by J. J. Bella
There was only one reason for that, of course.
I was terrified.
I was terrified that I was doing the wrong thing for Rachel in the long run. I was also terrified of the fact that she was a virgin and had never really found any love or happiness in her life yet—and here I was snatching that chance from her before she could.
But more than the terror was the arousal at being her first. I was afraid that if I just ravished her now without waiting for the actual wedding, I’d end up unable to control myself and fucking her too fast and hurting her in the process. She turned me on so much…and one day, it would be my legal right to sleep with her.
Jesus.
But the question was, did I want to shove myself on her? Of course, not. Only an idiot would want that.
So I had to wait.
I had to make her want it, too.
And I had to endure in the meantime.
Rachel
We had a lot of free time in between planning the wedding, and Isla started getting bored and restless being stuck at home for too long. Because Peter still had some work-related stuff to do, I volunteered to be the one to keep her occupied and drove her to the first place she requested to be in—the ballet studio. Peter and I had been wary at first to let her back in there, but Isla was confident that she could stand straight now, and she insisted that going out for some air was going to make her less grumpy. Besides, she said she needed to keep with her arm movements even with the broken ankle if she wanted to be the best ballet dancer in the world.
Because her reasons were valid—and really, the kid was such a charmer—I loaded her in the car and drove her, and we chatted about how her ankle was healing nicely and how she would be running around in no time. Isla was practically bouncing in excitement on her seat, calling out an Are we there yet? every now and then and announcing that she was so glad I was here to give her “support”.
It warmed my heart, really, how much she relied on me and valued my opinions, even as a kid. Once I parked the car in front of the studio, Isla got noticeably silent, and I realized that her initial excitement had been replaced by nerves so quickly that it pretty much froze her up. Wanting to reassure her that everything was alright, I opened the car door and knelt in front of her sitting form, waiting until she met my eyes.
“Isla?”
“Yes?”
“You’re one of the bravest girls I know,” I said, warmly, keeping my voice light. “Have fun in there, okay?”
It worked. The nerves eased a bit to let off a smile, and she finally let me help her out and into the elevator. We took our time walking to her designated ballet room, where she was swarmed by her friends right away, telling her how happy they were that she was back. She was then ushered to the side, where she held on to a pole and followed their practice with only arm movements, her eyes now bright and obviously content.
I watched from the seat on the sides where I sat before, texting Peter every now and then to keep him updated on Isla’s progress.
Give it a few weeks and Isla will be winning contests soon!
He replied that he was glad, and asked me to record Isla so he could see when we got home. I did so for a few minutes, going over to Isla when the team took a break and watching her eyes sparkle.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I feel awesome!” she exclaimed with a giggle. I let her bond with her friends until their next dance, where I kept an eye on her again. Finally, after a while, the session ended. The instructor thanked us for coming and said she was looking forward until Isla could finally fully dance, and I thanked her back for being so patient. I got Isla in the car again and we drove to her next lesson for the day—piano.
Apparently, Isla had dabbled in piano when she was younger, but hadn’t retained interest in it when she discovered ballet and realized it was her first love. But she still liked piano, and she said she wanted to learn again when her dad asked if she had other lessons in mind. The piano studio was just two blocks away, and we arrived there just in time for the scheduled practice session. The piano instructor, a middle-aged man who looked like some cool, easygoing professor, recognized Isla immediately and chatted with me for a bit. Then he chatted with Isla to put her at ease on her first day, and her politeness immediately gave way to excitement all over again as he taught her one of the beginner’s pieces he had.
Again, I watched in amazement from the sidelines, unable to comprehend how Isla had so many passions and how she chased after them with determination. She had such a positive outlook in life that even having a broken ankle didn’t deter her—in fact, it only encouraged her to try other things, and her reasoning for taking piano was to keep herself entertained and productive since ballet didn’t “work out” for now. I could only imagine how that would translate to adulthood and her method of handling any failure or disappointment coming her way. It suddenly had me relieved, realizing she was going to be just fine no matter what.
My phone beeped, and I glanced at it and smiled at the text from Peter.
Missing my sunshine. How’s her piano?
I keyed in a reply: She’s going to be the next Mozart.
I could imagine him chuckling at my response, and for some reason that only made me smile wider.
Go get some ice cream after her practice. You guys deserve a treat.
Following his advice, I immediately drove us to the ice cream shop, where Isla made eager noises. She was usually only allowed ice cream during the weekends, but I told her today was an exception and a motivation for her to keep herself busy during her free time. She didn’t have school until after she could fully walk, and other than her assignments being sent to her via email, she really did have nothing to do around the house.
Once we got home, I settled her in the living room and got her a bowl of the ice cream tub we chose, then went up to check on Peter. He was in his spare office poring over some papers, but the door was half-open, indicating that he wasn’t being strict about being disturbed. Tentatively, I knocked, waiting until he looked up. His brows were furrowed in concentration, but one look at me had his expression clearing.
