by JJ Knight
Then she bends, lifting her skirt. After a moment, pale blue panties slip down her calves and she steps out of them. “I don’t have a pocket,” she says.
I take them and stuff them into one of mine. “You sure about this?”
“Totally. We can have a long, leisurely go at it some other time.” She reaches down for my pants. “I mean, I guess I should ask if you’re consenting?”
I shut her up with a kiss. My hands slide up her thighs to her bared skin, smooth and soft. I jerk her close. She laughs softly, fumbling with the buttons to my suit pants. With a soft zip, I’m freed and she pushes the fabric out of the way.
My hands continue to touch every soft part of her, fingers slipping between her thighs and up inside her. She sucks in a breath, gripping my shoulders. “Yesss,” she whispers, close to my ear.
Her chest is at my face, and I bury myself against the silk dress. She’s so slick and ready. My thumb finds the tiny, swollen nub of her clit. I start to work it, and she clutches me, a whimper escaping. “It’s been so long,” she says.
I learn her, the things that make her legs shake and the cries come. When I sense she’s barely containing herself, I pull her leg over the bench.
She straddles me, and as she lowers down, the warmth of her body surrounds me. I pull her other leg around, still working that clit, now tightly against me.
Her arms snake around my neck. I use my free hand to lift her body, then bring her back down.
It doesn’t take much, only a few strokes in, before her body begins to shudder from her hips to her arms. “Donovan!” she cries, dropping her face to my shoulder and biting me through my suit jacket.
I slam her down on me with more force, taking it deeper. As she quivers around me, I release my control and empty into her. All my tension releases. It’s taken so long to get here. The trip to fetch her, the uncertainty if she would come. The plane, the diaper incident, the long day shopping. The night we were interrupted.
It all falls away, and my body is less clenched than it has been in days. Months. Maybe as long as I can remember. How tightly have I held myself, taking on this role in my brother’s company? Having to prove myself, day in and day out?
My whole life seems to unravel with her on my lap, her body surrounding part of mine. She’s the other half of me, the missing part of the equation that has long needed solving. I hold onto her with wonder, thinking maybe I’ve just figured everything out.
The night cools around us, and Havannah rests her cheek on my shoulder, her face nestled into my neck. I hold her close, making sure the full skirt of her dress covers us, two lovers in an embrace in the gardens.
But no one comes. The evening settles into a quiet so complete that we could be in the middle of nowhere. And nothing, not work or family or the pressure of regular life, can reach us here.
19
Havannah
Whoa. Last night was something.
My mind might be on Donovan, but our schedules don’t align at all today. The men are meeting at the on-site alehouse tucked into a copse of trees on the northern border of the property. They’re riding out there via horse-drawn wagon. No lie.
The sweet nanny Diya, who traveled with Dell and Arianna, comes midmorning to fetch Rebel. She’s lovely, and young Grace, who’s expecting a sibling of her own soon, is delighted to play big sister to Rebel.
We ladies have a bride’s luncheon in a large gazebo at the far end of the hedge. When we’re escorted through the gardens, I cast glances at the entrance to the section where Donovan and I had our tryst.
The gazebo lunch is in full sight of the preparations for the wedding so Camryn can keep an eye on it. Her idea, apparently. The day is bright and sunshiny. The castle gleams like a movie set in the background.
The men get more than a little drunk, evidenced by the number of texts the ladies receive.
Camryn holds up her phone. “Max sent me a bunch of texts I can’t decipher and three heart emojis.”
Everyone laughs. I keep my cell screen tilted under the table, the sound off. Donovan texts, I wish you were here, three times in a row, each with a different variation of her, hear, here. Yeah, the boys are drinking.
While our events end at the same time, the men spend the afternoon sleeping off the booze while the rest of us take turns with nail technicians, hairdressers, and makeup artists.
I’m surprised to discover that even with my late arrival, one has been set aside for me. Diya returns a hungry baby to me, and I get a pedicure while nursing him.
