . all the words.” She didn’t respond, but she wasn’t pushing him away. It was like she couldn’t figure out what to do. No doubt his reputation was to blame. “If I had thought for a second that you wanted . . . well, that you ever would have come to Vegas and married me.” Aidan’s grip eased to caution, the way you might hold an exotic bird. He touched her face, ending any distance, his mouth nuzzling against her hair. “None of those girls meant anything, Isabel. Not one. I’m so . . . so very sorry.”

  Her head bowed, breaking from his touch, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I know that, Aidan,” she said as if it was long ago understood. Looking down, he watched tears splash onto her painted toenails. From its somber position, Isabel’s head rose and their gaze met. A soft bob pulsed through her throat. “All right, Aidan. If that’s what you want, take me to bed.”

  His brow knotted tighter. Shouldn’t she at least have been smiling when she said it? Then a bit of the old Aidan emerged. A confidence that he was glad he possessed. Clumsiness and virginal hesitation were the last thing he needed. The way Aidan saw it he had one shot to get this right.

  He kissed her, his mouth fluttering over her wet cheek, the soft line of her throat. Deftly, he slipped the T-shirt over her head. A small shiver was the solitary response as he unhooked her bra and it fell to the floor. Though she was more beautiful than in the light of dim candles, Aidan reined in the desire he’d lived off, searching for a pace that would suit her timidity. Maneuvering them toward the bed, he tugged at the drawstring on her pants. There was a spark of reassurance as he caught Isabel’s expectant stare, a long drifting gaze taking in his bare body. Stopping to thread some ambiance through the moment, Aidan dimmed all but one light. It cast a golden glow around them. “I promise, Isabel, this will be incredible. You’ll see.”

  She was tentative, the same way she’d shied away from his kiss at the altar. And, actually, he loved it. Even if she hadn’t been waiting for him, the idea that she’d waited was enough. Every girl he met threw it away to him or the next guy. And the guys, they were no better. It was what made sex so meaningless. But she was choosing to give him something that she hadn’t shared with anyone else. That alone set her apart from any girl he ever knew. And on her wedding night, how rare was a moment like this—in Las Vegas, no less. Admittedly, he’d never thought about marrying Isabel before they had sex, but the old-fashioned notion seemed appropriate. Maybe fate had seen to it that this was the way it would happen for them. Maybe it was something they’d tell their grandchildren someday. Well, maybe not. But it was incredibly special all the same.

  Having eased onto the bed, Aidan tried guiding her hand toward his throbbing erection. She snapped it back, unwilling to be coaxed into participation. It was okay; she’d be more comfortable next time. But at the farmhouse, hadn’t she touched him then—willingly? It was as natural as kissing, which she also seemed to be avoiding, meeting his mouth with a lackluster effort. He kept at it, trying to entice her body, if not her mind, toward the place he desperately wanted to take her.

  Flashes of passion would emerge, like a switch with a short in it. She’d almost lose herself to him. He could sense it, an unbridled jerk toward the heat between them and then retreat. If he hadn’t wanted the moment so badly, it might have been frustrating, even disappointing. He hesitated, trying to get his mind around what was in her head, wanting to do the right thing. “Isabel, if . . . if you want to wait until tomorrow, it’s okay. I understand.” He didn’t, not really. But Aidan guessed it was the mature thing to say.

  Her eyes met his with fresh determination—intense. He knew that look. Something had set her off. “No,” she insisted. “I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

  It was all he needed to hear. Aidan wasn’t about to let something as negligible as doubt squeeze in between them. Dragging the sweatpants and underwear from her body, it startled him when in return she plunged recklessly into the moment. Her arms entwined around his neck, holding tight. Isabel kissed him with a passion that was unknown to Aidan. He could barely take it in, how this differed from the physical act he associated with locker room banter and girls that he didn’t care to think about again. A shapely leg hooked hard around Aidan’s, almost a staking of territory. He loved her legs, remembering the first time he’d seen Isabel in a dress. It was seared onto his mind. It was at a funeral. A few years before, a teacher from Catswallow High had passed away. Aidan recalled his perplexed embarrassment, the overt physical response as Isabel arri
ved at the funeral home. He wanted to stand, it was the polite response. But he couldn’t get up. Coming through the doors, unbeknownst to her, a waning sun saw through her dress—as did Aidan. She approached the casket, his thoughts so far from the dead, Aidan was sure he was bound for Hell. He sat, dumbfounded, absorbing Isabel in a much different light. It was the onset of an avalanche of emotions, random things he began to notice without cause. Things about Isabel that accumulated until Aidan could no longer deny the feeling, his dense brain finally putting a label on them.

  And now they were married, on their honeymoon, her mouth meeting passionately with his. But it wasn’t a seamless fantasy come to life, Isabel’s slingshot behavior altering the well-worn images. “Wait,” he said breathlessly. “What’s the rush?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, fingers weaving through his hair, anxiously tracing the angles of his face, the line of the snake. “I just need you to do it, right now. Okay?”

  He could only assume it was a panicked virgin plea. “Okay.” He kissed her again. Aidan shimmied over the side of the bed, coming up with his wallet. Retrieving a foil wrapper, he tossed the wallet back on the floor. His eyes widened as he opened it. “We’re still on the ten– or fifteen-year plan, right?”

  “I—” She stared at the condom as if debating the wisdom. Aidan stared back. Surprise drifted to satisfaction, knowing if that was what Isabel wanted, he would not deny her. It didn’t even need to be a conversation. A late but vehement reply said he was mistaken. “Yes, absolutely,” she said, taking the condom from his hand, tearing open the packet. “That would be the last thing you need right now.”