by Lacey Black
We all stand, Samuel releasing my hand so we can clap with the rest of the family. I dab at my eyes one final time, praying those pesky tears are gone, at least for now. “Thank you,” I whisper, handing him back the handkerchief.
Samuel clears his throat, his blue-green eyes locked on mine. “You may keep it,” he offers, holding up his hand as I try to give him back the square of material.
I glance down and snort. The hankie is wrinkled and wet, and Samuel’s brain is probably about to explode. “Oh, right. It’s got my snot on it. I’ll wash it first,” I tell him, shoving the material in my small clutch purse. Now it’s my turn to clear my throat. “Uhh, thank you for sitting by me.”
I leave out the part where I thank him for just being him.
“You’re welcome. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
My throat tightens once more with emotion. Frankly, I’m used to being alone. Even though I have Harper and her family, I’ve been alone for a long time. My grandma tried, but she struggled to raise a young girl who was influenced by tree-huggers and rain-dancers who changed their last name to Rayne because it was “more suiting.” What I’m not used to is having it brought to the forefront of my mind, acknowledging it, and then being comforted.
“We’re going to take some pictures,” Mary Ann says, interrupting my thoughts. It’s a welcome reprieve.
For the next twenty minutes, we go through the motions of taking wedding photos. The couple, individuals of the bride, and then family. I sit back down, a smile on my face as they all interact with one another. Their laughter is real, the smiles genuine, the love unwavering.
“Freedom Rayne, get your ass up here,” my best friend hollers from the altar. The photographer turns my way, tapping his foot as he waits for me to join the party.
“That’s for family,” I tell her, smiling awkwardly as the entire group stares at me.
Including Samuel.
“Silly girl, you are my family. Get up here!” she says, her pearly white teeth showing as she grins at me.
I make my way to the front, trying to slip in the back. Maybe behind Jensen or even Rhenn. He’s broad enough to hide me for sure. However, before I can shimmy my way to the back with the tall kids, Mary Ann grabs my hand and pulls me to stand beside her. Directly in front of Samuel. I can feel his body heat pressed against my back, and suddenly, I’m feeling a little flushed, especially when a hand rests on my hip. The warmth of his hand burns my dress and spreads through my blood.
“Thank you, everyone,” the photographer says, snapping a few more pictures before releasing us to the next part of the evening.
I hang back, letting the bride and groom finish up with the minister, all while keeping an eye on Samuel. He’s wearing a classic black suit with an aqua colored tie. It’s actually the first time I’ve noticed his tie matches the flowers on my own dress. Without even trying, we’re all matchy matchy.
“Oh, Freedom,” Harper says, waving me over. “We need your signature.”
I stop in front of the podium and glance down. “Really? You want me to sign your marriage license?” My shock is real. When Harper and Latham decided to get married in Vegas, they forwent many of the standard traditions, including maid of honor or best man. Instead, they opted to stand in front of a small group of family—and me—without anyone standing up with them.
“Of course I do,” she insists, handing me the pen. Then, she pulls me into her arms and whispers, “You’re my sister from another mister. And I love you.”
So, with tears in my eyes and a heart overflowing with love, I sign my name on the marriage license. As soon as I’m done, Samuel steps up and takes the pen, signing his own name below my name.
Suddenly, a flashback.
Signing another certificate.
He swayed on his feet, but eagerly scratched his name across the line before I had a chance to write mine.
He dropped the pen and pulled my lips to his, feasting on me as if I were his last meal.
Then I signed my name.
“Earth to Freedom,” Harper says, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry,” I laugh, feeling the burn of a blush tip my ears.
When I glance at Samuel, the pen is poised directly over the paper, but his eyes are wide in disbelief. As if he’s seeing a ghost. He lifts them, slowly meeting my own eyes, and holding my gaze. “I remember this,” he whispers, glancing around to see who’s watching.
