The Girl of Diamonds and Rust (The Half Shell Series Book 3)

by Unknown

  Ah, us. Even better. The caption makes me smile. I go to my black case and pull out the small canvas zip bag with my scissors and paste. I neatly cut the photo from the paper, trim it, and then secure it on the last page. Done. Ten months on tour. History complete.

  I finish my breakfast, and start packing up. Clothes. Check. Toiletries from bathroom. Check. Neil can deal with his junk here. I see the scrapbook on the table and put it back in the duffel. I grab my scissors and paste, and as I start to tuck them away, I note the edge of a news clipping saved from last week.

  I still haven’t written about this in my journal. I couldn’t do it. Not when it happened. I take my notebook from the black bag and reach for a pen.

  I pull out the news clipping from the canvas bag and stare at it. I still get misty-eyed when I read the story headline Kurt Cobain Dead Twenty-Seven. I print today’s date on the top of a page and start to write:

  It is strange how someone’s life can touch your own from a distance. I didn’t know Kurt well. We crossed paths in Seattle, nothing more, but he was the subject of the silly bet Neil and I made the first night we met. It sure rattled the guys, in that way the sudden unexpected loss of someone like yourself can only stir.

  I’ll never forget how Neil looked when he got back to the hotel after learning of Kurt’s death. Sad, confused, angry and overwhelmed.

  We sat for a long time silent, and then Neil said, “I love you, Chrissie. More than you know. Sometimes you are all that gets me through. Don’t let me fuck up everything we have.”

  There was something in his voice I’ll never forget. I don’t know what it was, but I’ve never heard Neil sound that way before.

  I was alone when I opened the paper to find the write-up on Kurt’s death. Too many lockboxes inside me broke open at once. My brother. My mother. Then Alan.

  I looked at the headline—twenty-seven—and my memories dragged me back to New York and Alan in the parking garage, and Alan’s voice whispered through my memory: “The great ones die at twenty-seven. Hendrix. Joplin. If we are both around after we’re twenty-seven, we’ll both know what we are.”

  I reached for my mobile phone and Alan’s number on the card that I still carry for some reason. I stared at the phone for an hour. Something in me wanted to talk to Alan that day.

  The news made me think of him. Our crazy spring. Us in the parking garage. And I felt ashamed about the way I spoke to him the last time we talked. The mean little girl in me, kicking him away because I was afraid. I regretted not talking to him. I regretted how I felt that day. I still wonder why he called, what he wanted.

  I stared at the phone, wanting to call. We are connected. No matter how we ended, there are parts of me only Alan will understand. And there are parts of Alan only I will understand. But I didn’t call. Too much had happened. He hurt me. I hurt him. We both hurt each other too much the last time. It was better for us both that I didn’t call. It would have only unsealed old wounds.

  But a part of me still regrets not calling Alan that day.

  I hear a key against the lock, slap shut my journal and tuck it away in the bottom of my duffel. Nope, this journal is now a private journal. I don’t want Neil to see that last entry. It wouldn’t piss him off, he would want to talk to me and understand it, but I’m not ready to do that. Not yet. Someday.

  Neil crosses the room, kisses me lightly on the cheek, and then sinks down to sit on the bed. His expression and posture says everything. He is not happy after his meeting with Ernie Levine.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  Neil runs a hand through his hair. “We were going to take some time together, figure out what we’re doing, and Ernie booked me for a show taping next week in New York. A bunch of other bullshit publicity things for the next month that I don’t want to do. And when I’m done, studio.”

  I make a pout. “No big deal. We’ve got a week to kick back and do nothing. I’m not angry. Why are you?”

  He gives me the stare. “You agreed to discuss the possibility of getting married.”

  I laugh. The way he says that makes me sound ridiculous. I make a face. “What? A week is not enough time to finish a discussion on the possibility?”

  I give him a silly smile and reluctantly he laughs.

  “No. With you, Chrissie, there is no such thing as enough time to discuss anything.”

