Making Waves

by Laura Moore

  Max nodded. “Dakota Hale.”

  “As your principal beneficiary.” He cocked his head. “Hale,” he said. “Wasn’t your house in the Hamptons owned by Elliott Hale?”

  “That’s correct. She’s his niece.”

  “I see. Well, this is a straightforward change. Your father was the principal beneficiary before. Would you like to leave him anything in the new will?” he asked.

  “Yes. Ten million.” Though his father would reject that, too. Max had already attempted to win his forgiveness before with gifts. Every check he’d mailed had been returned to his bank. Pretty clear, as messages went. “If my father predeceases me, however, I’d like that sum to be divided among the other bequests.” He’d left money to UPenn, to cancer research, and to the Detroit Museum of Art, which Rosie had always loved visiting.

  He waited while Roger finished entering his notes on his computer. One of the things he liked about Roger was how thorough he was. Few details escaped him, his connecting Dakota with Windhaven a case in point. “I’d also like to include a trust fund for my child.”

  Roger frowned. “Why not wait until—”

  Time to drop the next bombshell. “Dakota’s due at the end of August. If I die before the baby arrives, I want to make sure the trust is in place.” Many might deem him paranoid to be imagining his death when he was a healthy male in his mid-thirties, but Max knew too well that death came like a thief in the night.

  “A child.” Roger cleared his throat. “Well, my sincere congratulations to you both.”

  Max inclined his head. “Thanks. You have three, right? Kids, I mean.”

  With a smile, Roger gestured at the picture frames lining the window ledge to Max’s left. “Aaron, Leah, and Rachel.”

  Max made himself look at the pictures he’d always ignored. “So, Aaron—he’s what, nine?”

  “That’s right. A huge Mets fan.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Roger laughed. “I like to think that being a Mets fan is character-building. I’m taking him to Florida to see them practice during spring training. It’ll be our first trip alone together.”

  Max thought of the tiny blob he’d seen on the monitor and how one day it would be old enough to have a favorite baseball or football team and obsess about stats, and he tried not to panic.

  “So, Max, with regards to the will, I can get it drawn up by our trusts and estates guy and have it ready to sign by tomorrow.”

  “Great.”

  “You and Dakota might want to discuss whom to name as guardian for your child,” he said.

  “I think we’d both be comfortable asking Alex Miller. I’ll get back to you as soon as I’ve talked with Dakota and him.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He began to rise from his chair, already calculating how long it would take to stop off at Tiffany’s when Roger spoke.

  “Max, one more thing.”

  He eased back down in the chair and raised an inquiring brow.

  “As your general counsel, I feel a responsibility to ask. Have you broached the topic of a prenup with Dakota?”

  “A prenup?” He shook his head. “No.”

  “You’re a very wealthy man, Max. It would be in your best interest to draft one. The agreement doesn’t have to penalize Dakota, but it would protect you. To marry without one would be to leave you exposed. With the right divorce lawyer, she could take you to the cleaners.”

  What Roger said might be true. But the memory of Dakota’s stricken expression when he’d accused her of using the pregnancy to get at his money was still vivid in Max’s mind. What he’d said shamed him, and his only excuse was that he’d been in a blind panic at the thought of a baby, of his being responsible for another person. He wouldn’t have that excuse now, however, were he to present Dakota with a prenup that coldly set out the division of his wealth and holdings should they go their separate ways. It would mean that once again he’d introduced money into the discussion. She would undoubtedly think he still suspected her of being after as much of it as she could get her hands on.

  Dakota would sign the agreement; she knew how the world worked. But with the prenup between them, the chance of their fragile relationship succeeding would be that much slimmer.

  “That may be true, Rog,” he conceded. “But I’m going to have to take the risk.” He’d have to trust her.

  “Max, please,” Roger said. “Please think this through more carefully. How well do you know her?”

  “Well enough to know that she’s entering this marriage only because I urged her to and because she wants what’s best for our child. The only thing I have is money, Roger. If we divorce and she ends up wanting the lion’s share, well—” He broke off to shrug philosophically. “It won’t be the first bet I’ve lost.”

  It would only be the most important.

  —

  Dakota was waiting outside the town hall, her shoulders hunched inside her shearling coat, her chin and lips covered by her scarf, when Max arrived. She watched him stride up the walkway, listened to the crunch of the ice melt that had been scattered along the cement, and fought a sense of unreality. She was going to wake up any second and be the Dakota she knew.

  “I didn’t keep you waiting?” he asked when he reached her. She was acutely aware that he’d stopped a good two feet away and hadn’t attempted to kiss her. A handshake would have hardly been more awkward.

  She shook her head and tugged her scarf down. “I had some things to do in town.” An emergency haircut and manicure, her first stab at looking somewhat less pitiful.

  “You ready, then?” His tone was neutral.

  She could say no. She could walk down that path, get back in her car, and have a different life. He would still be a father to her child. She wasn’t even completely sure she wanted more from him. But as she looked at him, looked past the handsome features, she saw something that made her heart ache. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  He held her gaze a second longer, as if he, too, was searching for something. She wondered if he’d found it. “Okay, then.”