Harper smiles as Latham pulls her into his arms. He kisses her forehead as she looks over at me, a knowing smile on her face. It’s as if she knows he just recalled a piece of the messy puzzle from last night—or this morning.
“Ready to go?” Mary Ann says, coming over to make sure the license is signed.
“All set,” Harper says, as her older brother signs his name to the other line.
When he drops the pen, he glances up at me and my heart dances in my chest. There’s a parade of emotions there, ones I’m not equipped to dissect this evening. I’m exhausted, really. From the tear-filled wedding to all the crap in my own life, I’m just not ready to dive into the looks Samuel keeps giving me. The ones he’s going to do something to rectify the whole marriage situation the first chance he gets. He’s going to fight me.
Us.
So, I deflect to the one thing I’m good at.
The one thing that drives the man absolutely crazy.
Sarcasm and humor.
“Ready to go, Sammy? I’ll let you buy me a drink or two before dinner,” I tell him, patting him on the chest for good measure.
He sighs deeply and straightens his necktie. “It’s Samuel,” he reminds me, and I inwardly smile. It’s a game at this point. I’ve known my entire adult life he hates the nickname, yet I use it every chance I get because I love to get a reaction out of him. It’s pretty much the highlight of my day.
“I know, Sammy,” I tell him, wrapping my arm around his. “Let’s go get some booze.”
“I think I’ll pass on the alcohol,” he mumbles as we follow behind everyone else to exit. “Forever.”
“You’re no fun.”
Again, he sighs. “I think I’ve had plenty of fun to last a lifetime.”
“And to think, we’re just getting started.”
He groans, a mixture of shock and pain. The shock I can understand. His systematic world has been turned upside down. Actually, the pain I get too. It’s the same. He’s a simple man. Black and white. Everything has its place. Order. He loves his job and does it to the best of his ability. Sure, it’s a weird profession, but if anyone understands weird, it’s me. I appreciate it, revel in it. It’s my thing, and that’s why I understand how Samuel can fight this thing that’s landed right smack dab in the middle of our lives. To me, it’s like fate brought us together, one drunken, crazy night. The stars aligned and put me right where I was supposed to be. To him, it’s like someone threw a bright red crayon into the dryer with his clean tighty-whities. He doesn’t know what to do with it or how to fix it.
So he panics.
Well, I’m not going to let him panic.
I’m going to show him he can still have fun with a red crayon.
After all, red is my favorite color.
***
We have a small, intimate dinner in the hotel restaurant to celebrate Latham and Harper’s marriage. I’m not surprised they can’t keep their hands off each other. They’re deliriously happy, their smiles real and eager. When the plates are cleared, the staff brings out a champagne toast and chocolate drizzled cheesecake. As we raise our glasses to the couple and enjoy dessert, I can’t help but feel a little envious that they’re so open and public with their love and affection. After all, I’m sitting next to my husband, and no one knows.
Well, except Harper.
And apparently, she’s not telling anyone, considering no one is freaking out the oldest Grayson got married one drunken night in Las Vegas.
I dive into my cheesecake, even though it’s not really my thing. I don’t u
sually eat dessert with this much real sugar, but I’ll admit, it’s good. Really good, actually, and I find myself scraping my fork along the plate just to make sure I don’t miss a single crumb of that buttery crust. It’s heaven in my mouth.
“You going to eat that?” I ask, pointing to Samuel’s plate with my fork.
“No,” he says, looking about as uncomfortable as a man in a gynecologist’s office.
“Why? It’s good,” I tell him with a mouth full of food.
Samuel looks down at my empty plate and points to his. “Have at it.”
I move his dessert in front of me, having no intention of actually eating it. I’ll put myself in a sugar coma for sure, but he doesn’t know that. Instead, I take a small forkful, swipe it through some of the chocolate drizzle on the plate, and move my fork to his face. “What?” he asks, glancing down at the fork as if it were about to bite him.
“Eat it.”
“No, thank you.”
