Three and a Half Weeks

by Lulu Astor

Diana plasters a smile on her tanned face as Faith pats Ella’s shoulder. “I’d love to help, if you need any advice. I especially love choosing bridal gowns.” Her hint is weighted with iron and drops down on Ella with a thud.

  “Of course you’re welcome to tag along, Mrs. Blackmon, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, I’d love to! And please call me Faith. When are we going?”

  Fortuitously, Ian returns to rescue her. He comes up behind her and wraps both of his arms around her small waist. “Is my mother torturing you about wedding details yet?”

  “Ian!” Faith admonishes her son, “I do not torture people. I was just offering my soon to be daughter-in-law my assistance if it’s desired.”

  Chuckling, Ian takes one arm from Ella to swing around his mother’s shoulder. “Only kidding, Mom. I’m sure Ella will appreciate all the help she can get.”

  “Yes, that’s true, Faith. My mother lives out of state so her help will be limited thus, I’d be thrilled to have you around. Thank you for offering.”

  “Shall we head home, Ella? We can draw up a guest list tonight and our parents can do theirs and then we’ll put them together so we can get an idea of the number of guests.”

  Eager to get away from all these women who covet Ian, Ella quickly agrees. “I’m just going to visit the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  On her way back from the bathroom, she passes what looks like a study, in a décor dominated by masculine tones. Inside the open door are Zoe, Kaylie, and Sarah. Kaylie is speaking in a loud whisper and Ella can hear almost everything she’s saying.

  “… kidding? Why is Ian doing this… marrying her? Do you think she’s pregnant? I mean, since when is Ian the marrying kind anyway? He wouldn’t marry me and we were very much in love.”

  “Just because Ian wouldn’t marry you doesn’t mean he’s not the marrying kind, Kaylie. He must love Ella.” That was Zoe; Ella could hug her right about now. “And exactly when were you and my brother very much in love? I somehow missed that relationship.”

  “Ella is charming. I can totally see why Ian would fall for her.” This time it’s Sarah sticking up for her.

  “Some friends you two are.” Kaylie sniffs dramatically. “Personally, I don’t think she’s nearly good enough for our Ian.”

  Zoe snorts. “Our Ian? Since when does he belong to all of us?”

  “Oh, pish posh, he’s always been ours. He’s your brother, for God’s sake, Zoe. Don’t you feel proprietary over him?”

  “No, I hate him, as every normal girl hates her brothers. He tortured me when I was young. Let me tell you, I won’t forget…”

  Ella steps quietly away before she gets caught eavesdropping and goes to rejoin Ian. He’s in the middle of what looks like a heated conversation with Diana Benson. As soon as he spots his fiancée, he smiles and steps away from Mrs. Benson.

  “Ready?”

  “Yes. Let’s say our goodbyes to your parents.”

  “Oh,” Faith cries, “you’re leaving already? Ella, please call me this week and let me know details about your shopping trip. Okay?” She pulls Ella into an embrace.

  “Absolutely. And thank you for a wonderful lunch and even better company. It was lovely meeting Ian’s family.”

  “Ditto,” Trevor says, joining their little group. “We’re very happy you’re joining our family, Ella. Welcome.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Blackmon.”

  “You don’t need to be so formal. You can just call me Your Royal Highness.” He winks and grins, one side of his mouth going up in a crooked smile.

  Ella smiles back. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just use the salutation of King?”

  “You know, maybe that would be best,” Trevor replies with a twinkle in his eye. “After all, I am king of my castle, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t be too sure, Dad. This house has a strong queen; I don’t think there’s room for a king.” Ian winks at his mom.

  On the way home, the interior of the fast sports car is quiet. Neither of them want to discuss the day or more specifically the two women who obviously held some claim on Ian in the past. What Ella couldn’t understand is why Faith invited them if she knew they were involved at one time? Sooner or later, they’d have to broach the subject but right now she wasn’t feeling up to it—her feelings of resentment were too fresh.

  When they get to the house, by mutual agreement, they decide to take a nap and end up sleeping until nine that night, which left little time to do much else so they decide to actually do their guest list. When they’re done, there are nearly two hundred people who absolutely must be invited.