With the lavish attention, the nanny, and the excitement of the upcoming wedding, I feel more like my old self than since even before Rebel was born. Truth be told, that era when I went on a hookup spree was not my best.
But my life is completely turned around. I’m in France at a fairytale wedding. My nails are getting painted a gemlike green to match a dress purchased by a powerful, wealthy businessman who brought me here on a private plane. Who’s helped me with my newborn baby and was even present at his birth.
And who banged the hell out me in an enchanted garden out behind a castle.
Who’s life am I living?
I shift Rebel to wake him up so he can feed on the other side. I need to pump to ensure I have enough bottles prepared for the wedding and reception. Even so, if I need to escape, I’m sure the evening will go long and I can return after nursing.
There will be dancing. I close my eyes for a moment and think about moving across a ballroom in Donovan’s arms. It’s been a perfect few days.
Still, I know this dream will end. The wedding will soon be over, and I will fly back to the United States, and Donovan will continue his jet-set business ways. But in this moment, my life is more perfect than it has ever been. I just have to hold on with both hands.
The tech sits back and begins to pack her things. She’s done. I wiggle my toes. They sparkle like the emeralds on the jewelry Donovan bought for me.
“It’s perfect,” I tell the lady. “Thank you.”
“Enjoy your night,” she says.
Rebel has fallen asleep on the boob again. I pull him off and walk him over to the bed. He’s so tiny there, nestled among the burp cloths and changing pad, totally out of sync with the gold satin bedspread and beaded draperies.
He’s already filling out, more chubby-cheeked on this trip. Everyone says the early months are so fleeting. I believe it. I undress him, marveling over his plump belly and chubby thighs. He wakes, gives me a milk-drunk look, and falls asleep again.
I change his diaper and slide on the fancy outfit Donovan bought in Paris. The children will come down for the family photographs. The Pickles asked for all of the Boudreaux clan to be included as we prepare for my sister’s marriage to Anthony. It’s a lot, a dramatic expansion of our family.
Magnolia enters our room in her T-shirt and sweatpants. She had her nails done yesterday, and she got an early slot for one of the hairdressers. Her hair is braided into an intricate half updo that crowns an explosion of long blond curls. It’s breathtaking.
“Turn around,” I tell her. “Let me see that better.”
Magnolia touches the coil lightly. “I hope I can find someone as good as her when it’s my turn.”
“You’re stunning. What should I do?”
“You want up or down?” Magnolia sits on the bed and squeezes Rebel’s tiny foot. After some fussiness about being dressed, he’s out cold again.
I step to the bathroom and peer into the mirror at my windblown hair. It’s a mess from the outdoor luncheon. I should probably shower and start over. “Up, I think. But those curls you got. Wow.”
“What are you wearing?” she asks.
“Donovan bought me a dress in Paris. It’s emerald green.” I head to the closet to pull out the zippered bag.
“He bought you a dress?”
“He did.” I unzip the bag and hang the dress on a hook of the closet door.
“I love it. It will set off your hair.”
“There’s more.” I head to the desk. One of the drawers is outfitted with a digital lock where you can program the combination. I drop the ornate cover that hides the modern addition and punch in the code.
When I turn with the box and open it, Magnolia draws in a breath. “Are those real?”
I nod. “I didn’t want to accept them. But—”
“Then why did you?”
I suddenly remember that Anthony Pickle tried to buy jewelry for Magnolia early in their relationship, and she turned him down.
“It was hard to say no. You think I did the wrong thing?” Ugh. Guilt washes over me. Old Havannah wouldn’t have given a thought to her baby sister’s opinion. But after this last year, I’ve tried to straighten my moral compass.
Magnolia brushes a hand across Rebel’s forehead, smoothing a frown line that has crossed his expression in his sleep. “Your situation is very different.” She reaches out to hold the box of jewelry. “So it seems this is going to work out? You weren’t sure before.”
