by Tara Sue Me
I pulled back and kissed her. Long and slow and deep. She tugged me close, running her free hand through my hair, her hips pressed against mine.
Someone at the door cleared their throat, and Abby pulled away, but she kept her arms around me.
“Yes?” she asked the teenaged girl who’d opened the door without either one of us hearing.
“Sorry to interrupt, Miss Abby, but I’m supposed to tell you the computer’s no longer printing out 2007 due dates.”
“Good news,” Abby said. “But why did that require my attention?”
“It’s printing out 1807.”
Abby sighed. “I’ll be right there.”
The young girl left. “Sorry again,” she called through the closed door.
Abby dropped her head to my chest.
“Miss Abby?” I asked.
“Don’t ask.”
I kissed her forehead. “I better go. Let you deal with the nineteenth century.”
She lifted to her toes and kissed me. “Trust me, the nineteenth century wants nothing to do with me.”
“Call me tonight, okay?”
“I will,” she said, lightly brushing a hair out of my eyes. “I love you.”
I smiled when the doorbell rang at six thirty on Thursday night. Leave it to Abby to ring the doorbell of my house when she’d be moving in in a little more than a week. I knew she’d told her dad she planned to move in, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about meeting the man.
Apollo rushed to the door, guessing Abby waited for him on the other side.
“Calm down,” I said, wondering how quickly it would take for him to get used to having her around permanently.
I opened the door and decided I’d never grow accustomed to having her live with me. Even having her over for dinner seemed too good to be true.
I took her hands and kissed her cheek, noticing she wore the earrings I’d given her. “You didn’t have to ring the doorbell. I wouldn’t have minded if you’ d used your key.”
She gave my hand a squeeze and returned the kiss. “Old habit.” She stepped back and directed me to the man at her side. “This is my dad.”
He was a strong, solid man. I knew from Abby he worked as a contractor and had done so for more than twenty years. I shook his hand. “Mr. King,” I said. “Welcome to New York.”
“Don’t call me Mr. King,” he said, a small smile playing on his features. “And thank you.”
I held the door open wider. “Please come in. Excuse Apollo. He’s a bit shy around strangers.”
True to form, Apollo stayed stuck to my side, moving only to nudge Abby’s hand when she passed him. I smiled, remembering how he’d reacted to meeting her the first time. His reaction to her father was much more normal. My eyes met Abby’s, and I nodded toward him.
See? I said with my eyes. He really doesn’t like strangers.
She rubbed his head as she walked into the foyer, rolling her eyes at me. “Can I help with anything in the kitchen?”
“I have the beef Wellington and potatoes in the oven,” I said. She’d told me her dad was a meat-and-potatoes type of man, and I’d planned dinner around his preferences.
“Beef Wellington?” She arched an eyebrow. “Maybe I should go check it out?”
“Your father and I will be in the living room.” Better to get this out of the way sooner rather than later.
We sat down—me on the couch, her dad on the love seat. He looked around the room, appraising. I gathered he was a quiet man, much like his daughter.
I cleared my throat. “Abby says you’re going to give Felicia away on Saturday.”
“Felicia has been like a second daughter to me. She’s had her share of hardships. I’m glad she’s finally found someone.”
“Jackson’s completely in love with her. He’s never been happier.”
He smiled, and I saw the kindness in his eyes, the warmth, and knew Abby inherited more than her quiet nature from her father. “From what Abby tells me, Felicia and Jackson aren’t the only ones,” he said.
Okay. The straightforwardness I wasn’t expecting. Abby had not inherited that.
My mind spun frantically, and I tried desperately to think of how to respond.
I have nothing but honorable intentions toward your daughter?
Not sure that was the entire truth, considering what I told Abby I’d do to her the next time I had her in my playroom.
Fuck. Abby’s father is in my house. Sitting directly below the playroom where I teased and tormented his daughter. How would I explain the closed door if I gave them a tour?
You don’t, I told myself. You just ignore it.
Did I really think he would look at a closed door and say, “Hey, what’s in there?”
No, I didn’t.
But still. He could.
“I understand she’s moving in with you next weekend?” he asked.
I pulled myself up straighter and did my best to ignore the sweat running down my back. This was worse than high school prom. What if he forbade Abby to move in? Would he do that? What would I do if I became the cause of more strife between Abby and her father?
The words rushed out. “I have nothing but honorable intentions toward your daughter, sir.” I cringed. Idiot.
He waved his hand in dismissal. “I know you’re a successful man, Nathaniel, and I know Abby has a good head on her shoulders. I’m not going to say I’m altogether pleased with how quickly this is moving or that I’m happy with this whole living-together arrangement.” He gave me a look, and I wondered how much he knew of my past with Abby. “But I remember the joy of sharing my life with someone.”
Abby had said he’d been alone for a long time.
“So while I’m not altogether pleased,” he said, “I’ll overlook it for Abby’s sake. If you make her happy, well, all I’ve ever wanted is for her to find happiness.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, strangely relieved. “I, too, want nothing but Abby’s happiness.”
“Hell,” he said. “Don’t call me sir. It makes me feel ancient. Tell me about your cousin. Anything I need to warn Felicia about?”