I move the fork around and make an airplane noise, softly, so no one hears. “Eat it,” I sing, touching the tip of the fork to his closed mouth. The result is a small glob of cheesecake swiped across his full lips.
Now all I can think about is licking that dessert right off his face.
“Stop it,” he mumbles, his tongue darting out and licking the white and brown dessert from his lips.
I wave the airplane fork in front of his face once again, this time plopping the cheesecake on his lips with more force. “Eat it,” I sing again, forcing myself not to smile at the outrage on his face.
“Freedom. Stop. It.”
My body shivers when he says my name. So full of authority. So deep and husky. So full of irritation. Yet, I want to crawl on his lap, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him with everything I have.
I watch in rapture as he licks the rest of the cheesecake off his lips a second time, my body humming with desire. Do you think it’s appropriate to ask for the cheesecake to go?
Moving my fork a third time, I can tell by the look in his eyes he’s not going to let it happen a third time. Yet, I still move my hand, waving the fork in front of his mouth and making the airplane noise. His eyes zero in on the dessert as his hand moves to stop me. Big, warm fingers wrap around mine as he halts my movements. I push against him, the fork inching closer to his mouth. We battle for control, neither of us really achieving it. So when the fork hits his cheek, it’s messy, his grunt loud.
“Dammit, Freedom,” he mumbles, his eyes wide with surprise.
My smile is instant, my giggle explosive. I fully prepare for him to grab his napkin and wipe away the cheesecake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he swipes his finger through the dessert and quickly slides it along my own cheek. I’m so shocked by this sudden playful side, all I can do is stare at him. Even when he touches my nose, leaving cold remnants of creamy cheesecake and crumbly crust in the wake.
“There.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips, and all I can think about is kissing them. Samuel has never engaged in a food battle, let alone in a public place. I wonder if he’s forgotten where we are. Yet, even though I know all eyes are on us, I can’t look away from his gaze. I’m trapped, like a moth to a flame.
“That wasn’t nice, Sammy.” I sound breathless, excited.
“Tit for tat, Freedom,” he replies, still not making a move to grab the napkin at his lap.
The juvenile in me giggles. “You said tit.”
He rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s an expression.”
“A funny one,” I tell him, snaking my tongue out to lick my cheek.
His eyes darken and follow my movement as my tongue tastes a piece of cheesecake. Samuel’s throat bobs heavily and his mouth forms the slightest O. With him distracted and looking like he wants to eat me for dessert, I touch a single finger to the end of my fork and graze it along his bottom lip.
Dark, hungry orbs slam into mine as I run my finger along his skin. My body burns, and those pretty blue and pink panties I’m wearing are rendered useless. I’m so turned on suddenly, I’m afraid my nipples are standing up and saluting. Actually, I’m sure they are. Everything is so…tingly.
“Hot damn, Sam.” Orval’s words are like a cold glass of water being thrown on us.
Samuel blinks, his eyes clear, and he pulls back, dislodging my touch from his skin. I glance to my side and find all eyes—every single pair—focused on us. Most of them are full of question, but there are a few packed with humor too. Like they can’t believe they just witnessed stiff ol’ Samuel Grayson play with food.
I feel slightly victorious in the moment.
He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else than right here at the moment. Samuel’s so uncomfortable he doesn’t even correct his uncle when he uses the shortened version of his name. The tips of his ears match his cheeks as he wipes away the cheesecake and clears his throat, completely averting his eyes from everyone at the table. Including me.
“Well, then, if you’ll excuse me,” Emma announces and dramatically stands up. “I’m going to go smoke after that.”
Me too, Emma.
Me too.
Chapter Nine
Samuel
“Come on, big brother. You owe me a dance,” Harper says, as she grabs my hand and pulls me onto the dance floor.
“I’m not so sure, Harper,” I argue, as she leads me to the dance floor.
“I’m sure. We’re doing a different take on the father/daughter dance, Samuel. Come dance with me,” she insists, as she places her hands on my shoulders and slowly sways to the music.
