by Beth Ciotta
The old man spread his arms wide and looked serenely skyward. “To anyone who truly matters. Yes.”
Mmm. Simon checked his watch again, surprised when Woodstock-you-can-call-me-Bear peeked in through a flowered archway.
“Dude,” Bear said. “Your lady wants a word.”
So Willie hadn’t jumped ship. That was something, although Simon still sensed a problem. He followed Bear out of the chapel and into a dimly lit reception area . . . and nearly tripped over his feet at the vision of loveliness stirring up the petal and herb rushes as she paced the flower-strewn floor.
“Blew my mind too,” Bear said in a low voice. “Saw her comin’ out of Fuddrucker’s Fantasy Farm and thought, Whoa. Some dog’s gonna jump this fox before she ever gets to her man. So I walked her over but then . . .” He dragged a hand over his scraggly beard. “Don’t freak, dude, but I think she got cold feet.”
“Thank you for ensuring her safety.”
Bear looked at Simon’s proffered hand as though it were a stick of dynamite. Instead of clasping palms, he raised two fingers. “Peace, man. And good luck.”
The stoner slipped away and Simon moved toward the woman in white. She’d had her hair color restored to its natural, vibrant red. Curled and fashioned into a soft updo, the stylish hairstyle accentuated her long neck and exquisite bone structure. The gown, with its corseted bodice and voluminous skirts, was somehow sensual and angelic at the same time. Simon had never seen a more beautiful bride. He knew not if she’d made this spectacular transformation for him or for herself. What he knew was that she’d made a solid and courageous decision to shed her male persona. It was an extraordinary step.
Simon was grappling for a worthy compliment when she whirled to face him, her expression troubled if not tortured.
“I apologize for the delay, but I had a most difficult time settling on a gown. It has been a long time since I’ve dallied over fripperies.”
“I’m glad you dallied,” Simon said, mouth dry. “You look stunning, Wilhelmina.” He found it difficult to think of her as Willie when she looked so utterly feminine, and even though she’d returned her hair to her natural hue, Mina did not fit either. Mina had been a young girl. The angel before him was all woman.
“I thought the long lace sleeves to be most brilliant as they disguise my bandages, but do you think the décolletage too revealing?”
Simon admired her slender neck, her smooth, pale skin, and the swell of her small but exquisite breasts. He quirked an appreciative smile. “I think it perfect.”
“The skirts? Too frilly?”
“You look like a princess.” He angled his head. “Except perhaps for the tinted spectacles.”
“I did purchase new corneatacts, as I’m not yet ready to reveal my race to the masses, but for tonight, I’d prefer no illusions.”
“I appreciate that.” He reached up and slid off the glasses, smiled into her rainbow eyes. “I’m entranced. Truly.”
She glanced away, blew out a nervous breath.
Interesting that whilst shedding her mannish clothes, she’d also been stripped of her brazen confidence. “What troubles you?”
“The vows.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t practice any one faith.”
He thought about Reverend Karma and his love beads. “Trust me. The ceremony won’t be religious as much as spiritual.”
“Still, we shouldn’t promise things we do not mean.”
To love and cherish? Honor and obey? He didn’t ask which part, because he didn’t want to broach a subject that might veer them off course. In truth, he wasn’t all too keen on pledging his love when, this moment, he wasn’t sure love entered into it. Passion, yes. Gratitude, yes. Affection, yes. Bone-deep love? As in delirious, all-consuming, I’ll-die-if-I-can’t-have-you-forever-and-always love?
Perhaps that notion, that happy illusion, was reserved for the naive. For the very young. He had felt it once—for Mina. But life’s experiences had molded him into a more pragmatic man. He was wary in matters of the heart. Particularly when they pertained to Wilhelmina Goodenough. “I’ll tell the reverend to keep it simple.”
She narrowed her mesmerizing eyes. “I do not wish to be difficult, but I feel compelled, to be fair, to reiterate the obvious. Life with a Freak will not be easy.”
Simon nodded. “In the same spirit of goodwill, might I say, life with a Darcy will not be a walk in the proverbial park.”
