by Sun Chara
It hadn’t worked before when he’d come home half plastered over a mega deal gone belly up and found his ex strung out and sprawled on his bed. She’d given him some sob story, and like a callow college youth of twenty, he’d believed she wanted a reconciliation.
In the morning, nursing a doozer of a hangover, he stumbled from the bed, only to find she’d hit the road together with his cash and credit cards.
A nightmare revisited.
She’d left him nothing more than a note scribbled with, ‘Thanks for the tip … and the night darling.’
As it turned out, that hadn’t been all …Troy had been the result of that ill-fated night.
Breath constricted in his chest at the thought of his son.
He should have booted her out from the start, but unlike his parents, he wanted to make the marriage work. When he was five, his parents had divorced and he’d been shuffled from relative to relative. At eighteen, he’d tripped out on his own and soon after bumped into Ann. On a reckless dare he married her, and once again everything in his life spiraled out of control.
Castigating himself for being dumped a second time, he’d vowed off women and concentrated on building his business to mega proportions. He’d picked up the high risk loan accounts nobody wanted, and in a few years he’d become a force to reckon with in the global financial playing field.
A growl built in his throat. It had worked.
Until Sensei here showed up at his office four years ago … and made him feel again. That had signaled danger to his controlled lifestyle and so, he’d quickly shipped her off to one of his associates to close the deal on her dojo.
But he’d kept her in the back of his mind, under lock and key, until Troy landed on his doorstep. And then, he had to confront her and his demons.
Every woman is not Ann, the voice in his head insisted. Oh yeah?! Wasn’t Stella setting him up by upping the ante to take him for all he was worth?
Could any woman be trusted?
A muscle boxed his jaw.
Was history repeating itself?
In a heavy mood, Stan stalked from the library and grabbed his coat off the rack in the hallway. He flung open the door, stepped outside and yanked it shut behind him. He walked the grounds; the icy layer of snow grinding beneath his boots, the only sound invading the quiet of nature.
That’s not how he’d meant it to be with this woman. He hoped, no, prayed Stella would understand. A raw sound exploded from him. When had anyone ever tried to understand, be on his side? All had been after what they could get out of him.
He booted pebbles in his path onto the snowbank.
When he was a kid collecting soda cans for pennies, his ‘friends’ were after him for loans. When a gangly teenager, he was followed for what he could deliver intellectually to his classmates. As an adult, women flocked to him for his pocketbook. What made him think Stella would be any different? Hadn’t she agreed to marry him to reap a crafty worded contract and pocket a cool mil?
I’ll do it for the boy. Her words echoed in his brain, and savagely, he shoved them aside. She was hooking him for what she could get— an ace of a one-sided prenup. He’d be smart to remember that.
***
Three days later Stella married the ogre in a small, quiet wedding at the registrar’s office. The guests were Minni, Joe and Fred. Troy, his face alight with excitement, stood next to his father. Stella breathed a sigh of relief; her concern about his reaction had been unfounded.
Not wanting any of her friends to witness this farce of a marriage, she’d kept ‘mum’ about it; except for a quick call to Toronto to tell her parents the news. Her mother had been ecstatic and her two brothers already married with children had whooped it up. The impossible had happened. Stella was getting married.
A whimsical smile brushed her lips. Her father had always told her the man she chose to marry would be worth the wait. Her mouth drooped, and then she forced it back into a semblance of a smile for appearances. What they didn’t know and wouldn’t know, were the conditions of the marriage.
Several hours before the wedding, Stella had returned to her studio with Minni lending motherly support. She dressed in a creme-colored dress with an off-the shoulder neckline trimmed with lace that had hung in her closet for ages, sales tag and all. Since most social events she attended revolved around Martial Arts, she’d had little use for it.
She couldn’t very well get married in a Karate gui, now, could she? A moment of thought, then a grin feathered her lips. And why not?
Her smile dipped. She’d worked too hard to establish herself as a Martial Artist; her gui and black belt signified solid achievement. Keeping her business afloat, made her determined to go through with this travesty. And to retain her sanity, she had to keep work separate from the marriage … had to feel she had her independence.
She wore the sheerest of silk stockings and white, high-heeled pumps. She left her hair loose and it fell like a soft wave about her shoulders.
Just before they left, Minni pushed a bouquet of pink roses into her hands. “Oh, Missy.” Minni had fussed around her like a mother hen. “Mr. Rogers’ not going to know what hit him.”
It was winter but Stella looked like spring. If only she felt as bright and cheerful, she thought, forcing a smile but it belied the sadness in her soul.
***
All too soon, Fred swerved the limo to a stop in front of the downtown building. Butterflies the size of torpedoes bombarded her stomach, and Stella prayed she got through the ordeal. Joe helped her from the car and she clutched his proffered arm like a lifeline. Grinning, he patted her gloved hand and escorted her up the stairs and through the glass doors. Fred and Minni followed close behind. Joe walked her to her future husband’s side, and her step faltered only once.
Unsmiling, Stan stood waiting for her. The white shirt and tie he wore beneath a navy suit did nothing to diminish the distance between them. Yet she was so close to him, his heat brushed her skin, the fresh outdoor scent of his aftershave enveloped her. A blink of his lashes, and he quenched the glint that had lit his eyes upon her approach.