  My brows hitch up. “That was kind of mean.”

  Smiling green eyes lock with mine. “Nope. Not mean. Accurate.” He sighs heavily. “Fuck, Chrissie, I want something in my life defined and certain. I want us to get married.”

  “OK. Not mean. Frustrated.” I cross the room and sink down beside him on the bed. “So what do you want to do about being frustrated?”

  He starts working his hand under my dress and I shove it away.

  “I didn’t mean that kind of frustrated.”

  He laughs, wraps me in his arms and pulls me with him until we’re lying on the bed. I don’t know why we’re laughing. But it feels good. Really, really good.

  “Do you know where you want to take me?” he whispers. “We’ve still got a week. We’ll go where you want to. Let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want to waste any of our alone time.”

  I turn on my side facing him and fight back a smile. Jeez, he’s so sexy even when he’s aggravated and disappointed and fighting to be patient with me when he doesn’t want to be. I lean in and kiss him, and when I pull back, the color darkens in his eyes in that way that’s wonderful. Emotion and want join in lock-step in a jolt of clarity that rockets through me in an inescapable way.

  “I know where I want us to go,” I say.

  Neil shakes his head in that way that says he’s not buying it. “Staying here in West Hollywood doesn’t count as you making a decision, Chrissie. It’s a lack of decision.”

  I choke on a laugh. Damn, the guy does know me pretty well. Wrong this time. Logical assumption.

  “I’ve never been to Vegas before. I want to go to Vegas,” I announce.

  He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Really. I hate Vegas. And you hate the desert. Why the hell would you want to go there?”

  I stare at him. “Because in Vegas we can get married today.”

  ~~~

  We step out of the over-air-conditioned county clerk’s office into the overheated Vegas sun. Crap, it’s scorching today and it is only April.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Neil asks for about the hundredth time. “It’s only a three-day wait in California. We can get married in Santa Barbara. Have Jack and my family there.”

  I peek up at Neil. He looks a little bemused that I’m actually insisting we elope.

  “Nope. This is a limited-time offer. Today or never.”

  Neil smiles and then his expression takes on a more serious edge. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

  The way he’s looking at me makes my heart overflow. God, how can he think that? I dragged him here.

  “Do you remember our A-through-C marriage agreement?”

  He taps the side of his head with an index finger. “Burned into my memory forever. A: You want to live in Santa Barbara. You want a house there and only there. B: If we have kids you won’t travel with me and I promise to never ask you to. C: You don’t want to wait to start a family.”

  I kiss his arm. “No second thoughts. You remembered the agreement.”

  He frowns. “Let’s get married in Santa Barbara.”

  “No. Today. That’s what I want.”

  He shakes his head and stares down the street. “Supposedly we can get married anywhere. Pick a place. They all look the same. Awful.”

  He’s right, they do.

  I point. “Let’s just go there.”

  I pick the Heart of Vegas Wedding Chapel, because it’s the nearest one and they all do look the same.

  Neil pulls back the door and I enter first. I quickly inspect the room. Awful just converted to hideous. Pink. I�
�ve never seen so much pink anywhere before.

  I look at Neil’s reaction to this and it takes every ounce of control not laugh.

  A middle-aged woman, short and bouncy and over-tanned, comes from the back and pauses at the counter. “Can I help you?”

  “We’d like to get married,” I say.

  She smiles in that duh hidden behind fake politeness sort of way since that’s pretty much all they do here, but she still asks what we want.

  We’re given more papers to fill out.

  I watch as Neil labors over the forms.

  “Why does everything take so much paperwork?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer. He’s concentrating. I stare into the glass case I’m leaning against. Shit, they think of everything here. Rings. They even sell rings here. Your one-stop marital shop. I note a sign on the wall. Crap, you can even get a divorce, too.

  My gaze anxiously moves around the chapel. God, it’s tacky here. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I’m being lame and not spontaneous and romantic.

  I lean into Neil and bring my lips close to his ear. “We don’t have rings.”

  He shakes his head. He continues to write. “I don’t have a ring. You do.”

  My eyes widen, and he smiles into my questioning gaze, hands the required papers and our licenses to the clerk and pays.

  OK, why so secretive, Neil?

  A registry of some kind is shoved under my face. The lady points at a line. “Sign here.”

  After we finish signing, the clerk goes into the back for the justice of the peace.

  “What do you mean I have a ring?” I ask.

  Neil reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “You’re a size six ring finger, right?”

  I nod, alertly watching as he rummages in his wallet for something.

  “I’m glad I got it sized right. No chance to fix it now.”

  I try to see what he’s grabbing and he makes little motions so I can’t. He starts lowering to a knee.

  Tears sting behind my lids.

  “I’ve been carrying this for six months,” he says. “If you don’t like it, we can get something else. It was my grandmother’s wedding band. My mom wanted me to have it for you.”

  I don’t want to cry, but I can’t stop it.

  “Christian Parker, will you marry me?”

