Resentment boiled up, making my skin hot. “So you don’t care?”
She pulled away. “Of course I care.” She shifted in her seat, watching me closely. “But I’d be thrilled beyond words to become your wife at the courthouse or some cheesy chapel in Vegas, too.”
She was trying, but her words were doing nothing to stave off my irritation. “Okay, so…you’re down for Vegas, then? Wedding performed by Elvis? I hear they have drive-up chapels.”
She made a face. “You know what I mean…or maybe you don’t. I only mean that getting married to you will be the reward in and of itself.” She reached out for my hand, but I pulled it back. “I’m excited, and that’s all I need. You. Me. Some champagne. A person to perform the ceremony. Our loved ones. All the other stuff is extraneous.”
“All the other stuff makes great memories. And pictures, too…”
She wilted into her chair. “Whatever you decide on will be wonderful.”
“So if I decide I’d love to have you walk down the aisle in a chain mail bikini?”
She glared. “You’d better not.”
I finally let out a laugh. Her mouth quirked as she watched me. She seemed to be studying me, as if she’d noticed something for the first time.
“What?” I asked.
She shook her head and shrugged. “Nothing. I had no idea you were so into weddings. I mean, you never seemed to be all that interested in the details of the weddings we’ve attended together.”
“I want this day to be worthy of you.”
Her forehead smoothed suddenly, and she bit her lip. “That…that’s the sweetest thing ever. So thoughtful.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me to her. I returned the hug, landing a light kiss on her neck, relishing the vanilla smell of her skin.
I closed my eyes, reaffirming that vow. It would be worthy of her. It would be my way to show her what she really meant to me, shitty contract or not. If I had to give in to that, then this was something I could control. And hopefully, this epic wedding would help her forget all this other crap—paperwork and contracts that had no place in a wedding and a marriage.
Every time I thought of it, it made my blood boil.
“So tell me what we’re deciding today,” she said after a long pause and a significant look at the binder.
I snatched up a pen to take notes. “I need to know what color palette you like best and how many bridesmaids.”
“Bridesmaids?” She glanced up at me, as if afraid to give me an answer I’d disapprove of. “I was only going to ask one person.”
“Kat?” I pulled out a pencil and pad of paper, ready to take notes.
She fidgeted. “No. Um. Heath.”
I paused, running that through my mind before turning to write it down on the wedding planner’s to-do list. Emilia bent toward me to get a closer peek at the list.
“How do you have time for all this? Is this what you’ve been working on at night when you get out of bed?”
I grinned. “You think I’m cheating on you with the wedding planner’s notebook?”
“I think you’re trying to do her job for her. We are paying her good money.”
I shook my head. “She’s doing her job just fine. But she needs this info from us, and you aren’t replying to her emails.”
She shook her head and glanced away. “Sorry. But…you are looking a little tired and a lot stressed—”
“I’m fine,” I snapped then took a deep breath and ordered myself to calm down. “No offense, but Heath is going to be one ugly-ass maid of honor.”
“He’s the dude of honor. Or maybe we can call him the bride’s bro.” She laughed uncertainly, as if nervous from my outburst. “Think how cute it will be to see Heath and Jordan walk down the aisle together. And cuddling together in all the pictures.”
My mouth twisted. “I haven’t asked Jordan to be best man.”
She did a double take. “Oh? Why not? Who are you going to have? William?”
I shrugged. My cousin was an option, but it wasn’t a job he’d enjoy. He’d do it, though, if I asked him. Shuffling through the pages in the binder, I searched for a way to change the subject while still getting all the info I needed for the wedding plans.
My hand touched on the envelope full of color palettes. Perfect. “The next thing on the list is colors.” I pulled them out of the envelope and laid them on the desk in front of her.
I honestly didn’t give a shit which one she chose. As long as she chose something. Something she loved.
She tore her eyes away from me mid-scrutiny and stared at the color palettes. I pointed to the first card. “This is all jewel tones, four different colors. She says that’s nice and dramatic for a holiday wedding. Or we have something more seasonable—light blue and silver or red and white. Then there’s the all-metallic palette.”
She rubbed her neck, and I swear she almost shrugged. If she had, I would have lost it. But she didn’t. Then she pointed to the last card. “I like the silver and gold. That’s pretty together, and it looks nice for a New Year’s Eve wedding, too. Festive.”
I let out a sigh. Good. She was finally being cooperative. “I liked that one best, too.”
“Great, then let’s go with that one. We all done?”
“Yeah…”
Her grin widened as she stood up. “Okay. I’m going to force you to have fun now. You’re going to be in San Jose for half a week. You owe me fun before you leave and I have to go days without seeing you.”
Emilia grabbed my hands and pulled me out of my chair.
“Fun.” I sneered, just to mess with her as I followed her out of the room and down the hall.
“Yeah, you seem quite allergic these days.” She turned around and walked backward in front of me so she could face me, still holding my hands, as we headed toward the stairs.
I shook my head. “Makes me break out in a horrible rash.”
“Unless the fun is sex.” She laughed. “Then you’re not allergic at all.”