  Ian looks at Ella: “This is going to be a big wedding. You know that right?”

  “Unless we elope?”

  “Our parents would kill us.”

  “Not necessarily. By the way, am I still required to have a bodyguard?”

  “For now, yes. Until I resolve the Natasha thing… Okay?”

  Wearily she nods. “If you say so.”

  Monday. The day is dragging on interminably: meeting after meeting. It’s an endless cycle but no one seems capable of making an independent decision; they all need bloody handholding. Rushing from one fire to the next, he didn’t even have any time to dwell on the big news of the day: the information his surveillance team relayed to him this morning.

  Ian sighs, running his hand through his disheveled hair. He needs to get a haircut soon. Over the weekend, he and Ella called her parents and then went to Laurel Hill to tell his parents about their engagement and upcoming nuptials. That was a fiasco. How his mother unknowingly managed to invite not one but two of his former lovers, he doesn’t know. Ella was nervous enough about meeting his parents—she’d called it the den of lions. She’d really come close since she’d actually stepped into one with Diana Benson being present, not to mention the whining Kaylie. Now the circus will begin: he knows that once his mother sinks her teeth into it, there’ll be no stopping her. Poor Ella, he thinks. She doesn’t know what’s coming. The wheels very much in motion, they were going to be busy for the foreseeable future.

  “Mr. Blackmon?” Janine’s voice comes through clearly over the speaker.

  “What is it, Janine?”

  “I have a call from Daniel Butler on line three, sir.”

  He smiles. Janine using the term of respect reminds him of the first night he met Ella; when she called him sir, life as he knew it was all over. Of course, coming from Janine, it was merely annoying. “Put it through, please. Daniel?”

  “Ian.”

  “Any news?”

  “Confirm that you’re alone and we’re not on speaker.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Are your people still watching the subject?”

  “Yes, but as I told you, she was grabbed earlier today and there’s been nothing since. Do we know who snatched her and why? It wasn’t the operative: he just arrived in Portland about an hour ago.”

  “I do know. Now I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think very hard before you answer. Do you really want to know her fate?”

  Ian takes a moment to think about it, as Daniel advised. If he didn’t know, wouldn’t it be better? If she were dead, he’d feel guilt over it; there was no doubt about that. If she were alive, he might still have cause to worry or continue the op.

  However, not knowing was unacceptable to a logical mind. He needed to know, despite the consequences. Taking a fortifying breath, he answered his friend. “Yes, Daniel, I want to know.”

  “Okay, then, Ian. Here it is: Natasha Yenin is on her way to Saudi Arabia to become the sixth wife of an important sheik. Well, technically not a wife—more of a concubine, so I understand. He happens to like tall blonds. She will not have access to travel, means of communication, or any autonomy at all for a very long time, until, as he phrased it, she’s fully ‘reconciled’ to her new situation.” He promises she will not be harmed to any extent that will endanger her life or scar her body. He merely wants her to be trained to provide
him pleasures that his Arab wives cannot be asked to provide due to religious strictures.

  “Her uncles continue to lie low. Right now, they are living in Chechnya. There is no price on your head, anywhere that we could find. You are free to live your life and have some fun for a change. How’s that for an update?”

  Ian is stunned into silence, trying to process his feelings about what Daniel just described to him. “Were you behind this new venture for Natasha?”

  “The concept did not originate with me, no. I was enlisted to assist in the execution, so in that respect it was a joint effort and one I’m hoping my wife never hears about. The whole idea made me squeamish but I thought it might be the best outcome for Natasha while keeping you and your family safe.”

  “Joint between you and…?”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “Phillips?”

  “That’s the one. Surprised me with how fiendishly clever he actually is. He’s relieved he lost the brothers, too, and plans to remain in the U.S. as much as possible so they can’t reconnect with him anytime soon. Turns out he’s actually a nice guy who was being influenced by rotten people.” He pauses for a second. “He genuinely cares about Ella and wants her to be safe and happy.”