  ~~~

  A strange sound pulls me from sleep. There is a moment of confusion before my eyes lock on the tacky Vegas strip hotel room, and I wonder where Neil is, and why there is the sound of sloshing water near the bed.

  Then I see Neil. There are candles all through the room, surrounding that ridiculous Jacuzzi tub that for some reason isn’t in the bathroom. He is sitting in the center, the champagne we didn’t drink at dinner and two glasses resting on the tile edge.

  I laugh at the nonsensical picture he makes and rub the sleep from my eyes. “How long have you been up?”

  He smiles at me, his eyes lustrous and mildly dissipated at once. I flush. That was a poor choice of words.

  “We have an early plan tomorrow,” he says, filling the champagne glasses. “I thought we should probably use the tub before we’re out of here. We’ve never done it before in water.”

  I watch him rise, comfortable in his long-limbed body. He’s a gorgeous guy. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time, or maybe differently now that I know he really is mine. No wonder all the girls at CAL were crazy over him. He is fucking gorgeous.

  He leans in, claiming my mouth with his. His tongue dances with my own, bringing my senses fully awake. He eases back. Against my lips, he says, “I love you, Mrs. Stanton.”

  The look in his eyes. The way he says that. That he wants to say that overwhelms me.

  He scoops me up from the bed and carries me to that obscene tub. It’s suddenly absolutely perfect. There is a beautiful view through the wall of glass. Lights twinkling at night can make any city look beautiful, even Vegas.

  I watch him, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, as he lowers me into the water and then against him. His long-boned fingers start to roam my flesh as his lips return to mine. His head dips toward me, his lips a teasing presence on my neck, his hands a knowing glide across my flesh. I watch him move across my body, kissing and touching and cherishing me. He lifts me up, bringing me down to glove his erection. His mouth is greedily working at my breast. His cock is hard in my body, moving with delicious intensity. Fully filling me. His fingers are stroking me wondrously.

