The biggest miracle, however, was a little periwinkle blue house in a New Orleans suburb. It appeared overnight over the burnt remains of its original version. It was pristine, the way it was when the older couple that used to live there first bought it. Beautiful rose bushes adorned the front and impregnated the air with a sweet scent. The inside also matched its predecessor to perfection, the same furniture, the same dartboard on the wall, the same welcoming scent of home.
It’s amazing how, in hardship, people come together, and how the things we are used to taking for granted suddenly become precious.
59
Marielle
TWO MONTHS LATER
Dad’s arm was firm under my trembling hand. “I shouldn’t be this nervous,” I said.
He looked down at me and smiled proudly. His green eyes sparkled. He looked very handsome in his tuxedo. “And why not? This is a day to feel to the full extent of the word.” He reached over my head and pulled my veil down. “You look beautiful. Your mother would be so proud of you. Grandpa and Grandma, too.”
I shook my head. If he kept going, he was going to make me cry. He kissed me lightly on the forehead. The veil tickled the tip of my nose.
Abby stuck her head through the front door. “Ready?”
“Ready,” Dad said when nothing but a weak croak made it past my lips.
I hadn’t seen Faris since yesterday. He’d gone away, insisting that seeing the bride before the wedding was awful bad luck, while I stayed here at Live Oak, thinking that being apart from him was just foolish. But I wasn’t so sure anymore, not the way my stomach was flooded with butterflies. The expectation of seeing him waiting for me, of witnessing his expression when he saw me in my wedding gown for the first time, was exhilarating.
Outside, music began to play, a soft melody of violins, a cello and a viola. I took a deep breath, inhaled the sweet smell of white roses. The foyer was covered in them. Rich garlands were wrapped through the grand staircase banisters. Huge arrangements covered every table. The house looked beautiful.
“I won’t spare anything to make sure it’s all perfect,” Faris had said.
And he hadn’t, and it was all perfect.
He had hired planners, contractors, re-modelers, and all manner of people to work around the clock and make sure Live Oak was ready for our wedding and for our lives together. Once more, Zet had offered to finish the work on the house and make all the changes to our specifications in the blink of an eye. Once more, we respectfully declined, even if it took much longer, even if Faris spent tens of thousands of dollars to get it all done. He didn’t want it any other way.
During the couple of months it took to complete the work, he could be found around the workers, his sleeves rolled up as he helped get things done. He loved using his hands, the resulting ravenous appetite at meal time, the soreness in his muscles at the end of the day.
He wanted everything to be normal. Easy or hard, it didn’t matter. He was in love with life, every aspect of it. He was a joy to be around, his happiness and excitement extremely infectious.
So now every room was finished and furnished. Any historical detail that could be preserved was preserved. Though in the end—even if it wasn’t apparent to the naked eye—the house was as modern as if it had been built from scratch. There were hidden buttons everywhere, ultra-modern appliances, built-in wi-fi, anything a city girl could desire. He’d had such fun with the project.
Dad patted my hand on his arm and gave me a little tug. He swung the big oak door open, and we walked onto the porch, stopping at the top of the stairs.
The radiant spring sun bathed the front yard. A long, rose petal path started at the bottom of the steps and stretched across the yard up to an open gazebo—the majestic wall of magnolia trees as its backdrop. White chairs were set up in rows on either side of the path. A catholic priest waited under the shade of the gazebo. I searched for Faris, but he was probably standing off to the side.
The guests stood as Dad and I walked down the steps. There was a slight tug at the back of my dress. Benito, encouraged by Abby, was straightening the train of my dress. He gave me a smile as wide as his father’s. I blew him a kiss.
“Te ves guapisimo en tu traje,” I told him, Spanish rolling off my tongue as if I’d grown up speaking it—which was an amazing side effect left over from my Djinn stint. I only wished I’d known this was going to happen. If I had, I would have made sure to add a few other languages to my wish list. But I guess that would have made going to college to be a linguist pretty useless. I did have to change my Spanish concentration to Italian, though.
Benito, as shy as ever, ran off, presumably to find his parents among the guests. Dad and I laughed. Abby also walked back to her seat next to Maven where they interlaced their fingers and beamed at me. They had been dating these last two months, and I couldn’t be happier for them.
Heart thumping, I began walking down the white stone path in step with the music. For a moment, I stared at the petal-covered ground, then took a deep breath and lifted my chin.
As I looked straight ahead, my gaze immediately connected with Faris’s. He had stepped up to the end of the path and was facing me, his eyes intent on my face and nothing else.
As if he still held some sort of magic, I was spellbound, drawn to him like a tree to the sunshine. I walked between the rows of chairs, barely noticing who was there. Dad was my anchor, keeping me from flat-out running up to Faris.
God, he looks so handsome!
He was wearing a black tuxedo with a gray vest. His black hair gleamed in the sunshine. His golden skin looked vibrant, and his eyes . . . oh, his eyes . . . they were still as intense and full of mischief as the first day I met him.
“I want to wait until our wedding night,” he’d told me several weeks back on one particular night when things got pretty heated between us, but now his eyes were telling me he was quite done waiting. A flash of heat ran up my body, making me wish we could just fast-forward to tonight.
