by S. L. Scott
Celeste wore red.
My father’s favorite color.
My mother is keeping her emotions hidden under large sunglasses and a barely transparent, short black veil. She doesn’t cry, but she sees the woman in red. It’s probably best to face things we like to deny, but I hate that Celeste chose this day to put the knife into my mother’s back. She is so unbelievably cruel.
I know now that I have always underestimated my mother. Maybe the blatant truth of the Senator’s betrayal will be the catalyst to heal her broken heart.
She wasn’t just a mom, and wife of a senator, but a woman with dreams, and a heart that bleeds for those whose sadness has overcome them.
Fredrick holds his head high when he speaks, managing to hint that his reign as the eldest son, and heir to the Cristley dynasty is just beginning. I laugh, and then get dirty looks. Mainly from Fredrick.
But we stop what we are doing to watch my mother as she gets up from her chair and walks around the casket as it’s lowered into the ground. She doesn’t stop to pay respects. She did that enough in life. She doesn’t even glance at it. She keeps her eyes forward, cutting through the crowd, and stands right in front of Celeste.
Celeste looks up, her red leather-gloved hand bringing a white handkerchief to dab her eyes.
My mother leans down and hugs her, appearing to console her. When she stands up, she says, “I’m sorry you didn’t have more time with my husband. You deserved each other.” She turns, but stops to add, “He didn’t leave you anything in his will. The executor confirmed that for me this morning. Oh, and your mascara’s running.”
A gasp is heard across the crowd, and then Alex starts laughing, breaking the tension for me to do the same. I step forward and grab a shovel, toss some dirt onto the casket, and hand it to Matty.
Lowering my sunglasses, I then take hold of my girl’s hand, and start back for the car. Alex and Sara Jane follow right behind. I guide Clara around a gaggle of reporters kept at bay behind a barricade, and tuck her safely inside from the glare of the cameras.
My mom is escorted by Matty and Paige, my sister, Liza walks alone behind them, her husband making a statement by not making an appearance today.
Like the champ of a son he is, Fredrick holds court in front of the barricade, fielding questions from reporters while the rest of us avoid them the best we can. Right before I get inside the car, Fredrick throws his hat into the political ring, announcing he will be running to win back his father’s seat.
Good for him. Asshole.
He’s finally found his people and a place to call home where he’ll fit right in.
In one of many black limos of the funeral processional, I sit in the back and stare out a darkened window. My foot is kicked. “Hey.”
My eyes slide to the right to see Alex leaning forward on his knees. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Looking to my girl, the concern in Clara’s eyes is hard to hide. I lightly squeeze the top of her knee. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
She says, “I know you’ll be fine. I want to know if you’ll be okay.”
I smile, keeping it uncomplicated despite how I feel inside. “I never felt like I was enough. I was the black sheep beyond my darker hair, skin, and eye color. Today, I feel at peace with how things have played out. Not because he’s passed. I sort of think we might have gotten along better as I’ve gotten older. Just have a new perspective about my role in this life. It’s up to me to make my own happiness.” I catch a glimpse of my dove’s smile. “So yeah, I’ll be okay.”
31
Cruise
Toby’s a little hellion.
I like that about him. I won’t tell him or he’ll think he can get away with shit. I can respect his rebel ways, as well as relate.
He also giggles a lot. The cartoon isn’t even that funny, but he loves it, so I let him continue watching TV while I watch him.
I promised Clara I would put him to bed by 7:30. It’s 8:15 when she walks in the front door and gives me that look—the one that tells me despite how sexy I am—I’m in trouble. Hopefully my punishment will be served in the bedroom later. I might’ve added that sexy reference as a hopeful assumption on my part too, but I catch her staring at my ass and package often.
“You promised you’d get him to bed on time tonight, Cruise.”
Shrugging, I get up from the couch and lift a wiggle worm Toby into my arms. “We were having guy time.”
“I want time with my guy.” She drops her bag on the floor, comes over, and kisses me before turning to Toby with her hands out. “Come to mama, big guy.”
I’ve got competition in this house. It’s okay. He’s a really super cute kid. Other than his eye color, he looks just like her. Toby jumps into her arms, calls out “Mama,” then follows it with an excited squeal that makes me wonder if I’ll have loss of hearing from this kid one day. He can hit the high notes.
“I was hoping you meant time with me,” I say, rubbing the round of her ass.
She laughs, situating Toby on her hip. “I did, but you just delayed it by me having to get this guy to bed.” Going to the bedroom we converted from a spare room into his room, she asks, “How was my mom?”
“Good. After a half hour of playing cars with Tobs, she asked for a glass of wine, and finally admitted what we thought.”
“That she likes sleep and appreciates the quiet of her house?”
“Exactly. She’s liking the grandma role.”
The transition we made over the last year wasn’t fast. No one wanted to disrupt Toby’s life and flip it upside down. Clara and I had a few months to set up the house the way we wanted and to childproof it. She visited Toby every day, took over feeding him, and kissing boo-boos when she was there. Two months later, she wrapped up her student teaching, and together, we brought him here and created a home.