The moment our dessert dishes were collected, our dinner party moved to the dance club attached to the hotel. Harper and Latham were able to have their first dance as husband and wife, and now he’s dancing with his mom, while I’m trying to spin my sister around the packed dance floor. It’s a seductive number. Couples are practically making out like teenagers as they sway—err, grind—inappropriately to the music.
And here I am, dancing with my sister.
“You and Free seemed awfully cozy at dinner,” she says, a knowing smile on her face.
“It was nothing,” I insist, hating how my heart starts to gallop wildly in my chest when I recall the whole cheesecake incident after dinner. Usually, I’d be appalled by her actions, the concept of dirty fingers in my food making me gag, but for some crazy reason, it was a bit…arousing.
“Mmhmm. Sure didn’t look like nothing.”
I reach up and pull on my tie. “You know how Freedom is.” I’m deflecting, sure, but honestly, I don’t know what to say. The entire situation is so very foreign to me, let alone the fact I seemed to actually enjoy our playful banter.
“I do. She’s the best,” Harper says as the song comes to an end. “Listen, Samuel, I don’t know what happened last night and I don’t really need the details, but I want you to know we’d all support you. You know, if you were to actually tell everyone that you two. Got. Married.”
Again, my heart is starting a little freak-out in my chest. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She stops moving and just looks up at me. “Probably not, but it did. And that’s okay. You two are actually great together.”
I can’t help but gape at my sister. Great together? We’re not even…together.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’m being serious. She might be just what you need,” she says with a shrug.
“Need for what?” I ask, unsure where she’s going with this.
“Need in life.”
Now I know I’m just staring at my sister. I know she just got married and thinks everyone should be as happy as she is right now, but the concept of Freedom and myself being…well, that, is a little farfetched. “I think you’re just deliriously happy right now and not thinking straight.”
She lifts a single shoulder. “I am deliriously happy, but I’m not blind. You two have been dancing around this for years.”
“We’ve been dancing around nothing,” I insist, hating the tightening
in my gut that calls out my lie.
Harper just smiles. “Whatever, big brother. I just want you to be happy, okay? And if that’s with Free, then I’m even more ecstatic because she’s amazing.”
I swallow over the large lump in my throat and start to move to the music again. When the song ends, she leans up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “She brings out something different in you, Samuel. Don’t ignore that.” Then she steps back and turns, finding her husband on the dance floor.
I’m left dumbfounded by her comments. Sure, she brings out something different. She drives me crazy, and not always in the good way. She’s maddening, frankly. No one gets under my skin the way Freedom Rayne can, and that’s saying something, considering I have younger siblings. But even when we were children, I had an abundance of patience for Harper, Jensen, and Marissa. Especially Marissa. Yet Freedom just walks into the room and suddenly, I’m like a caged animal on the defense.
Speaking of, I glance to the side of the club and find her talking to a man. He’s tall and bulky, like he spends way too much time in the gym. Hell, he probably works in a gym and spends all day long flexing in the mirror. His hair is longer on top and his smile alarmingly white as the neon lights flash off them.
I hate him.
I hate the way she laughs, so easily and free.
I hate the way he puts his hand on her arm and motions to the dance floor.
I hate the way she seems to actually be considering his offer, even though she shakes her head.
I hate the way this jealousy reappears, much like it did last night.
I’ve never been jealous, let alone of someone like this gym rat, who’s showing way too much interest in Freedom.
In my wife.
His eyes scan her dress, the one that hits just below her knee and flares just a bit when she walks. There’s no missing the interest flashing in his eyes, or the way they linger a bit too long on the sliver of cleavage she’s displaying with that tasteful, yet sexy dress.
My feet are moving before I can even stop myself. The pulse of the music thumps right along with my heart. Approaching where they stand, she notices me before Mr. Gym Guy, her eyes flashing with something that looks like excitement.