Stella gulped down the hysterical sound rising in her throat. Since all he’d seen her in were oversized clothes and shabby sneakers, she must’ve caught him by surprise dressed in feminine clothes. That or a trick of the light, she reasoned, choking the bouquet between her hands.
When Stan slipped the ring on her finger, she trembled. His touch pierced her frozen shield, his heat charging through her and cracking the ice around her heart. The double ring ceremony had puzzled her, and she’d glanced at him in surprise. He arched an eyebrow, daring her to question it. Then he kissed her, the merest brush of his mouth upon hers, but his hands on her shoulders held her steady. When he stepped away, his eyes held hers for a timeless moment.
Stella blinked the connection away. She was a mass of nerves but no one seemed to notice, seeming to credit her pale face and Stan’s grim look to wedding day jitters.
Finally, the ordeal was over. Stan took her elbow and guided her outside to flashing cameras and showers of confetti.
Troy reached up to kiss her cheek and she hugged him. In a grown-up manner, he turned to his father and shook his hand.
“Throw the bouquet,” someone called.
Shaken from her bemused state, Stella threw the spray of roses over her shoulder. At the howls of laughter, she spun around and joined in. Fred held the flowers in his hands, a sheepish grin on his face.
Soon after, the wedding party celebrated with a champagne lunch at one of Vancouver’s star seaside hotels, The Westin Bayshore Inn. Stella barely swallowed a mouthful of the steak and lobster on her plate. Stan too, ate very little. Troy, however, wolfed down his food with youthful gusto.
Mock marriage, mock honeymoon, Stella thought feeling a little lightheaded … and she’d only had one glass of champagne. She waved good-bye to everyone and reluctantly grasped Stan’s outstretched hand. A jolt shot through her, and she stumbled in her step.
>
“Steady.” Stan gripped her hand tighter and helped her into the front seat of the limo. Troy clambered in back and he slid into the driver’s seat.
After ensuring they were buckled in, he pulled out into the late afternoon traffic on Georgia Street. To an onlooker they must seem the happy family … an anguished sound gurgled in her throat.
“Something wrong?” Stan asked, tone impersonal. He drove by Stanley Park and onto Lion’s Gate Bridge that would get them into North Vancouver and on the road back to the mountain lodge.
Stella shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him and the child. Later, in the privacy of her room, she could let loose and sob her heart out. What had she done? She would have to come to terms with the chaos of her life. But one decision she’d already made. Within days she planned to re-open her studio.
Snowdrifts bordered the road, but the driveway to the lodge was clear. The moment Stan turned into it and ground to a halt, Stella jumped from the vehicle. She was ready to barge through the front door but the ‘Newly Married’ sign decorated with pine boughs, gave her pause.
“Oh my.” Mistiness pressed against her lashes at Minni’s and the guys’ handiwork.
“Thoughtful,” Stan uttered, unlocking the front door.
“Dad, you’re supposed to carry my Sensei mom,” Troy blurted, fidgeting beside him, “over the threshold and kiss her.”
Stella signaled no to Stan with a covert gaze. He, on the other hand, clasped his son on the shoulder and tilted the corner of his mouth in a smile.
“Sounds like a good idea, m’ boy.” He winked at Troy and scooped her up in his arms.
The moment he touched her, awareness ripped through her and she wriggled in his hold.
“The boy,” Stan whispered in her ear.
She opened her mouth to toss him a spicy retort, and he planted a kiss on her parted lips, crossing the threshold.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Rogers,” he whispered, searching deep in her eyes.
“Put me down,” she mouthed, while Troy closed the door behind him.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Rogers,” he mouthed right back, setting her on her feet none too gently.
“Don’t call me that.” She scampered away, his chuckle following her up the stairs and chilling her hot skin.
***
The rest of the day seemed no different from any other. Stan sequestered himself in his study and worked on his accounts. Stella changed into her gui and gave Troy his Karate lesson.
As daylight waned into evening twilight, Troy helped her serve a cozy dinner by the fireside on paper plates. The plates would be fuel for the fire. Was there a hidden meaning in that? She was already in hot water with the ogre with this sham of a wedding. Said ogre was now setting two crystal goblets filled with champagne on the table, the exception to the paper dining decor. But he’d insisted. She’d shrugged, refusing to be drawn into another argument with him. He handed a glass of milk to Troy and one with the bubbly to her.
“May this marriage risk all.” Stan raised his glass, his gaze level with hers.
His words befuddled her brain, but she took a sip, the fizz tickling her nose.
Troy lifted his glass, flicked a champagne drop sliding down the bottle’s neck and licked it off his finger. “Yech!” He made a face.
Stella laughed.
“Enough of that young man,” Stan scolded, but his mouth twitched at the corners. “Go brush your teeth and get to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”
Troy set his glass on the table and jumped up. “Wou…ould it be okay if my new mom came too?”
Stan raised a brow at her.
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll zip up as soon as you’re ready.” She tilted her lips in a secret smile. “I’ll tell you a funny story about a karate kid.”