  She turned toward the entrance.

  “Dakota, wait.”

  Something lodged in her windpipe at the sudden notion that maybe he’d thought better of it, had recognized how insane they were to be taking this next step. She turned back mutely.

  “Here.” In his hand was a small box. He opened it, and a diamond reflected the winter light. “Even the shortest engagement in history should be marked by a ring, right?” he said quietly.

  She stared at it, the lump in her throat exponentially larger.

  “The design of the two small bands—the jeweler said the way they’re studded with smaller diamonds is called pavé—encircling the round diamond in the center reminded me of a wave, so I thought you might like it. Tiffany’s will be happy to exchange—”

  “No. It’s beautiful.” She looked up, blinking rapidly to stem the betraying tears. “Thank you, Max.”

  He took the ring out, and she hurriedly pulled off her glove. Deliberately he slid it on her finger, and for a second they both stared at her hand.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Let’s go get that license.”

  —

  In the Hamptons, it took less time to get a marriage license than to obtain a beach parking permit. Fifteen minutes later, she and Max walked out of the town hall, the inside pocket of Max’s suit jacket holding the completed form that had been duly witnessed by a bored-looking clerk.

  “Do you want to go somewhere and talk? Are you hungry?” he asked as they walked toward the parking lot. “Then maybe we can go look at wedding bands.”

  “Sure.” She glanced at her left hand, still stunned at her engagement ring’s beauty, at Max’s thoughtfulness. “Why don’t we go to Babette’s? It’s on Newtown Lane.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen it. Meet you there.”

  Life in the off-season meant that parking spots actually existed and tables at popular restaurants didn’t require advance reservat
ions. The server led them to a corner table and, since the restaurant was half empty, took their order promptly.

  When the server returned with their food and drinks, Max took a huge bite out of his cheeseburger and then a healthy swallow of his beer. Dakota ate her omelet more cautiously and made sure to nibble on her toast between forkfuls.

  It didn’t take long for Max’s burger to disappear. He attacked the mound of sweet potato fries next. “So you mentioned conditions the other night.”

  Dakota set down her fork and took a sip of water. “Yes.”

  She should have blurted out everything at once when they’d talked on the telephone, she thought. Then all this would be behind them and not another set of hurdles to negotiate. But then again, maybe this was what marriage was all about.

  If so, she had to begin as she meant to go on. “First of all, I’d like to contribute as much as I can financially to our expenses.”

  His hand hovered over a fry. “You know that’s not necessary.”

  “It is. I meant what I said about not being after your money, Max. I’m working out a budget so that I’ll know roughly how much I can afford to chip in and still cover operating costs for Premier Service. Plus, if we’re living together, I can rent my house and bring in some revenue there.”

  “Okay. We can talk more once we have your budget finished and I see your figures.”

  “Second, I need to be able to surf. I noticed how you reacted at Dr. Davis’s,” she continued more gently. “I promise I won’t take my board out when the waves are dicey.”

  “And you won’t go out alone. I’ll come with you.”

  “But what if you’re working or traveling on business? Or what if I just need to get out on the water? It’s where I go to find my balance, Max.”

  He looked like he wanted nothing more than to shut down the conversation. “Then you’ll have to make sure one of your surf buddies is with you.”

  “That’s like having a babysitter.”

  “You’ve talked about what you need, Dakota. This is what I need.”

  He was right, she thought with an inward sigh. She couldn’t be the one making demands and be totally unwilling to compromise. She gave a small nod. “All right, I can do that.”

  “Next?”

  “Oh!” she said, taken aback. Somehow she’d expected him to belabor the point. But then it occurred to her how much he must detest revealing any vulnerability. She scrambled for the list she’d mentally organized and realized she’d covered the most pressing items. “Other than us sleeping apart—”

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten that one.” He picked up his beer and took a slug.

  She blushed. “Well, then that’s all.”

  “And the separate beds? Is there a time frame we’re looking at?”

  She glanced down at her knotted hands and resisted fiddling with her ring. “Yes, I suppose so. But I’m not exactly sure what it is. I know we’re getting married. And obviously there’s a physical attraction between us. But I just need to feel right about our being together again. Because this is different.” She looked up and knew her expression must be imploring him to understand. “Okay?”

  “Yeah.” He pushed his plate aside. “Okay.”

  “Thank you. Max—” she began again, but soon fell silent. She hated how awkward this was.

  He cocked his head. “What?”

  “With how quickly we’ve been moving to make the marriage official, I realize you might not have had enough time to draw up a prenup. I’d understand if you’d feel more comfortable with one in place to protect your assets.”

  For the first time since she’d seen him today, the ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “My firm’s general counsel would like you. He spent a good portion of our meeting this morning trying to convince me of the necessity of having one.”

  “He failed?” She didn’t hide her surprise.

  “My gut told me it would be a lousy way to start this marriage. I decided it would be better if I simply trusted you not to take all my worldly goods.”

  She shook her head and laughed softly.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, his own smile growing.