  I wrap my limbs tightly around him and melt into his touch. I can’t recall a time I’ve ever been this happy or felt this consumed by Neil.

  ~~~

  We are dangerously close to missing our plane.

  I stare at Neil’s long fingers holding mine as we run down the ramp toward the waiting plane. I’m struggling to keep pace with Neil.

  “Hurry up, Chrissie. If we miss the plane we’ll miss Jack’s party. We should have left last night.”

  “I didn’t want to leave last night. And I’m trying to hurry, but I have to take two steps for each one of yours. And you fucked all the energy out of my legs.”

  He pulls me against him. “You want to start a family right away, that’s how you do it. Marathon fucking.”

  I flush, hoping that no one near us heard that, and then crinkle my nose since marathon fucking isn’t the least bit romantic of a phrase.

  Jeez, why are guys such jerks at times?

  Before I can stop him, Neil has my black bag under an arm and is lifting me in the air to set me on his shoulder.

  “Put me down, Neil. This is humiliating.”

  “We’re not going to make it at your speed.”

  He carries me at a jogging pace to the boarding gate. He is panting by the time we reach it. He helps me slide down to the floor, but his strong arm keeps me close against him. He is kissing my neck, my hair, and pushing me forward in line with the lower part of his body.

  Yuck, we are being watched, even stared at. I try to pull away and Neil holds me in place.

  “You have to excuse us. We just got married,” Neil says loudly, to no one in particular.

  I flush, embarrassed, but suddenly people all around us are smiling. Somehow he manages to kiss my neck, hand the boarding passes to the attendant and continue the gentle massage of his lower body pushing me forward.

  We run down the ramp, barely onto the plane before the door shuts, and drop into our seats.

  Once we’re in the air, I curl into Neil, and put my cheek against his shoulder.

  “I don’t want to tell my dad we got married during the party. I want to wait until tomorrow, OK?”

  Neil gives me an exasperated look. “You should have called Jack before, like I told you to. It might have been picked up by the wire services. He might already know. We should tell him when get there.”

  Crap, I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Today, but after the party. Privately. Not surrounded by people.”

  He gives me the look, the Chrissie is being confusing and a pain look, but he nods and sets back his head, closing his eyes.

  “I don’t want to stay at the party very long,” I add. “And I definitely don’t want to stay at my dad’s house. Let’s get a room down by the beach.”

  “Fine, Chrissie.”

  I kiss him on the jaw and close my eyes.

  Ninety minutes later, we’re in the Santa Barbara Airport terminal, grabbing our bags and rushing for the rental car counter.

  Once we’re on the road, I grab my black bag and freshen up my makeup in the visor mirror. I shove my stuff back into the bag as we pass beneath the black metal arch of Hope Ranch.

  I turn to face Neil. “Do I look OK?”

  “You’re beautiful, Chrissie. You always look beautiful.”

  We pull into my dad’s driveway and are stopped by a valet. Shit, there are a ton of cars here, valet parking and people everywhere. Jack went all out for the foundation fundraiser this year.

  A guy in a red vest and black pants taps
on our window. Neil rolls it down.

  “You can’t park in the driveway,” he says.

  I lean across Neil and stare at the valet. “Can you move that barrier so we can park in the garage? This is my house. I’m Christian Parker.”

  The guy flushes, embarrassed, and pulls back the sawhorse blocking the driveway. We park and climb from our seat.

  I take in a deep breath. “We made it. We’re here.”

  Neil laughs, lying his arms on my shoulders. “God, you are crazy today. What’s up with that?”

  “This is a really big thing for my dad. He doesn’t do parties. He does one party a year to raise money for the foundation. The inner city music programs were my mom’s work. I think it’s Jack’s way of making everyone remember my mother. It’s important to him. He was really upset I didn’t come last year.”

  Neil’s face grows sweetly sympathetic. “Then I’m glad we made it in time for the party, too. And I won’t mention we got married, though I want to. And I won’t try to maneuver you into a bedroom during the party to make love to you today.” His eyes do a rakish once-over of me. He grins ruefully. “Nope, won’t do that either, even though you are wearing that little black dress that drives me insane.”

  He takes my hand and I’m laughing as we rush to the front door.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I sit on a white-cushioned rattan couch, part of one of the intimate groupings scattered all across the lawn. Everywhere there are people, a band on the stage, long buffet tables and bars, lawn lights lit, and fire pits near the seating to heat up the misty air of early evening rolling inland from the Pacific.

  It’s a magnificent party. Jack went all out this year. He was so happy when he spotted us crossing the lawn, his magnificent blues twinkling. He cut out of the circle around him to immediately trot across the grass to give me a hug. It made me smile that he hugged Neil, too.

  I take a sip of champagne from the flute dangling from my fingertips, and my gaze rests on Neil. He’s enjoying this party almost as much as Jack is. We’ve been sitting with the Delmos, laughing and talking for four hours.