She blinked.
“More than thirty years ago, my distant cousin Briscoe Darcy, the Time Voyager, jumped dimensions in his time machine. As you well know, that journey had dire repercussions. Whilst half the world damns Briscoe and any family associated with him, the other half views us, all of us, each and every Darcy, no matter if we ever met the man, as a ticket to . . . something more. Something extraordinary. As if every Darcy ever born possesses the knowledge or the ability to time travel at any moment. As such we are often scrutinized and sometimes hunted. Definitely ill judged.” Simon framed his intended’s lovely face and swept a gentle kiss over her subtly tinted lips. “Let us be curiosities together.”
“You make an intriguing case.”
“I can upon occasion be most persuasive.” If she still balked, he would be forced to play dirty. To threaten her job at the Informer by cutting all ties with her and thereby robbing her of the sensational story she’d been assigned to report. He did not wish to go that course, but he would. He refused to go through life wondering how she fared, worrying about her safety and finances, obsessing on whether she’d fallen prey to another man’s charms. Although he might not love her, dammit to hell, she was in his blood.
She glanced over his shoulder at the flowered archway leading into the Chapel of Love. Rustic and whimsical. “I fear I have overdressed for the occasion. What was I thinking?”
Blessed acquiescence.
Simon smiled. “That you wanted to look like a bride.” He smoothed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Although I can’t promise you a storybook wedding, I promise you an unforgettable night.”
She quirked a teasing grin. “I’ll settle for spectacular.”
Kissing her neck, just below her ear, Simon whispered, “Challenge accepted.”
CHAPTER 16
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Willie stared at the simple band Simon had placed on her left ring finger, tears pricking her eyes. How ridiculous. Reverend Karma had kept the ceremony not only temporal but amazingly brief. She’d forgone her timepieces, but she would swear less than two minutes had elapsed between “Welcome” and “Blessings on your union.” If anything, she should feel slighted, not overwhelmed, yet her heart had blossomed so, squeezing against her lungs, she could scarcely breathe.
She glanced up at Simon. “Did I say, ‘I do’?” She could not recall. How woefully insane.
“You did.” His intense gaze sparked in a new and perplexing way. Smiling, he leaned in and brushed a tender kiss across her lips. “Hello, Mrs. Darcy.”
Mrs. Simon Darcy.
Wilhelmina Darcy.
Her senses whirled. What had she done? This would never work out. Although maybe it would. Maybe they could indeed be curiosities together. First and foremost, she needed to find the clockwork propulsion engine and ensure its safety and then she needed to somehow thwart or appease Strangelove. She needed to protect her family. And that family now included Simon. Good God.
Willie gathered her wits as Simon led her to a table where Reverend Karma now stood with a pen and certificate. Whilst waiting for them to sign their names, the hippie preacher man described various amusements to be found upon this skytown, suitable romantic entertainment, unless of course they preferred something more decadent. She barely heard a word. She was too busy trying to properly grasp the pen. Frustration bubbled and she almost wished she’d worn the Thera-Steam-Atic Brace.
But then Simon closed in, wrapping his hand around her forearm and lending support as she managed a signature.
His palm burned through the thin lace of her sleeve, ignited her blood, and tripled her determination to overcome this physical setback. After tonight she would work most avidly to strengthen her muscles. She would become wholly self-reliant and this troubling sense of inferiority would forever vanish.
Willie watched as, after signing his own name, Simon thanked Reverend Karma, then pocketed the marriage certificate. A keepsake, a token of their personal commitment, but surely not a legal and binding document. All the same, Willie felt different, transformed. Her mother had been wrong. Simon had not rejected her because of her race. He had embraced her diversity and all the mystery attached. He had made her battle his own.
How extraordinarily courageous. How remarkably rebellious.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Vic and Freak.