  “Piper told me I was a fool not to insist on a prenup and that without one, you’d divorce me and leave me high and dry. That’s a direct quote.”

  “Ah. So would you like a prenup as added security?”

  “No, because I trust you.”

  Something flickered in his eyes. He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers, squeezing it lightly. “How about we prove them wrong? Shall we give it a try?”

  “I’d like that. And Max, there’s something else. Would you be all right with my taking your name? I’ve decided I’d much rather be a Carr than a Hale.”

  Maybe Martin Geller, the county clerk who’d agreed to officiate at their wedding, was as moved by the sight of Dakota in a figure-skimming cream knit dress as Max was. Geller, a pallid, balding guy with a paunch that spoke of too many hours behind the desk of his drab office, turned what Max was fairly certain was normally a routine recitation into a flowery speech about Max and Dakota’s love being an inspiration to others and how he hoped it would grow deeper and sweeter with each passing year. He talked about them being helpmates, supporting and encouraging each other on a long and beautiful journey. How they should share both their laughter and their tears along the way.

  Max would have much preferred the abridged, cut-and-dried version. He was fairly certain that Dakota, standing next to him with her hands clasped tightly in front of her, would have, too.

  Geller’s exhortation wasn’t the only thing rattling Max. Dakota smelled amazing. Her perfume was the same one she’d worn on the night of Gen and Alex’s party. With every breath, the scent teased him and jogged his memory, reminding him of the hours he’d spent exploring the valleys and hollows of her body. He hadn’t been with another woman since her—not even when he’d been loaded on New Year’s Eve—wanting only to be with Dakota, hear her cries of need and watch her face as she came. That hadn’t changed.

  And now, to stand so close to her…it was torture.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a discreet cough. Max shifted his gaze from the framed map of Suffolk County hanging on the opposite wall to the clerk’s bespectacled face.

  “Do you have the rings?” Geller asked.

  As Dakota murmured a yes, Max fished the band from his suit pocket.

  Geller waited as they turned to face each other.

  Dakota’s eyes were enormous. He felt himself falling into their dark pools.

  “Max, if you’ll repeat after me: ‘Dakota, I give this ring as token and pledge and as a sign of my love and devotion. With this ring, I thee wed.’ ”

  Dakota’s hand was cold and trembled in his as he spoke the vow. Reaching the word “wed,” he slid the pavé diamond band, a match to her engagement ring, on her finger, and heard her breath catch.

  She’s mine. The thought filled his head and made his heart pound.

  “And now, Dakota, if you’ll repeat after me.”

  Max strained to hear Dakota’s voice over the noise inside him as she took his left hand and pushed the platinum band up the length of his ring finger. It gleamed under the fluorescent light. They’d ended up flying into the city to buy it, the offerings in East Hampton not up to Dakota’s standards.

  When he’d noticed the slight but marked frown on her face as she inspected the men’s rings at the East Hampton jewelry store, he’d taken her aside.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The rings. They’re just not what I want for you.”

  It was funny—he’d expected her to obsess over her band, but it was his own she cared about. “How’s your stomach? Is it up to a helicopter ride? Tiffany’s—”

  She’d brightened. “Yes, Tiffany’s should have a much better selection. We should go there.”

  He made a mental note to get excited about one of the rings at Ti
ffany’s. Otherwise Dakota might decide to scour the city in search of the perfect band. “I’m sure they’ll have what you’re looking for. But you didn’t answer my question about the chopper.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she’d replied stoutly.

  Even at Tiffany’s she’d done a Goldilocks number, studying the width of each ring, comparing flat to rounded surfaces and shiny to matte, while the jeweler patiently brought out tray after velvet-lined tray.

  Max had been touched by her fussiness. It was a side of her he’d yet to glimpse.

  And now the ring that Dakota had selected with such care was on his finger. It felt weighted by more than the dense metal. She didn’t know what he was really like. Would she still want to be with him—

  “And now, Max,” Martin Geller said, “you may kiss the bride.”

  Dakota tilted her head to meet his gaze. She looked nervous and achingly beautiful.

  His lips settled over hers. His pulse quickened as he tasted her soft lips and then lightly traced the seam between them with his tongue. A fierce exultation swept him when her jaw softened and her lips parted and her tongue advanced to meet him in a caressing slide. God, she was hot and so incredibly sweet. His hand tightened about her shoulder, and if Martin Geller hadn’t been standing two feet away, he’d have hauled her close and devoured her, so intense was his need for her.

  But she’d said she needed time.

  With a silent groan, he released her. Straightening, he stared deep into her eyes, where awareness shone bright. So she’d felt the heat, the fierce pull, even in that too-brief kiss. It gave him hope, because the one thing he understood when it came to what was going on between them was the sex. It worked.

  “Congratulations to you both.” Geller was beaming, as if he was stupendously proud of what he’d accomplished in this drab office. “I wish you both great happiness.”

  “Thank you, Martin,” Dakota said, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Yes.” Max shook his hand, then removed an envelope from his pocket and passed it to the clerk. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. My pleasure.” Geller rocked on his heels. “Off on your honeymoon now?”