  “Good, as long as he keeps his distance.”

  Daniel laughs. “If anyone understands your position, it’s me, Ian. Before I met Olivia, I couldn’t understand what jealousy was all about, never felt it myself. Ever. Now, I find I cannot even approach reasonable, rational thought and behavior where my girl is concerned. I know I drive her crazy on occasion… but it is what it is.”

  “Ditto. By the way, we received your wedding invite and we will be there. I believe Ella already sent in the RSVP.”

  “Great. We’ll share a toast together in honor of Ms. Yenin’s new marriage.”

  “Make it DP: that’s her favorite bubbly.”

  “We’ll have to drink her share since she won’t be imbibing anytime soon. Saudi Arabia is a dry country, of course. There’s always opium, however.”

  “There you go.”

  “Glad this is worked out, for now. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  “Before you go, Daniel, tell me how this arrangement went down. How would our boy Lucien know the kind of people who would… facilitate this type of thing?”

  “Lucien’s neighbor in his Paris flat arranged it, a man by the name of Michel Rimbaud, like the poet. I’m quite sure it’s not even close to his actual name. Lucien said he specializes in this specific transaction and does not appreciate being labeled a human trafficker. Claims he prefers the title of marriage broker. Anyway, he handled the entire matter, including the delicate matter of transportation, and from what I hear, almost all of the parties involved are extremely satisfied. All but one, so he tells me.”

  “Yes, I can take a wild guess as to who that one party might be. All right then. I need time to acclimate myself to this resolution. Thanks, Daniel, for everything. I’ll be in touch.”

  Ian disconnects the call and returns the phone to his jacket pocket. Leaning all the way back in his ergonomic chair, he groans and covers his face with both hands. “Fuck, what am I going to tell Ella? What will she think of this turn of events?

  Contemplation, however, is not to be his lot this afternoon. No sooner did he ask the room that question, did his buzzer tear into the quiet of his office. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Haddad on line two, Mr. Blackmon.”

  “Haddad?”

  “Yes, from Saudi Arabia. He mentioned a recent purchase he made through one of your subsidiaries?”

  Ian’s heart begins to accelerate as his brain connects the dots. “I’ll take the call, Janine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Blackmon?” Ian Blackmon?” The voice is urbane with just the barest trace of an accent.

  “Yes, this is Ian Blackmon. How may I help you?”

  “Mr. Blackmon, my name is Khahil Haddad and I am the man who made a purchase through one of your subsidiaries in the past week. I wanted to contact you to inform you that the product arrived in perfect condition and I am most pleased.”

  “Were you asked to contact me when the shipment was received?”

  “No, but names of involved parties are exchanged to ensure that everyone adheres to the stipulations of the agreement. I was also informed of some of the possible downsides to the product at the time of purchase. I wanted to at least provide you with a small measure of peace of mind, sir. You may not be aware, but you and I actually have done business together in the recent past.”

  “Can you elucidate?”

  “I purchased an energy company through one of my Japanese firms. I was given a most handsome price and I hold your business ethics in high esteem accordingly. The firm was in very good standing and all the books were in order. I appreciate honest businessmen, sir.”

  “Thank you for calling. I just learned about the… sale and I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about it. You may or may not know but I was not directly involved in either the decision to sell nor the execution of the resulting transaction.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Blackmon: this is a win-win transaction. Normally, I wouldn’t consider Russian-made products but this one is exceptional. I suspect that all parties will eventually be satisfied, bar none, if you understand my meaning.”

  “Yes. I believe I do and sincerely hope that is the case. I am not a vindictive man; however, I would like to pursue my life without… complications.”

  “Please do not concern yourself on that point. I have everything well contained. I wish you a good day, Mr. Blackmon.”

  “And I you, Mr. Haddad. Thank you.”

  “It is I who should thank you. Goodbye, sir.”