“Oh, you’re here already,” he muttered. He stood up immediately, his gaze zoning in on my changed clothes. The man didn’t miss much, really. “Looks like you’ve been here awhile. Sorry, I was preoccupied.”
“Don’t be,” I said. I smiled at him and stepped inside. “We brought some ice cream. Isla insisted on trying out this chocolate salted caramel combination, saying that you’ll love it.”
His eyes softened at his daughter’s name, and the sight of it made my heart ache. With a nod, Peter took his papers down, where he chatted with Isla about her ballet and piano lessons. Then he took his papers to the kitchen island and continued working there, and I got so curious as we ate ice cream that I couldn’t help taking a peek. Peter didn’t mind, letting me watch as he made lists and charted out what looked like some sort of military plan in a calendar. I hesitated to ask at first, but I didn’t think there was any harm—besides, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t tell me if it was that classified.
“Is that…your mission?”
“Hmm?” Peter looked up, watching where my eyes were trained. “Oh. No.” He shook his head. “I’m actually just charting out my training sessions for the next few days. I asked for at least a month off from missions, so my boss assigned me to what we call kitchen duty—training newbies, so to speak. I’m just doing it part-time, while the rest of my time’s going to be more about paperwork. Boring stuff.”
It didn’t sound boring to me. In fact, he sounded so focused and organized that I couldn’t help but be impressed.
I offered to make dinner, but Peter insisted that I needed to put my feet up and relax and that he’d be the one to make dinner for all of us tonight. Taking him up on his offer, Isla and I watched as he prepared the makings of sloppy Joe and roasted corn. The jokes went flying, and I found myself laughing along with them and being included so easily. It felt li
ke being part of this family already, and I couldn’t be happier.
After dinner, Peter insisted on cleaning up the kitchen, too, so I took Isla to her bedroom and got her ready for bed. Peter went up just in time to tell her a bedtime story, and when I would have excused myself, they both insisted that I stay. I sat on the other end of Isla’s bed and listened as Peter improvised a story about a princess who loved to play with dragons, but got into an accident riding one and had to be taken away from what she loved doing. During her recuperation period, she learned that there were other things in life other than her love for dragons, and the princess learned to appreciate everything around her better and try out new things. She learned to paint and create fairies out of sand, and soon they became a part of who she was. In the end, when she was all better, she went back to her dragons and loved them still, but shared that passion with all her other new passions—and of course, she lived happily ever after.
By the time Peter was done, Isla was smiling widely, though her sleepy eyes indicated that she was only paying half-attention. She yawned. “Dad, I like piano a lot. Maybe I can be a pianist if I grow up. Maybe I’ll love it.”
Peter nodded his head solemnly, kissing her forehead. “You certainly can. Take your time discovering it. You’ll know eventually if it’s the right thing for you.”
She yawned again, then turned to me. “Rachel, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
I smiled. “I want to be your stepmom,” I said.
A smile tugged out of her tiny lips at that, and it was so sweet that I felt my heart melting. Her brows furrowed as she blinked her eyes. “Rachel, you need to want something more than that.”
She was right. I nodded my head. “I know, sweetie. I’m still thinking about it.”
“Good,” she said.” But I would love for you to be my stepmom. You’re awesome.”
“You’re awesome, too,” I shot back. I leaned down and kissed her forehead, telling her to close her eyes and go to sleep. We recited a short prayer. I could feel Peter’s eyes on me—on us—but I kept my gaze on Isla until her breathing finally became steady. I watched as Peter tucked her in her blankets before I slipped out of there, taking a hot shower and the organizer I bought for the wedding down to the kitchen.
When I got there, Peter was still mapping out his charts. I let him be and opened my own notebook, listing down things that I wanted to run by the wedding planner. I knew a wedding planner was supposed to already be the one to handle all the little things, but I guess I wanted to be useful, too, by tying loose ends and making sure everything was perfect.
I’d never dreamed about my wedding—never really even thought of it until the past few days, where I had no choice but to think about it. I didn’t have anyone special in my life in the past to think about weddings and such, and even in my sister’s wedding, I was still too young to really be paying attention and be interested in all the details. All I remembered was wearing some pink, puffy dress, finding it itchy and wanting to change right away. But I smiled for the camera and endured it, then went home with tired feet from all the marching and dancing.
I took note of that now, remembering to make sure that the dress Isla and I fitted were comfortable. Fashion was good and all, but comfort was definitely a priority, especially for Isla who would still be in her cast by that time.
I had no other guests other than my family, and my two siblings had called me up one by one a few days after I made the announcement to my parents. My older sister was shocked and wanted to know all the details about my engagement, and I didn’t want to lie too much—so I told her the bare minimum and asked her to be my matron of honor. She was thrilled and said she was happy for me, as long as I was happy.
My older brother, in the meantime, was more cautious, demanding to meet Peter first so he could “assess” him. We argued about it for a bit until he relented that I was old enough to decide for myself. But he emphasized that he was just concerned for my safety, and I had to assure him that I was perfectly safe and perfectly happy with my decision. In the end, we hung up on a positive note.