We also had just gotten used to a new routine. Sex every morning. Sex every night. Sex at noon, or anytime we like—that went away when we had to be responsible adults. I miss daily.
We’re more scheduled and less spontaneous these days. Sleep is . . . what is sleep again? The sex isn’t as often as either of us would like, but we manage to squeeze some time in for each other and I usually manage to squeeze into her. At the very least, I get my girl off because damn if it doesn’t get me off as well.
After my father’s death, I thought a lot about how I wanted to spend my days in this world. I’m lucky to have options. I’m fortunate to have a large bank account and even larger trust fund that will mature later this year.
When I stripped the pain away, I realized how much it had been holding me back. Some details of my abduction will never come out. I don’t need to give the tragedy a voice or show it the light, but I’m okay with that. I don’t need to bleed my memories to finish my story.
Clara’s doing well. Her brother is spending time in a prison psychiatric ward after a psychological evaluation during his trial for aiding in human trafficking. There was no getting him out of serving his time. I wasn’t willing to pay his bond and Clara never asked me to.
As for Toby’s father, he made a bargain for solicitation of a minor, rape, and for human trafficking since the deal with her father was made when she was seventeen. He was given twenty-five years even after the plea, which included him giving up all custody. He lasted three months before he was found dead in his cell. The details are sealed but his life came to a violent end according to guards.
We don’t talk about him. Not ever, and we never will.
She kisses Toby on the head and tucks that bear into his arms. I come to his bedside and say, “Give me knucks, buddy.”
Our knuckles bang together and then we do the explosion sound in unison. I bend down and kiss him on the head. His small arms hold me to him, and I whisper, “Love you.”
“Love ya.”
A lump in my throat forms, the need to protect what’s mine is strong. I want to protect this boy, who’s become my son, with every fiber of my being. I m
ay not be a part of Toby’s genetics, but I’m a part of this family. And I’ll be a part of who he becomes as a man. It’s a role I don’t take lightly.
I was born to a grief-stricken mother, who lost her great love only a week before. People say that is the emotion that will determine the rest of the child’s life, a burden to bear. I’m proof they’re wrong.
Moving back to the door, I wait for the woman I want to make my forever to join me at my side.
Soon whispers across my mind. Soon.
When Clara closes the door, she turns and wraps her arms around my neck. Teeth scrape lightly over my chin, rousing my body awake. Just seeing her did that, but the teeth were my green flag.
I level my eyes on her, and lift her up into my arms. We’ve gotten really fucking good at keeping the sounds of our orgasms contained within our bedroom walls. So that’s where I carry her, a place I’ve been waiting to take her all day.
Setting her down, she notices the little additions to the room. “You got me flowers?”
The vase of flowers next to the lamp on her nightstand is just the beginning. “I saw them and thought of you.”
“I love lilies. They’re the national flower of France, you know?”
“I know,” I whisper.
The second she spots the next treat, she lets me know. “Oh my God! You got me cookies.”
“Not cookies. Macarons. Chocolate. Vanilla, and the green one is pistachio.”
“They’re my favorite.”
“I know.” She doesn’t see the imposter on the plate, and that’s okay. For now. I have other plans anyway. The lamp doesn’t give much light, but it’s enough. I shut the door as she admires the flowers. Call it a fetish, but I fucking lust over her little undies. So when I say, “Let me see them,” she knows exactly what I want.
“What if I told you I went without today?”
She’s such a tease . . . she better be teasing. “You’re wearing underwear, right?”
Shaking her hips, she heads to the end of the bed. “Maybe. Why don’t you find out?”
Frustration sneaks in. “Clara, I need you to wear panties outside this house. Inside this room, it’s a free for all, but outside that front door, I’ll fucking kill any guy looking at you out of pure jealousy.”
She slides her hands over her hips and then heads to the promise land. Popping the first snap, she raises an eyebrow. The tease. And damn if my heart doesn’t stop in my chest every time I see the white material wrapped around her like I want to be.
With my hands over my heart from the heart attack she almost gave me, she comes and takes my hands, directing where she wants me to be. “Touch me. Down there. I want to feel your fingers inside me.”
One way or another, she’s determined to do me in. Placing my palm against her belly, I slide down and touch the tip of her clit. Her body is panting and I haven’t even begun. “For the safety of others, wear underwear.”
“I’ll think about it.”
She’s feisty nowadays. She doesn’t do demands. She fights back if it’s important to her, and she compromises if it’s not. She’s not obedient, but she’s softhearted, and gutsy when she needs to be. I’m so damn proud of her, and she’s so fucking sexy. And mine.
Pushing down on the outside of her jeans, her hand forces mine until my fingers cover her clit, making her purr. She becomes putty in my hands. I like her noisy and demanding. I like her. I love her, in fact. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”
“Less talking. More kissing?”
“Always.”
A little pinch and I graze through her wetness, making her squirm. With my palm pressing down where she wants me, two fingers dip into her entrance. I watch as her head falls back and her mouth falls open. With my free hand, I slide into the hair at the back of her head and support her until she’s looking at me. “I want to watch you and I want you to watch me.”