I stopped, breaking our forward momentum. “Sex? That’s a great idea…I wish I’d thought of it.” I towed her along with me toward the bedroom.
“You’re always thinking of it.” She tugged back, laughing.
I pushed forward, swooping up, and pinning her against the wall. Holding her head in place firmly, I kissed her hard. “How’d you know?”
She laughed and pushed me away. “Later. Consider it your reward for going out and spending the day doing something fun with me.”
I followed her down the stairs, aware that though she’d said those words laughingly, there was a spark of truth in them. She thought I required a reward for leaving work and spending time with her. A normal day of aimless fun.
And she’d never once snapped at me, never acted irritated. I winced from the guilt, grimacing at what that must be leading her to think. And I vowed to do better.
Chapter 8
Mia
Adam was due to return home tonight. He’d only been gone three nights and four days. Not as long as some trips, but still. It never failed that we’d fall into a routine of normalcy, and just as quickly, he’d have to pick up and go away. Sometimes to the East Coast, but more often, lately, up to Silicon Valley. The pluses were that it was a short flight and still in the same time zone as me.
Of course, he’d squish two weeks’ worth of work into that four-day stay in Northern California. He ran from meeting to meeting to facility tour to yet another meeting. And if he did catch a meal that wasn’t filled with power lunch meetings or dinner networking, I was in class or lab or study group. We hardly found a moment to Skype or call, apart from the group emails to our wedding planner.
But as I’d told April, we always found a way to stay connected, in spite of how crazy things got.
So this week, we rocked it with text messages.
In some ways, it was like the old days, when we’d first met over chat on Dragon Epoch. I’d send him a text…sometimes about any old rand
om thing. And he might respond immediately, or he might respond hours later.
A normal conversation that would take minutes at home over morning coffee or a wee spot of pillow talk could span a day or more.
Me: I’ve been thinking about pet names. When we’re married, we should have pet names for each other.
Him: What? Really? Like Honey Boo?
Me: Not that one.
And his mobile phone, the instrument with which he conducted business constantly, the device that often distracted him in my presence, became the very vehicle he’d use across the miles to flirt with and tease me.
The irony was not lost on me.
Him: Wifey? Little woman?
Me: Only if you want me to remove your man parts. Painfully.
Him: Ouch. Okay… Your Majesty? Love Bug? Sweet Bumps?
Me: Sweet Bumps? For real?
Him: Okay, maybe not. But they -are- sweet. Your bumps, I mean.
Me: Definitely not Sweet Bumps.
To accept this man into my life, to love this man, was to take him in with his flaws and foibles as well as those qualities that made him the closest match to perfect for me. So, with no other choice, I turned my enemy—his phone—into my ally.
I sent him a headless shot of those very sweet bumps he’d been extolling.
He reprimanded me, as he usually did, whenever I sent him a naughty photo.
“Security lapses, blah blah. Not safe. Blah blah.”
My fiancé was a computer nerd. I’d take the risks because if I wasn’t safe sending him dirty pictures, who was safe?
His answer—predictably—was no one.
He got back to the subject at hand a few hours later when I was in class.
Him: How about I call you Goddess?
Me: Getting warmer.
Him: What will you call me? I suggest Iron Man. I would answer to Iron Man.
Me: Hmmm…
Him: Or RoboCock.
My mouth was full of tea when that text chimed on my phone, hours later, during my study time. I almost sprayed the full contents of my mouth all over my phone screen and my open textbook.
Typical Adam. He’d probably sent that in the middle of some boring think tank meeting.
Me: Dude, No way am I calling you that.
Him: :( No?
Me: Nope…that one, you’ve got to earn.
Him: That’s what our honeymoon is for.
A snappy answer to everything. No wonder we suited each other so well. Which reminded me of another ongoing object of conversation between us. The honeymoon.
Me: And we are going…where?
Him: It’s still a surprise.
Me: You and your secrety secrets. You’re sadistic.
Him: I definitely could be. I’m a billionaire with a troubled past. Isn’t that the perfect recipe for sadistic?
I almost forgot to take his rolled-up t-shirt out of bed before he returned home. Every day, our housekeeper quietly made up the bed and tucked the shirt underneath my pillow. This made it all ready for cuddling purposes the following night. But damned if I was going to let Adam find it again. He didn’t need any more ammunition to tease me with. He did perfectly fine without it.
That afternoon, when I got home from my virology module lab, I plopped down at my desk and stacked my notebooks on the corner. As I’d done every day since Adam had placed Glen Dempsey’s large manila envelope there, I stared at it, wondering if this was the day I’d finally open it up and see what was inside. Would it hurt to look and see what kind of information my half-brother had gathered for me?
I wouldn’t even have to read the personal letter, would I?
Fingers tapped against the sleek marble desktop. The chair squeaked as I fidgeted in it, speculating for the ten thousandth time about what was in there. What was I afraid of?
Ovary up, Mia. Time to be a big girl.
I sat up straight, snatched the envelope, and tore it open before I could fret for another second. The contents of the envelope made it fairly thick. I pulled them out and laid them in a neat stack beside my textbooks. I immediately took the letter, which lay at the top, and turned it facedown before poring over the rest of the stack in order.