When we got to the front. Dad stepped in front of me, lifted the veil out of the way and kissed me lightly on the forehead.
“I love you, baby,” he said. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.” He turned to Faris, thumped his shoulder and deposited my hand in his. “Take care of my girl.”
“I will,” Faris said, squeezing my hand.
Dad stepped to the side and stood next to Zet, Faris’s best man. Given that I’d only had eyes for Faris as I’d walked up the path, I hadn’t noticed his brother. He was smiling from ear to ear, wearing a colorful silk outfit and a matching turban with a red stone in the middle. He looked nice, but I was glad Faris had opted for a tuxedo.
As we stepped up to the priest, Faris interlaced his fingers with mine. I looked down at our joined hands and noticed his cufflinks. They were golden acorns to match the one that always hung from my neck.
“From our tree,” he said in a whisper.
He smiled. I smiled back, feeling as if I could burst from happiness.
The music stopped and the priest began. His voice was calm and steady. Faris and I looked into each other’s eyes the entire time, our hands locked in front of us. We exchanged rings, his touch electrifying me as we completed the ritual.
Lost in his gaze, our future seemed to stretch before me with a clarity I would have never imagined possible. For so long, my present had been so uncertain that imagining a future had been out of the question. Now, the path looked bright, paved with happiness and lined with a million promises—and not the kind anyone would ever break.
When the priest finished and declared us husband and wife, my heart thudded louder and faster than ever. He kissed me—a light, butterfly kiss that left me wanting more. There was such tenderness and joy on his handsome face, that I felt like the luckiest woman to ever have lived. My heart swelled with pride. This amazing man was mine. All mine. I loved him beyond measure, and he loved me back in the same way. There was nothing more anyone could ask for.
; We turned and faced the guests. They were standing, beaming up at us as if they could see the same future I had just glimpsed. They had seen many of our trials and were happy for us.
Faris put a hand to his chest and inclined his head in gratitude.
We walked down the rose-petal path, and it felt like floating.
Absolutely magical.
Forever
Ingrid Seymour
PenDreams • BIRMINGHAM
Marielle
We’re here. Finally.
He’s waiting for me beyond the closed door, and my heart thuds and thuds and thuds. I check myself in the mirror. My eyes are wide and full of nervous excitement. I put my hair down, and it falls to my shoulders in loose waves. I feel bare in the weightless, white silk nightgown.
See-through lace covers my breasts. Thin spaghetti straps keep the one piece affair in place. Images of Faris sliding them off my shoulders flash before my eyes, my imagination getting the best of me. My breathing grows faster still. For months, I have wondered what kind of lover he is. Gentle? Rough? Tonight I will find out.
I take a deep breath and walk to the door. The floor is warm under my bare feet. Heated tiles are now one of my favorite things.
My hand shakes as I turn the door knob. I step out onto a carpeted floor that feels as soft as pillows. There have been a few changes in the room since I went to the bathroom to change. All the lights are off and, in their place, Faris has lit candles. They weren’t even there before. It’s like they appeared by magic. That makes me smile.
The room is ample with cream-colored curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows. They are drawn now, a sheer separation between us and the crystal clear, turquoise ocean on the other side. The place is breathtaking and left me speechless when I first opened my eyes to the infinite horizon. Zet had served as our airline. One minute we’d been at Oak Alley, saying goodbye to everyone, and the next Faris had a hand over my eyes. A gentle breeze and the sounds of lapping water immediately attacked my senses. It had been an unexpected surprise—Zet’s wedding present and the last act of magic Faris would ever allow to interfere with our lives. He didn’t complain much, though. As adamant as he was about living a normal life, this was our wedding night. Magic was inevitable.
A gentle breeze enters through the open balcony. We are in a luxurious bungalow in The Maldives, an Island country in the Indian Ocean with the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. The bungalow is on stilts right over the water, accessible through a long boardwalk that leads to the shore of one of the very tiny islands that make up the country.
Faris is sitting on the bed, his back to me. He’s very still. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I don’t know how to subtly let him know I’m here. Just as I’m about to take a step closer, he halfway turns in my direction. He blinks, takes a deep breath and stands. He faces me slowly, as if afraid to break the dream that surrounds us.
I’m so nervous my stomach flips. He comes closer, his features unreadable, his dark eyes locked on mine. He hasn’t looked down, and I’m worried he doesn’t like the nightgown. When he’s only one step away, he stops. He’s wearing a linen shirt with a pair of jeans. The shirt is unbuttoned and his hair is damp. I frown.
“I went for a quick swim,” he says in a husky voice that sends a shiver up my back. My skin prickles. My nipples pebble, and I’m mortified—sure he will notice under the thin lace. But he doesn’t. His gaze is intent on my face and nothing else.
“A swim? Really?” my voice shakes as I imagine the water gliding over his bronze body. I break eye contact and end up staring at his chest, the sliver of smooth, olive skin that’s still speckled with water droplets from his swim. One of the drops slides down his breastbone. I lick my lips.