A fire stirred within. A flicker of purpose. If every person was afforded one chance to make a significant change for the betterment of this world, perhaps this banned marriage was her unique opportunity. She had never taken a public stand for her race. She had always operated behind false identities and names. Perhaps it was time to fight in the open. Something inside of her snapped and burned and for the first time in her life, Wilhelmina-formerly-Goodenough understood the true meaning of rebel.
“I thought we could dine first, something exotic,” Simon said as he ushered her toward the petal-strewn exit. “Then perhaps you would fancy dancing to outlawed music, or a bit of radical theater, or a starry ride aboard the Ferris wheel.”
“I would fancy a sampling of all of those things.” She would enjoy the tolerance and freedom of Skytown as never before and then she would top off her wedding night with “spectacular.”
Pausing on the threshold, Simon pulled Willie’s tinted spectacles from his inner pocket.
She waved them off, cupped the back of his neck, and pulled him down for a highly inappropriate kiss, given they were not alone. She heard the celebratory tinkling of finger bells and Reverend Karma saying, “Far out.” Willie welcomed the passionate heat, a surge of confidence, and the rebellious spark stoking her blood. Heart pounding, she eased away and met Simon’s curious gaze. “No more hiding.”
He framed her face and scorched her soul with a proud and seductive smile. “Tonight is ours, Mrs. Darcy. Tomorrow, we take on the world.”
• • •
Willie could not have imagined a more perfect honeymoon. Dinner, perfect. Dancing, perfect. Everything, perfect.
Perfect because she’d been with Simon.
This night she found it most difficult to separate the girl who’d fallen in love with the college boy from the woman who’d been seduced by the brilliant engineer. She found it most difficult to focus period. Which was why they had not lingered long at any one festivity.
Had they been anywhere but in a skytown, they would have been a source of fascination or ridicule. First, because she had spent the evening dressed in her princess bridal gown. Second, because anyone who peered close enough and got a glimpse of her eyes knew she was a Freak. But this was Skytown. Her bridal gown was not nearly as fascinating as the couple who’d donned the full medieval regalia of a knight and his winged fairy enchantress. Nor the geared and hissing, iron and bronzed, half-man, half-mechanical cigar-puffing robber baron from America who had a predilection for ballerinas.
As for being a Freak, Willie was one of a few like souls and several pretenders. Aye, there were those who reveled in being mistaken for a supernatural freak of cross-dimensions. They dressed in the colorful and bizarre fashion known as ModVic. They preened and paraded about as if being a Freak was akin to being a celebrated artist, someone who was revered or admired for being extraordinarily special.
Their hero worship would be flattering if it weren’t so naive. Obviously they did not understand the true plight of Freaks. However, Willie did not dwell on the notion overly long as she might have done another time.
Everything Willie saw, heard, or experienced this night was overshadowed by the intense passion burning between her and her new husband. There was a possessive and protective quality about Simon that she had not noticed before. The way he placed his hand at the small of her back whilst guiding her though a crowd, the frown he bestowed upon any man who stared too long at her cleavage, his pithy reply to a Vic who’d made an off-color remark about her supernatural skills. Had the man not been so roaring drunk and ready to pitch over, she was quite certain Simon would have called him out. She could well imagine growing irritated with Simon’s sudden commitment to sheltering her from ridicule or harm. But tonight, she was merely charmed and soundly seduced off her time-tracing feet.
Moments ago Simon had obliterated the last of her composure by besting a game of chance and winning her a prize just as he had on one magical night of their youthful courtship. Only this time, instead of a china doll, he’d chosen a mechanical bird. A clockwork canary. She’d pocketed the tiny toy, marveling at how something so chintzy could mean so much.
“I suggest we make haste to our lodgings,” Willie said as Simon purchased tickets for a starry carnival ride.
“Are you ill? Faint? Chilled?” He stuffed the tickets in his jacket with a curse, then readjusted the white fur coat that had come with her ensemble. “But of course you’re exhausted. It has been a long and eventful day and no doubt your shoulder is paining you. Dammit, Willie, why didn’t you speak up earlier?”