“At least while we’re here. As soon as we get back home, he has to return to his life.”
Magnolia’s gaze meets mine “Have you two…”
“Bumped uglies?”
I hesitate. Normally I don’t keep many things from Magnolia. She’s always known about Rebel, and she came with me on the doctor visits before I managed to summon the courage to tell our parents.
But I’m smarting from that hint of judgment I sense in her about the jewelry.
“Hopefully tonight,” I say. And that is not a lie. “I’ve got the nanny and the wedding, plus Donovan has a room to himself.” I glance meaningfully around the room as if to prove nothing could’ve happened since I’ve been here. I’m not about to confess about our rose garden moment.
Magnolia is unconvinced. “But you were at the hotel with him. And on that plane.”
“With the baby. Who inconveniently seems to cry any time Donovan and I get hot and heavy.”
This makes her laugh. “I bet. You seem happy.”
“I am. Don’t worry, Mags. I know I’m in a dream state. It can’t last. I’ll have a good time for a few days, and pick up a few goodies along the way.” I take the box and close the lid. “Then I’ll continue my life as a young single mother in a Colorado town, working at a family restaurant.”
Rebel stirs, and Magnolia places her hand on his belly. “You know, that sounds exactly like the plot of a Hallmark movie.”
It’s true. Watching those movies is one of our favorite pastimes. “It does, doesn’t it? But they don’t usually have billionaires in them. It’s always a baker or a handyman.”
Magnolia scrunches her face, thinking. “You’re right. But I do remember Pretty Woman.”
This makes me snort-giggle. “I’m not a prostitute, Mags.”
Her cheeks go bright red. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You sure?” I tease. “You were asking me about bumping uglies.”
“Those were your words.” She pretends to cover Rebel’s ears. “What I mean is the overworked businessman who needs to slow down and smell the roses.”
For a moment, I pause, remembering the rose garden and wondering if she knows more than she’s letting on. But I see nothing accusatory in her face. “I’m not expecting a Cinderella story. I’m fine with a few days here and there when he’s in town. I’m not going to do much else in my current predicament.”
Mags heads to the desk and touches the jewelry box. “Don’t sell yourself short. There could be some nice man in Boulder ready to step in.”
“Right. We’ll be spending all our hours getting the new deli up to speed, and what I don’t use up there, I’ll spend with the baby.” Rebel fusses again, so I pick him up and put him on my shoulder. He immediately lets out a big burp.
A light knock makes me turn to the door.
Diya pokes her head in. “Ooh, look at your hair, Magnolia!”
Magnolia touches it. “Havannah is up next.”
“I should take this little wonder, then,” Diya says, holding out her arms for the baby. “Did he get a good feeding in?”
“He did.” I pass the baby to her and tuck his things back in the diaper bag.
Grace bounces into the room. “I’ll take the bag!”
“What a big helper you are,” I say, handing it to her.
“I have to! I’m going to be a big sister!” Her eyes shine as she looks up at Rebel. “I hope I get a brother like baby Rebel!”
“Me too,” I say.
“I’ll text you if we need you,” Diya says. “I’ll be mindful of the ceremony.”
“I’m going to pump once more. Should I send it to you?”
“Leave it here. I can send someone after it. I have two bottles in my fridge.” She waves. “Have a nice time, Mama!” she says, turning Rebel to me. He’s asleep again on her shoulder.
“Jump in the shower, lady,” Mags says. “We’re going to have to head up to the bridal wing to get your hair and makeup done soon. Time to make our transformations.”
I hurry to the bathroom.
I’m living the most delicious dream.
20
Donovan
I knock on the door to Havannah’s suite about a half-hour before the ceremony.
John Paul opens the door. “Donovan,” he says, and there’s a harsher note there than usual. Has something changed?
He steps aside to let me into the sitting room. Malina sits on a sofa, tucking Kleenex into a purse. “I always cry at weddings,” she says. “Does your mother?”