“You . . .” his hand comes up to my shoulder. The touch electrifies me. My gaze snaps back to Faris’s. His eyes are hooded, intent on the thin strap as he thumbs it. “You are breathtaking.” He traces my collarbone.
My hands are restless. I need to touch him, or I’ll go mad. And if I can make him feel at least half of what he’s doing to me . . . well . . .
I sneak my hand past his unbuttoned shirt and gently slide my finger from his stomach up to his chest, delighting at the hardness and definition of his muscles. His skin is feverish in spite of his quick swim. He sucks in a breath. I love that I can have the same effect on him as he has on me.
Slowly, very slowly, he lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me. His lips are salty. His skin smells like sunshine and unspoken promises. He pulls away, the look in his eyes has changed to something primal.
Now, he lets his eyes wander down the length of my body. A blush rises from my neck as his gaze finally settles on the lace in the front, a tacit caress. My nipples respond again. His breaths come faster. His hungry expression tells me he wants to undress me, but something holds him back. He has been a restrained gentleman for so long that maybe he’s having a hard time breaking past that barrier.
I realize he needs my permission, so this time, I sneak both hands under his shirt, pushing it out of the way. He shrugs out of it. It drops to the floor. I drink him in, his tan skin, his chiseled muscles, the thin line of dark hairs that disappears into his low-riding jeans.
He is perfect.
He gives me a slight nod of understanding, then hooks his thumbs under the straps of my nightgown. He lifts them up and slides them down my shoulders. The fabric caresses my skin as it slips to the floor and I’m left bare. It is his turn to drink me in. His lips part. His eyes grow impossibly darker. He’s practically vibrating, and it makes me think he’s trying very hard to control himself and go slow.
The anticipation is killing me, but it’s delicious and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He takes my hand and leads me to the bed. He kisses me and begins to lay me down, but I stop him. He raises a questioning eyebrow. I look demonstratively to his jeans and unbutton them. The zipper is next. They fall off his narrow hips. I gasp. He has no underwear on.
He untangles himself from his pants and pulls me into bed, our heated skins igniting further as they come into full contact. We lay side by side and kiss. Our hands explore, eliciting gasps and shivers of pleasure. His hands respect certain boundaries, and it drives me crazy. I want him to touch me everywhere, but he’s taking his time. Just when I think I’ll scream in frustration, he moves on top of me, his kiss intensifying.
Slowly, his lips travel from my mouth, down my neck, headed where they have never ventured before. The silk of his kiss is the first to reach all the secret places he’d so dutifully respected before. He explores me, traces me, sets me on fire. I arch my back in pleasure.
His hot, panting breaths are on my skin and mine on his. He leaves no corner unexplored, and I do the same. We delight in each other’s bodies. He’s perfect, a dream. When I’m nearly mad with want, he straddles me again.
“We’ll be like this forever,” he says. “I love you, Marielle.” He speaks the words into my lips.
We collide.
The world narrows to a pinprick. Nothing else matters but the rhythm we create together.
Forever will never be enough.
Faris
We’re here. Finally.
She goes into the bathroom, a small handbag in her hand and a chagrined look on her face. At the thought of her undressing, my blood catches on fire, feeling as if it would ignite and burn down the bungalow. I get undressed, walk to the balcony. We have no neighbors for miles. I have to admit, Zet was right to make me accept his gift. Personal vows to use magic be damned—just this once.
Needing to cool off, I jump into the water. I submerge and stay there for a moment, focusing on my heartbeat as it thuds in my ears. When my lungs complain, I resurface and swim on my back, staring at the dark firmament and its billion stars. It’s a majestic night, and I’m gloriously human, happy and in love.
I try not to think of what Marielle will wear. When I do, something animal stirs in me, and I want to be gentle tonight, our first ni
ght.
With easy strokes, I reach the bungalow and climb the small ladder that is attached to the side. I pick up my discarded clothes and get dressed. Shaking the water off my hair, I walk back inside. I pace for a bit and distractedly open a drawer in one of the night tables. There are candles inside. I decide to light a few of them. Marielle likes them. She always uses them at the nursery—like the day I met her. I draw the curtains. The night is clear enough, so the lamps aren’t needed. I turn them off, then look around. The room is a thousand times more inviting which is saying a lot. It was already perfect.
I sit on the bed, my back to the bathroom. My skin still burns is spite of the quick swim and the breeze that blows through the open balcony. I take a few calming breaths. There’s a small noise behind me. I look over my shoulder. She’s standing there, and I didn’t hear her. Slowly, I get to my feet and walk toward her.
She’s dressed in something I don’t dare look at for fear of losing control. Her shoulders and feet are bare. I can tell that much without breaking eye contact. I stop right in front of her. She looks at my wet hair and unbuttoned shirt with a frown.
“I went for a quick swim,” I say, my voice deep with want.
A shiver runs through her. I fight not to look down, to see if she’s wearing anything under the white garment. My body quakes with desire. I want to crush her to me and make her mine, but I can’t. Not on our first night together. I need to be patient.
“A swim? Really?” she asks. Her eyes break from mine and wander to my chest. She watches with interest, then licks her lips. I’ve never thought of myself as a proud male, but her hungry gaze on my chest makes me feel like one.
One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series Page 77