Her breathing is becoming harsh, her body begging to lie down, enticing me with her roaming hands and tugs on my shirt. Putty. Leaning her head against my chest, her body is becoming more than putty. It’s tense and when she comes, she’ll have bones of jelly. Cherry, like her lips.
Backing her onto the mattress, she falls back and lifts her legs. I grab the ankles of her jeans and pull, not hard so she lands on her ass again, but with enough gusto to get them off. Her shirt comes off as I remove mine and her bra soon follows with the rest of my clothes.
There’s my goddess, before me in cotton underwear with a tiny bow at the top. My mouth is on her, my teeth tugging before I release and smell her sweet desire. I always think this time will be different. This time I’ll make love to her with my mouth and fuck her for hours. Nope.
But who cares when you’re both lying together afterward in heavenly bliss. I’m usually good for another round after a quick rest, so there are no complaints.
Tonight’s no different except I’m a little more impatient than usual. The panties are ripped on each side and tossed to the floor. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s the price that’s paid when she looks this fucking hot.
Not wasting time, I move into position and slide inside. She warms me, her body embracing mine, and setting me on fire. It’s easy to forget the time and day, life outside this house, the world outside of her.
Her.
Mine.
Clara.
My savior.
My heart.
My soul.
My love.
My dove.
The sparks light up the dark as I fall into her beautiful abyss, never needing anything more, never wanting anything less. When her body finds peace next to mine, our bodies slick with each other, she takes a deep breath and exhales a breath that calms her racing heart. With her head on my shoulder, and my arm wrapped around her, she asks, “What were you thinking about earlier?”
“Earlier?” My mind is still fuzzy from the love we just made.
“You asked me if I knew what you had been thinking about?”
Ah. “Wait. Close your eyes.” I reach over for the French Limoge box in the shape of a macaron and hold it in my hand. I have to stretch a little farther to turn off the lamp. “Open your eyes.”
A sharp inhale, and I smile as I watch her reaction. I had a feeling she’d cry, but I didn’t expect it yet. “Cruise.”
Just my name, all other words seeming to evade her as she stares at the ceiling. I say, “I promised you a sky full of stars.”
“You’ve given me more.” Her vivid hazel eyes tear up and she looks at me. “You’ve given me a life.”
“How about a lifetime?” I open the small porcelain box to reveal the diamond ring that sparkles even in the dark. Like her. “Will you marry me, Dove?”
“Yes. With my whole soul, yes.”
“I don’t need to possess your soul. I just want your heart.”
Her fingers caress my cheek, and she kisses me. “You’ve had that from the start.”
Epilogue
Clara
Six Weeks Later . . .
This is the life.
“You’ve spoiled me. How will I ever go back to the box stuff when I’ve had a taste of heaven?”
Cruise cracks one eye open. He was trying to get some sleep on the flight home from France, but I’m too excited. Too excited to settle into our new life with my handsome husband and our son.
He opens both eyes, and I’m glad I’m sitting because every time his pools of endless love are directed at me, I still get weak in the knees. “Taste of heaven? Are you talking about me or the mac and cheese?”
“Both. I’m spoiled by both.”
“I know you, Mrs. Cristley.” He kisses the hand he’s holding, keeping it against his lips. “You were talking about the food, but I’m up for the challenge and plan to spoil you for the rest of your life.”
Laughing, I ask, “By spoil, you mean tear through my underwear with abandon?”
“I invested in an underwear company last week.”
&n
bsp; “Oh good Lord, we’re in trouble.”
“Trouble. So much trouble, sweet, sexy wife.”
I drag my nails gently over the scruff that shadows his jaw. So damn good looking. “Did I ever tell you how hot you looked saving my life?”
“No. Tell me.”
“How about I show you?” I’m about to slip to my knees to pray at a different altar—his. I’ve already been to hell, so I don’t live in fear of returning for the sins I’m about to commit. Oh wait, we’re married now.
The pilot interrupts my plan. “Please fasten your seatbelts as we start our descent.”
Annoyed, he mutters, “Fuck.”
“Don’t worry, we will. I have all sorts of plans for you when we get home.”
“You are quite the dirty girl these days.”
I shrug. “I can’t help that I have a hot husband.”
“Not any more than I can help how stunningly gorgeous my wife is.”
We sound mushy. After a small ceremony at a church in New Haven, we left for France on the family jet. I figure we deserve all this goodness, so I just sit back and enjoy our love that feels so big we need to express it, and often.
Cruise
I love surprising Clara.
After two weeks traveling around France, we’re both eager to get home, but there is a party to attend, and despite my exhaustion, I’m looking forward to it.
The estate is two miles past the Kingwood Manor, and situated on a tree-lined street among other multi-million dollar mansions. I have a few surprises up my sleeve. Not just for her, but for someone else special to me.
We arrive and walk around to the back, where we’re greeted by our three-year-old. He runs into Clara’s arms and she swings him around. “Happy birthday, buddy.”
“It’s my birthday,” he exclaims. When her embrace loosens, he reaches for me. “Daddy.”
“Hey there, kid. How are you, birthday boy?”