“I am neither ill nor faint, but I do have a tremendous ache and unless you wish me to tear off your clothes right here on this deck, in front of these multitudes of visitors—”
Simon scooped her off her feet, causing her to gasp whilst others around them whistled and applauded as he whisked her across one deck, a gangway, and three-quarters of another crowded deck before entering a magnificent canvas and steel structure marked as SULTAN’S SUITES. The colorful fabrics hanging from the walls and draped from the ceiling stole away her breath, as did the shockingly explicit paintings. Her heart pounded as Simon carried her one deck below and down a vibrant purple hallway, bypassing several rooms until he came to a gilded door at the end of the corridor.
Somehow he finessed the lock without bungling his hold on her, although once he’d pushed into the room and kicked shut the door, he set Willie swiftly to her feet. “You were saying?”
His intense gaze fueled her already raging desire, as did the sensual surroundings. The flickering golden lanterns, the draped bold fabrics, the rose petals strewn over the thick Persian rug. The intoxicating scent of musk and jasmine filled the small room, as did a large round bed piled high with satin pillows. That bed was just behind Simon and that bed was where she wanted them both to be.
Lustful cravings eviscerated any semblance of decorum. Willie shrugged off her coat and made quick work of Simon’s jacket. Her left arm did most of the work, but her injured arm managed keenly enough to aid her in her frenzied mission to rid her husband of his damnable clothes. Perhaps it was the adrenaline. Or perhaps he was helping her along. Oh, aye, he was most anxious to indulge her wishes. They kissed whilst attacking his buttons and snaps, a frenzied affair that only heightened her excitement as one by one his fashionable garments fell to the floor.
Breaking away, Simon stood before her wearing nothing but a wicked grin. “You got me naked,” he said. “Now what?”
Emboldened, Willie raised a cocky brow. “I could allow you to undress me. Or,” she said, planting a hand on his muscled chest and pushing him back until he fell upon the pillow-laden bed. “I could make you watch.”
The heat in his gaze nearly set her gown afire, burning the silk and lace into oblivion.
Willie relished the heady feeling of power as she ever so slowly loosened the front lacing of her corseted bodice. She reveled in Simon’s frustrated groan as her fingers glided over the satin ribbons, as the décolletage slipped lower, revealing more of her breasts. When he rose up and reached out, she knocked away his hands. “No touching.”
His raunchy muttered curse
worked like an aphrodisiac. Never had she been so wanton, so scandalous. She had feared she would feel chained by marriage when somehow it had set her free.
“You’re killing me, wife.”
Why did that endearment drive her so deliciously mad? Ready to reach the tipping point herself, Willie fingered the customized release clasp, a trick sewn into the bodice by the wardrobe mistress at the Fantasy Farm. In a heartbeat, the corset loosened completely and with a mere roll of her shoulders the wedding gown slid from her body and pooled around her feet. Now she too was naked—all but her silky unmentionables and her embroidered pointy-toed mules.
“There is something that I have been longing to try,” she said as she kicked off the shoes.
“Far be it from me to stop you.” Simon watched intently as she shimmied out of the last wisp of silk.
Admiring his impeccable body, she climbed onto the bed, knocking aside pillows as she kissed a hot trail down his chest, his stomach. . . . “It requires you to relinquish control.”
He managed a not-so-pithy grunt, which only spurred her on.
She smoothed her hands over his chiseled abdomen. All she wanted was a taste, a sampling. Living under the guise of a man, she had heard things not meant for a woman’s ears. Things men enjoyed. Sexually.
Heart pounding, Willie kissed the tip of Simon’s erection, then flicked her tongue over the ridge and, in a supreme leap of curiosity, took him into her mouth. A sensual thrill surged through her blood, but he hissed and flinched, reaching down and easing her away. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked.
“You did everything right. Therein lies the problem, sweetheart. I would not last beyond a minute if you continued to pleasure me thusly. My restraint is unusually taxed this night.”
He appeared this side of miserable and her confidence soared at the knowledge she could so easily drive him to the brink. Quirking a teasing smile, Willie indulged in another fantasy. “I have faith that you will allow a bride her pleasure.”