Peter, apparently, didn’t have a lot of family either, since he was born an orphan and was raised by foster parents who were old enough to be his grandparents. They were now gone, and all he had left were two uncles and two aunts from different parts of the globe who confirmed their attendance. He was also inviting some Navy SEAL buddies, telling me to invite some of my friends too if I wanted. I was debating on inviting Michelle and my college circle, but in the end I decided not to, because I really wasn’t ready to share the news with them yet. Besides, I wouldn’t consider them my best friends, anyway. I did invite some close neighbors, including those I grew up with.
“Do you prefer a cake that’s the same color as our wedding theme, or do you want it white?” I asked as I zoned in on the cake details.
Peter looked up. “I don’t care as long as it’s delicious.”
Since our theme was old rose, which Isla also loved, I decided to have the cake just white with some old rose highlights.
“Lemon or chocolate?”
“Rachel, honey, there’s nothing better than chocolate cake. Ever.”
My hand froze over my writing at the term he called me, and I looked up. Peter, who had been eyeing me in amusement, seemed to understand what made me go still and leaned forward. “Are you uncomfortable about me calling you honey?”
Was I?
I shook my head. “No. I like it.”
And I did. In fact, I liked it too much.
Peter looked relieved as he offered me a grin. “Good. We have to get used to it, you know. Everyone will be watching us on the wedding, and we have to be comfortable around each other.”
“Yes. Of course.”
And we were. It actually really surprised me how comfortable I was with him despite the tension between us, and how close we were growing each day. I kept up with my organizing while Peter kept up with his charts. When he was done, he moved beside me, so dangerously close, and helped me out in reaching some decisions. By the time we were done, we were both joking and laughing, and for the first time in a long time, I found myself looking forward to something and experiencing joy in this silly celebration.
Most surprising of all, I was starting to really, really fall for the tough, sexy and kind man I was going to marry.
Peter
Being back at the base after a while was a refreshing change, considering after becoming active on missions, I never really stayed here other than to change into clothes and travel from one place to another to get going. The first thing the Colonel did once I got there was congratulate me on my upcoming wedding and thank me for the invitation, and he said the boys also wanted to get their congratulations in.
He dismissed me to get to training in an hour, and I used the free time to wander around, where I finally found three of those I just had my last mission with, playing basketball in our open gym. They paused when they spotted me, then practically swarmed me with claps on the back and shouts. Jake was grinning from ear to ear, and Michael wouldn’t stop smirking.
“No wonder you didn’t want to go with us, Sir,” Jake teased. “You already had a pretty woman waiting back at home to keep you warm.”
I raised my brow at him and tried to appear intimidating, but Jake just kept grinning and shrugging. Michael stepped forward.
“Why the hell didn’t I know about this?” he demanded. “Why have you been hiding her all along? Is she ugly, Bartlett?”
“She’s the most beautiful woman you’ll ever see,” I said, solemnly. They burst out laughing, then began demanding pictures and ribbing me good-naturedly. I refused to show them one, even if I had some saved on my phone—mostly pictures of her and Isla having fun together, really, and Rachel looking absolutely luminous whenever she smiled. Instead, I told the guys that they’d better come to my special day, else they wouldn’t see the beauty I was talking about.
Michael pulled me aside once everyone resumed t
heir game, and I already knew the question he was going to ask.
“Seriously, Pete, what’s this about? Did something go wrong with the ex-wife?”
He was only one of the few who could get away with calling me Pete, and the one who could zone in on the actual problem. We’d been together in this job since I was twenty-two and he was eighteen, and thirteen years later, we trusted each other more than anything. You had to, because these people were the ones with you at the possible last moments of your life.
Michael was also there when Evelyn cheated and left, and when I was struggling to raise Isla when she was a baby. I never mentioned any particular woman in my life since, because I had none, so I understood why my sudden marriage sounded suspicious to him.
So I told him. I told him briefly what happened, and what I was planning to do about it. His mouth grew grim, indicating how much he disliked my ex-wife—he never really liked her from the very beginning, and what she’d almost done now just cemented that dislike. When I was done explaining, there was no need to ask him to keep it to ourselves, because I knew he wasn’t the type to blab. He knew most of my secrets and I knew most of his, and not a single one of them had been aired out to others.
“Bitch of a situation,” he commented, eyeing me closely.
“Tell me about it.”
“But you seem…fine with it.” A sly grin slid from his mouth. “Now I’m actually starting to believe this nanny of yours is...not so bad.”
That was an understatement, and I knew what he was trying to say. I kept my mouth shut when he laughed, then refused to tell him anything more when he badgered. Finally, Michael joined the basketball game again, telling me to take it easy so I could get some energy in before the wedding night—after all, he said, it had been a long time since I got to use my equipment. I threw him a punch on the shoulder, which he returned. Then I got out of there before the others could catch on and badger me, too.