I laughed, and the conversation shifted seamlessly to football.
We ate dinner in the dining room. I’d wanted to eat in the kitchen, but Abby thought the dining room more appropriate, and after thinking on it further, I agreed. The dining room, while serving a purpose on weekends, was part of the house and should be used as such.
Besides, I thought, watching her direct her dad to his seat, I rather enjoyed watching her acting as hostess in my house. I’d never entertained much, but I decided Abby and I would have to change that after she moved in.
I offered to help her serve, but she rejected me thoroughly and told me to have a seat and keep her dad company. I sat at my place at the head of the table. Abby’s dad sat at my right, leaving Abby a seat at my left. I’d set the table before everyone arrived; all we needed was the food.
Abby walked in and stood beside me. My cock gave a twitch, remembering how she served me in the dining room on weekends. I placed a napkin firmly in my lap. This was not a weekend.
Still, my body remembered . . .
And there was the electricity that hummed between us whenever we were together.
She set the beef Wellington before me and lightly grazed my shoulder with her fingers.
I feel it, too, her touch said. I know exactly what you’re thinking.
Our eyes met as she sat down, and I grinned at her. Not everything, my expression teased. You just wait—when I get you alone again.
“Did you cook this?” her father asked, interrupting our silent conversation.
I turned to him, slightly abashed at having improper thoughts about his daughter while he sat at my table.
“I did,” I said. I hoped he wasn’t the type of man who thought cooking was not a masculine pursuit.
“Abby enjoys cooking, too,” he said. “You two must have fun in the kitchen.”
�
�We do,” I said, and my mind wandered to a snowy day, a steam-filled kitchen, and a lunch of cold risotto.
“We took sushi lessons a few weeks ago,” Abby said, kicking my foot under the table.
The corner of her lip went up, and I shook my head at her. What? I asked with my eyes. Maybe I’d lost my poker face abilities the last few weeks.
“Do you enjoy baseball?” I asked her dad.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Baseball. Football.”
“I have a box at Yankee Stadium,” I said. “Maybe you can come down this summer and go to a few games. Abby and I would love to have you stay a few days.” Emphasizing, I hoped, that I viewed this not just as my home, but Abby’s as well. That he would always be welcome in our house.
Our house.
I felt my stomach flip in the most amazing way and realized that this, this was what contentment was. What was it he had said? The joy of sharing your life with someone.
I looked back at Abby and, yes, she felt it too. I reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Not just sharing your life with someone, though. Sharing your life with the One.
Chapter Thirteen
—ABBY—
It was pointless, I decided, throwing back the covers and getting out of bed. I piddled around my room for a few minutes, running my hand over the multitude of boxes—clothes here, books there, everything else in between.
I wondered if Felicia was sleeping. She was spending the night on my couch. We’d had a wonderful day—first meeting Elaina at Felicia’s favorite spa and treating the bride-to-be to a day of pampering. Later in the afternoon, Felicia and I had returned to the apartment and giggled like schoolgirls while we got ready for the rehearsal. Even that had gone well. Nathaniel stood proudly beside his cousin, a tiny hint of a smile on his lips as Felicia tried unsuccessfully to pry information on where they had been all day.
My bridesmaid dress hung in the closet, waiting for morning. I trailed a finger down the delicate silk material. Felicia had excellent taste. The dress was floor length, ice blue, and formfitting, with bare shoulders except for the chiffon that came up from the waist to drape over one shoulder.
Turning from the dress, I threw a few remaining books into a half-empty box, but finally accepted that sleep wouldn’t be visiting me anytime soon.
I stepped quietly into the living room, not wanting to disturb Felicia, only to find her sitting on the couch, drinking a cup of tea.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” I walked over to the couch and sat beside her. “I couldn’t sleep either. Nervous?”
She tucked her knees under her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Not really nervous, I don’t think. Just excited. Maybe a little worried?”
“Worried about marrying Jackson?” I asked, concerned. This was normal, right? Didn’t every bride go through this?
“No, not Jackson,” she said, and I felt a little better. “Well, not Jackson, the man. More worried about marrying Jackson, quarterback for the New York Giants. The paparazzi and all. Being in the spotlight.”
I vaguely remembered her frustration when the engagement was announced. Photographers had followed her for a few days, showed up outside her classroom, even called her apartment a few times. The excitement had died down rather quickly and, truth be told, I hadn’t been that much of a help to her, having recently left Nathaniel and living in the fog of depression I’d been in.
“It won’t be too bad, I don’t think,” I said. “He’s a famous athlete, sure, but he’s not an actor or anything.”
“You try setting up security for your wedding and then tell me it’s not that bad,” she said. “You plan your honeymoon trying to decide where you can be alone most of the time. And you have your wedding gown flashed on television for the world to see.”
“Okay. Okay,” I said, trying to calm her down, not wanting to see her in full-out bridal rage. “I see your point. The wedding gown thing was tacky.”
“Hmph. I’ll say.”
“But listen,” I said. “Jackson loves you. I’ve seen it. You don’t have anything to worry about. If the paparazzi show up, you and Jackson will deal with it together. Plus, you’ll have the whole Clark clan to back you up. And you know you’ll always have me.”