I picture my mom at the last Alabama wedding we attended, stuffing chicken wings from the buffet in a plastic bag and trying to decide whether or not to actually leave the gift, and say, “Sometimes.”
“Oh, I’m the worst.” She shoves another tissue into the bag.
John Paul remains standing. “I expect the girls to come out any moment. They looked ready the last time I saw them.”
“They had some jewelry to put on,” Malina says. Her gaze shifts from me to her husband and back again.
My instincts are good when reading a room. I’ve been discussed. Might as well clear the air.
“I’ve enjoyed my time with Havannah immensely,” I say, my traitorous brain instantly shifting to last night’s moment in the rose garden.
John Paul stands a bit taller. “It does seem you’ve become a regular in her life, being at the birth and all.”
“The timing is off, but—”
“Has she told you who the father is?” he bellows.
“John Paul!” Malina says, clutching her bag.
“It’s all right,” I tell her. I turn to John Paul. His face is a blustery red, and he’s formidable in his charcoal suit. I meet his eye. “Havannah’s history before I met her is her own. I am only interested in the time we can find to spend together, given her new deli and the addition to the family.”
His eyes narrow. “So she hasn’t told you either.”
“It’s no interest of mine.”
“You know I have to be concerned for her.”
I hold his gaze. “She’s an adult.”
“With a newborn. I will not have some rich, entitled man thinking he can use her however he likes!”
“John Paul!” Malina leaps from the sofa. “Don’t scare him off.”
John Paul keeps a menacing eye on me. “If he can be scared, let him be scared.”
“I can’t be scared,” I assure him.
One of the bedroom doors flies open, and Havannah stumbles out, trying to buckle her shoe. “Dad, who in the world are you yelling at?” Then she sees me and drops her leg, the end of the shoe strap sticking out. “Donovan! Dad, what did you say to him?”
“It’s fine,” her mother says. “Your father is expressing his concern about this delicate time of your life.”
I would never dare to call Havannah delicate, but I know when to keep my mouth shut.
“Delicate!” Havannah says. “Good grief, Mom! Give me some credit here.”
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Malina grips her purse with both hands. She glances up at John Paul with a look that telegraphs, What do we do?
I shut them out and focus on Havannah. If I thought she was stunning last night, today I’m knocked backward. The green dress skims along her body, leading to long legs and those killer shoes. Her cute toes match today.
And her hair. Last night she had elegant waves, but today, it’s swept up into an intricate weave of braids and curls, falling into a cascade over one shoulder. Tiny white flowers with vivid green leaves are tucked over her ear. The jeweled necklace sparkles at the dip in the dress, and the earrings swing over her shoulders.
I steel my jaw to control my response to her.
She seems reluctant to bend down and finish fastening her shoe, so I walk up to her, take her hand, and kiss the back of it. “You are a vision,” I say.
She smiles, and I drop to my knee, take her slender ankle in my hand to poke the buckle into the hole of the strap, and tuck it through the loop.
She steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder. When I stand, she takes my hand. “Mom, Dad, we’re heading out. See you at the reception.”
Behind us, Magnolia says, “I’ll find you later.”
Havannah nods at her. I lead her to the hall and down the flight of stairs.
“What was that?” she asks when we’re moved far enough from the door.
“He’s only worried.”
She halts. “What did he say?”
“It seems he thought you might have told me about Rebel’s paternity. If he thought I was a weak link in an information pipeline, he most definitely thought wrong.”
She starts walking again. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. I told him that your history before me is yours to tell.”
“So he thinks you know?”
I squeeze her fingers. “He decided that I didn’t.”
She lets out a long sigh. “I’m not sure what I’ll do about that. It seems as though it’s going to become a bigger deal over time.”
Another couple we’ve seen around the castle, dressed for the wedding, enters the hall from another branch. We slow down to let them get ahead.