  Chapter 50

  In a sumptuously appointed room devoid of any vibrant color, the oversized ebony-framed cheval mirror reflects an astonishing image: my face on a slender body with a waistline too tiny to be real… yet it is real and it is mine, squeezed into nothingness by a white satin corset, which is part of the dress. I chew my lip, trying to decide if I could bear the pain of the garment for hours on end. It always comes down to the same thing: how much pain I’m willing to bear for the sake of one man. I would chuckle if I weren’t in such a cantankerous mood.

  “Oh, Ella, that is magnificent, so Jane Austen-ish,” Mariah exclaims.

  “Stop using words like magnificent so early in the game or the decision will be far worse than it would be otherwise,” I snap at poor Mariah, and then look over to my future mother-in-law. “What do you think, Faith?”

  The older woman claps her hands together, apparently delighted just to be in the bridal salon with us. “Vera Wang is my absolute favorite wedding gown designer but I do like this one. It’s very demure. And it looks marvelous on you, Ella. A British designer, you say?”

  I nod. The designer is up and coming, so says Madame Xavier who runs the salon. Like Faith, I much prefer Vera Wang’s designs, too. In the first group of five gowns I’ve selected to try on, two are Ms. Wang’s creations.

  “Ella, I’ve taken a photo of this one. Bring on the next,” my forgiving friend says. I’ll make up my snarkiness to her for sure. I’m still working on pairing her up with the brawny Mason. All that muscle to manhandle has to be worth some bitchiness from her best friend.

  “Okay,” I mumble, pivoting around to return to the dressing room. Because the salon was almost completely booked for the next six weeks, I had to take whatever opening Madame Xavier had available, and it fell on a day of the month when I’m bloated, uncomfortable, and massively cranky. Yes, I could have used Ian’s name to throw my weight around… or even mention that I’m a bestselling author, but I generally choose not to exercise that kind of obnoxious clout.

  Contributing to my overall dissatisfaction is the fact that Ian is in DC on a business trip. He wanted me to come and I wanted to accompany him but I had this freaking appointment. Something is going on with Ian and it’s causing p
roblems between us. It reminds me of the beginning of our relationship, the second beginning, I should clarify, when we held back and kept secrets from one another. Since we began to be brutally honest—the day I returned from my drugged ordeal with Lucien—our relationship has fared so much better. There’s less tension and far less domination tendencies by Ian. I hope we’re not regressing.

  Ian wants me to continue life with a bodyguard and I don’t want to have that yoke around my neck. He claims that the thing with Natasha is over but he won’t tell me exactly how. I don’t understand what he’s keeping from me nor why. A showdown between us is imminent.

  After trying on all five of the first batch and being wowed by none, I select a second group of four. The first one she hands me is a dress by a young American designer named Janey Sinclair. The dress is a simple satin shift. It’s strapless, hugs the body almost indecently and covers from breast to mid-thigh. Over the satin shift is a gossamer tulle overlay with a taffeta skirt. It is a full gown and flares out from a vee just below the waistline. The bodice is much more demure than the shift though completely see-through: it has a gentle scoop neckline and three-quarter sleeves. It is an ethereal beauty that enhances my figure and yet feels comfortable in motion. As I step out of the dressing room, I see jaws drop and I’m pretty sure I’ve found my gown.

  When the right one comes along, you just know it.

  My alarm goes off at eight the next morning. Last night I let Mariah talk me into an all-night drunk. Inside my head were a hundred miniature tap dancers, shuffling off to Buffalo on my vodka-soaked brain. As soon as I got home, I threw myself into bed, eschewing even the basic ministrations of teeth brushing and face washing. Sometime during the night, my phone rang and I missed a call from Ian.

  Today I’m supposed to meet an old friend who’s visiting Portland for just a few days. I mentioned it to Ian—what I “forgot” to mention was that this old friend happens to be of the male persuasion. Why ruffle his feathers for no good reason?

  I sit up, rub my eyes, stand up to stretch, and gasp so loudly I nearly choke on my own spit… for leaning against our bedroom wall is a tall, seething man—mine to be specific. His posture is defensive, slightly slouched with arms folded across his chest, and I can see anger flaming in his gray-blue orbs. That’s the thing with his eyes: they’re basically clear so they absorb any hue or color of environment or emotion.