“Oh, wow!” Troy took a step toward her, but shyness overtook him and he turned away. Seconds later, he hurled back, hugging his father, then Stella. Just as quickly, he dashed out and up the stairs.
“Nice to know he’s happy,” Stan murmured.
“Yes.” Stella nodded and collected the dishes.
“Leave them,” he said. “Tomorrow ’ll be soon enough to begin your wifely duties.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly like it sounds.”
“If you think that I … you … again,” she fumbled with words. “You’re greatly mistaken.”
“Are you inviting me into your bed, Mrs. Rogers?”
Stella glared at him. “I don’t repeat my mistakes, Rogers.”
“That makes two of us.” He glared back at her.
“You’re impossible.” She leaped up and marched to the door.
He shrugged, following her up the stairs to Troy’s room but the child was already asleep.
“Must’ve been exhausted.” He turned to her. “It’s been a long day for you, too, hasn’t it?”
Stella kissed the child’s brow and adjusted the blankets around him.
“Cut out the pretense,” she murmured, heading for the door. “He’s asleep.”
“But you’re not.” He glanced at his son and followed her from the room. “You look worn out. You’d better get to bed.
“Thanks for the thought,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s my intention, going to bed.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’m going to have another look around, lock up and come up and join you.”
Chapter 10
“What?” Stella spun on him. “That wasn’t part of the bargain.”
“But this was.” He tossed an envelope into her hands and sauntered past her downstairs.
She stood transfixed to the spot. The envelope burned her fingers, and she wanted to hurl it back in his face, but it wasn’t quite the time. She pocketed it in case she needed a ‘bargaining chip’. She shut her eyes tight, her heart thudding, her palms moist.
Patience … not one of her virtues.
Just then, she heard him bounding back up the stairs and her eyes flew open, her pulse leaping. She slipped inside her room, shut the door and leaned her head against it. He walked past, but was there a pause in his stride in front of her door or was it her imagination? When she heard his bedroom door open and shut, she breathed a sigh of relief. She flicked on the light switch, blinked at the sudden brightness and turned around.
She gasped. She gaped.
The bed was stripped, the closet empty and her luggage missing. She yanked the door open, marched down the hall and banged on his door.
“Easy there, Mrs. Rogers.” He opened his bedroom door and leaned against the jamb, his arms folded across his chest. “We’ve got all night.” He winked.
Stella opened her mouth to spit a retort, but he caught her wrist, pulling her against his chest. His eyes shackled hers. A tremor ran through her. He swooped down and took her lips in a kiss that shook her equilibrium all the way to her toes.
He lifted his head and brushed her mouth with his thumb. “You were about to say something?”
She knocked his hand away and pressed her fingers to her mouth. Before she could hurl a mouthful of verbal bullets his way, he lifted her into his arms, kicked the bedroom door shut and tossed her on the bed.
“I will not sleep with you, Rogers.” She scrambled off the bed, breath bursting from her mouth. “Where’s my luggage? I want to go to my room.”
He inclined his head toward the closet, and she rushed over, flinging the panels open. Her clothes hung neatly beside his.
“Considerate of Minni, don’t you think?” he said, ever so quietly.
Not bothering to answer, Stella grabbed her two suitcases, threw them open at her feet and tossed her clothes inside. “I have no intention of spending the night with you, now or ever.”
“Never is a long time.” He shifted, standing between her and the door. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to my own bedroom,” she snapped. “This wasn’t part of the d
eal.” She picked up a suitcase and shoved past him. “I’ll be back for the other one.”
“I’ll get it for—”
“No, thank—” She spun around and the case in her hands bumped the one in his and it slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor.
“Now look at what you’ve done.” She glared at him, then at her clothes strewn across the floor.
“Me?” He chuckled, setting the case he held down.
“Must you resort to boardroom tactics when you don’t get your own way?” she flared, tempted to stomp her foot.
His chuckle dissolved into silence. Ominous quiet.
“I’ll not stay here with you.”
“So you said.” His gaze shadowed.
She stooped down and gathered her clothes. “I’ll be on my way.”
“I think not.”
Her head snapped up and she leaped up, hugging the bundle to her bosom. “You can think what you want, but I’ll—”
“We will share a bed tonight and every night.”
“I will not.”
“Then you may use the floor.”
“I will not.”
“You choose. Bed or floor,” he said unflinchingly. “But in this room you will spend your nights with me.”
“I will not!”
“You will, Mrs. Rogers,” Stan said in a voice that brooked no argument. “I will not have my son and my staff wondering why we’re sleeping in separate bedrooms.” He paused, his eyes blue ice in a face of stone. “We will make this appear a normal, happy marriage.”
Her heart hurt and her head ached. Had she made the biggest mistake of her life in agreeing to this charade of a marriage? But for the boy’s sake, she had to try.
“I’ll share the room with you, Rogers, but nothing more.” She dumped her clothes in the open suitcase, thinking the Arctic Ice Cap couldn’t be half as frozen as she felt.
“As you wish.” He swept up a transparent silk and lace undergarment and handed it to her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed the flimsy garment from his hands.
“Helping.”