It contained not only Glen’s full medical chart, but also that of my father, Gerard. And there were also notes about my two half-sisters.
Under the law, Glen was free to share his own medical information with me. But how had he gotten Gerard’s? I pondered that question only until I noticed Gerard’s signature on the consent form for release of the medical chart. Glen’s father—our father—must have finally consented to give it to me. What had changed his mind? When Mom had informed him of my cancer, he hadn’t budged.
I frowned, scanning through the papers. For his age of sixty, Gerard was a fairly healthy man, with some history of diabetes and heart disease from his father’s side of the family.
When I got to the bottom of the stack, I was stunned to see the results of full genetic testing on Glen—and that of his sisters—along with handwritten notes about what came from their mother and what from their father.
It was a massive amount of information that had probably taken him a great deal of time to collect, collate, and annotate. I knew Gerard’s hadn’t put this information was in my hands.
I was absorbing it all, tapping the stack of papers idly with the eraser tip of my pencil, when I heard the front door open and close downstairs. I set the papers down, laying them carefully so that I wouldn’t lose my place. Then I sprang out of my chair.
Adam took the stairs at his normal breakneck speed, two at a time, and I met him in the hallway outside our bedroom. He dropped his luggage and pulled me into his arms.
“Sweet Bumps,” he said after a long, lingering kiss.
I lost it, laughing. “Don’t even start with me, Drake.”
“I made you laugh, didn’t I?” He scanned my face, as if taking in every inch for the very first time—from my forehead to my chin, from my left ear to my right. I pulled him into another fierce kiss. God. I’d missed him. “And she rewards me with another kiss. It’s good to be the king.”
“I thought you were Iron Man?”
“You can call me anything you want, just don’t call me late to bed—or dinner.”
I grinned—I couldn’t help it. Adam had discovered the secret to keeping me head over heels in love—make me laugh every single day. “Speaking of which, Chef left dinner in the oven. You hungry?”
“Let’s do it.”
We caught up over plates of organic spaghetti squash in creamy pesto sauce with asparagus tips. I told him about the prep work I needed to do for my practicum the next day, and he told me about the latest drama with his IT department and its failing director, Alan. And all the crises he’d had to avert from four hundred miles away. “Are you going to fire him?” I asked, sipping from my glass of sweet red wine.
He shrugged. “Alan has been with me since the beginning. Almost as long as Jordan. His life is a disaster, and that can happen to anyone. But I’ve decided to give him a timeline and some ultimatums. If he doesn’t meet his deadlines, yes, he’s gone.”
“Isn’t that up to the board of directors to decide, though? Can you make that type of decision without them?”
His features darkened, and he glanced away, taking his last bites and cleaning his plate. I frowned at him. Something was up. The way he clenched his jaw, the slight flush at his collar. He looked angry.
I pretended not to notice. I’d wheedle the truth out of him later, sure enough. “Well, I guess you could fire him. You fired Jordan, after all…”
“Did not. He quit when I refused to fire him.”
“Meh. Jordan’s a pain.” I grinned. “Shoulda tried harder.”
We both laughed.
“Guess what?” I asked, once my glass was empty.
His eyes were on the glass in my hand as he laid aside his fork and knife. “Hmm. Let’s see…you want another glass of wine?”
“No.”
>
“You are feeling super horny after that glass of wine?” His dark eyes danced with humor and, maybe, a little hope.
I stuck my tongue out at him. “You wish.”
He smirked. “So what am I guessing, then?”
“I finally cracked open that envelope of Glen’s.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, and I recounted what was in it.
“And his letter? What did it say?”
“I haven’t read it yet.” I shook my head. “I was contemplating it when you walked in the door.”
“Well, you should read it.”
“Not now…you’ve been gone for four days.”
He covered my hand with his, twining his larger fingers through mine. “It’s not going to take you that long to read it. Aren’t you the least bit curious about him?” He leaned toward me almost as if imploring me—as if my mom wasn’t the only person sad that I had very little family. “Especially after looking at all the info he collected for you?”
I smiled. “Okay. You’ve finally talked some sense into me…”
We put our dishes away, and he followed me up the stairs and into my study. He plunked down on the couch under the window. I grabbed the letter off the desk and then plopped down beside him. He settled an arm along the back of the couch, and I leaned into his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah…give me a sec.”
He rested his head against the cushion and stared up at the ceiling to allow me privacy while I read the letter. With not the steadiest of hands, I held it up and read.
Hi Mia,
This is probably the most awkward letter I’ve ever written, especially considering it should have started with the sentence: “I’m your brother. Nice to meet you via this letter.” I’m not sure what is going through your mind right now, but I’ve had a chance to speak with your mother about you, so I think I can guess.
First, let me say, most importantly, that I am not my father. And I strongly feel that he has not done right by you, and this knowledge saddens me. But this note is not about him. I’d be glad to answer any questions you may have about him should you ever decide to meet with me in person. But he is not the reason I’m writing to you, beyond the fact that we are related to each other through him.
Worth Any Cost: (Adam & Mia #4) (Gaming The System Book 6) Page 9