She smiled at that. “Thanks, Abby.”
I shrugged. “No biggie. And since you and Jackson will be off touring Europe, I’m sure the wedding hype will have moved on when you do come back to the States. Some other celebrity news will have taken your place.”
Jackson had planned a two-week honeymoon for them in Europe. They would visit the UK, France, Italy, and Switzerland. While I’d always wanted to visit Europe, it didn’t sound like my idea of the perfect honeymoon. When I got married, I wanted to spend my honeymoon alone, with Nathaniel, not country-hopping.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Honeymoon alone, with Nathaniel.
Gah.
“You’re right,” Felicia said, oblivious to the inner workings of my brain. “It’s just strange, you know?”
“Yeah, strange.” And Felicia dealing with the paparazzi wasn’t the only thing.
“Everything’s strange tonight, isn’t it?” she asked. “You and me. We’ve been neighbors forever, and after tomorrow, everything changes. It’s a bit sad.”
“You’ll still have me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re moving in with Nathaniel. Talk about strange.”
I wanted to ask what was so strange about it, but then decided not to. I really didn’t want to discuss my weekends with Nathaniel. While Felicia seemed more supportive, I wasn’t sure she could listen at this point and not be judgmental.
“I mean, sure, Jackson’s a famous football player, but Nathaniel constantly makes top-twenty lists for wealthiest Americans,” she continued. “How does that feel?”
I knew what she was doing—trying to make herself feel better by shifting the focus to someone else. By asking how I handled something she needed to handle as well. I decided to tell her the truth.
“It doesn’t feel like anything,” I said. “When I’m with Nathaniel, I’m not thinking about his wealth or what he’s worth. It’s just him. Nathaniel.”
“But still,” she pushed. “How’s it going to work with you living with him? Will you pay him rent? Pay part of his mortgage?”
She’d just called him one of America’s wealthiest citizens and she thought he had a mortgage?
“He doesn’t have a mortgage,” I said. “He owns his house outright. And no, I’m not paying him rent.”
“But expenses?”
“Sure, I’ll help with expenses.” But it was all a guess for me. Nathaniel and I had talked a little about how expenses would work once I moved in, but nothing very detailed. We’d just work it all out once I moved in. “How about you and Jackson? Are you worried about money?”
“No,” she said. “Jackson’s already made plans to set up a joint account for us. It’ll just be odd, having all that money. Come on, Abby. Admit it. You have to have thought about the material benefits of living with Nathaniel.”
“Maybe once or twice.”
“Once or twice. Sure.”
“I know he has a housekeeper,” I said. “I guess that will be weird—having someone clean everything for me. But really, I don’t think about it. I focus more on Nathaniel.”
“I’ll be so happy when Jackson retires and we can be a bit more normal.”
She was all over the place. Again, maybe this was common for brides. I just decided to go where she led me. “He’s playing one more season?” I asked.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “This is his last year. He’ll probably take some time off and then look into getting a coaching position.”
I placed my hand on her knee. “Do this for me, Felicia—enjoy this year. It’s going to be so unlike anything you’ve ever done or experienced.” I smiled. “You’re going to be fine. Everyone will love you. Jackson most of all.”
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Her eyes teared up, and she pulled me into a hug. “Thank you.”
Our last night as neighbors.
The thought resounded over and over in my head. It seemed so surreal. How was it possible that our lives would be changing so much in such a short amount of time?
I pulled back and smoothed her hair down. “Now, you really need to get some sleep. We can’t have tired eyes for pictures tomorrow.”
I meant it to be funny, wanting to lighten the mood a bit, but Felicia didn’t smile. Her expression was serious as she looked in my eyes.
“I told you I didn’t want to know the details of how you and Nathaniel work,” she said. “And I still don’t. You’re so happy lately.” She took a deep breath. “But I still need to know . . .”
“Need to know?” I questioned, a hint of dread working its way into my voice.
“That day you left him, you said he finally kissed you.” She got that much out and then stopped, biting her lip as if afraid to finish.
“Yes?” I asked, still not entirely comfortable with where this was going, but sensing it was important to her.
“Does he now?” she asked, nearly pleading. “Does he kiss you on the weekdays and on the weekends? It’s stupid, I know, and I’m not sure why it matters, but if he does, I’ll feel so much better. Does he?”
I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. The answer must have been obvious, because I saw her own smile before I answered the question.
“Yes, Felicia,” I said. “Yes. He kisses me on weekdays and on weekends, and yes. I’m very, very happy.”
Saturday was a blur. Felicia and I were in constant motion from the moment we woke up, so I didn’t have much time to think about how different the day was from my normal Saturday.
I laughed.
Normal Saturday.
Since when had my Saturdays ever been normal?
“Are you laughing, Abby?” Felicia asked. “Fill me in on the joke. I could use a laugh.”
We were in one of Elaina and Todd’s guest rooms, and a stylist was fixing Felicia’s hair in an elegant upsweep. My hair was complete, I was dressed, and—looking at the clock by the bed—showtime would commence at six o’clock. A little more than two hours.