Been Loving You Too Long (DuChamps Dynasty)

by Donavan, Seraphina

  “What has gotten into her? She’s being almost nice and so helpful.”

  “She likes weddings. Always did. Planning things makes her happy. She’s not good at being idle.”Holding up a robe, he added, “Now, slip this on, and if you can make it to the bathroom under your own steam, I’ll leave you to it. If you can’t, I’ll wait here while you shower—you kind of reek.”

  “I know. What is that smell?”

  “Kaitlyn said it’s the body oil that the male strippers used.”

  “Oh, no. No!”

  He smiled at her obvious distress and took pity on her. “Apparently, it didn’t come from copious lap dances. Even drunk, you drew the line at that, so I heard. No, it was when Kaitlyn required assistance in getting you to the limo. Um—they carried you out Cleopatra style.”

  Vague memories began to filter in and they made her wish for the comfort of amnesia. They’d gone to one of the clubs where Brenna’s burlesque troupe frequently performed. “I think I undressed someone with my teeth.”

  Vincent cocked an eyebrow at her. “I hope that’s a skill you retained. It sounds promising.”

  Struggling into the robe, Ophelia finally managed to get herself covered enough to get out of bed. The room swayed alarmingly and she clutched Vincent’s arms to steady herself. “This is so not good.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. As unsteady as she was on her feet, there was no way he could leave her to shower alone, or even sit in the bedroom while she took care of things. He was going to have to stay with her. Even reeking of booze and coconut oil, with her hair a godawful mess and makeup that didn’t appear to be hers smeared on her face, he still wanted her. But if she puked, it would definitely put a damper on the mood. “Please, don’t throw up on me.”

  “Quit talking about it,” she warned. “You keep mentioning it and it will happen.”

  Leading her into the bathroom, he tried very hard not to laugh at her misery. He’d had more than his share of hangovers in life, but it was that his very prim Ophelia apparently tied one on in epic proportion that made it so very amusing. Turning on the spray, he adjusted the temperature, and then began to strip.

  “What are you doing?” she hissed. “I am not showering with you!”

  Vincent looked at her pointedly. “The minute you let go of my arm, you had to lean against the wall. You really think you can stand up in here by yourself for long enough to scrub the stripper oil from your body— and your hair?”

  “It’s in my hair?”

  “Yeah, along with some other stuff I just don’t know about. I think maybe you rolled in the street at one point.”

  Ophelia shuddered delicately. “Fine, but no sex.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I’d probably be disappointed.”

  Ophelia wanted to glare at him, or respond with some witty remark that would flay him to the bone. Instead, she closed her eyes with a whimper. “Don’t ever let them take me anywhere again. Please, for all that’s holy, keep those evil witches away from me.”

  Vincent nodded as he untied the belt of her robe and stripped it from her. Even expecting to see her naked, knowing that he was going to be confronted with every glorious inch of her, it still left him reeling. Looking at the floor to avoid looking at the parts of her that tempted him enough to ignore her present condition he saw the small pouch on a thin leather cord tied around her ankle, adorned with beads and feathers, and possibly a chicken bone. “Why do you have a gris-gris satchel tied around your ankle?”

  “Why do I have a marching band playing in my head? The answer to every question about my current condition can be summed up by stating that your sister hates me and tried to kill me with alcohol!” she shot back. Even as she said it, vague memories crept in of the three of them walking down St. Ann Street and into a voodoo shop. “I don’t know—but if it’s supposed to bring me good luck, it isn’t working.”

  Vincent shook his head. “You’re a bitchy drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk, I’m hung-over!”

  “Get in the shower.” He walked her to the enclosure. Once inside, he shut the glass doors and turned Ophelia toward the spray. He ignored her whimpers of protest. After the first few minutes, she stopped grumbling. When she reached for the shampoo on her own and began to lather her hair, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Have you got this?”

  “I’m not going to fall over— but puking isn’t outside the realm of possibility yet.”

  “Right. I’m getting out. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  “What for?”

  “For being surly and hung-over...and stinky.”

  “You smell better now and I’ve been surly and hung-over plenty of times myself. I’ll wait to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  Stepping out of the shower, painfully aroused and disgusted with himself for it, Vincent wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to the bedroom. He needed a few minutes to get himself under control before he could even think of putting his pants back on.

  If it was possible to die from having a permanent erection, he was well on his way. Tonight, he promised himself, it would happen, assuming Ophelia recovered sufficiently from her hangover. Of course, that thought wasn’t going to help him get into pants any time soon.

  Forcing his mind onto other, safer, topics, he did manage to get dressed and was seated on the bed when Ophelia emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later.

  She looked green.

  “Sit,” he said.

  “Oh, this is so bad…”

  “Maybe you should just go ahead and throw up. You might feel better.”

  “I already did. Crackers.” She sighed. “I need crackers.”

  “Right,” he said and headed for the kitchen.

  Kaitlyn was already there, directing traffic and ruling over everything with an iron fist.

  “Why the hell did you let her get that drunk last night?”

  Kaitlyn shushed him with a harsh glare. “Do not raise your voice,” she said, her own voice pitched low and slow. “I did not let her get that drunk—I was too drunk myself to be responsible for her. You can blame that redheaded hussy for all of this.”

  Realizing that Kaitlyn was in nearly as bad a way as Ophelia, Vincent shook his head in disgust at the both of them. Retrieving the crackers from the cabinet, he also grabbed a bottle of ginger ale from the refrigerator and took both back upstairs.

  Ophelia was still sitting on the edge of the bed where he had left her. She was making a weak attempt to comb her hair.

  Taking the comb from her, he gave her the crackers and the soda and then moved behind her to take over the task.

  “I am never drinking again—never! Not as long as I live.”

  “You may be the only person I know who’s ever uttered those words and actually meant them.”

  “This is awful. Why do people do this and call it a good time?”

  “At least you can say you’ve officially sewn the one wild oat you possessed,” he offered.

  Smacking at his hands, Ophelia pushed him away. “That isn’t funny. I have more than one wild oat.”

  Vincent chuckled. “Really? How do you intend to prove it?”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining about my lack of wild oats yesterday afternoon,” she challenged.

  “The only complaint I have about yesterday is not finishing what we started. But…you can perform that little act for me anytime you want,” he replied, leaning forward to kiss the damp, delicate skin where her neck and shoulder met.

  The light shiver of her response made him immediately regret his decision. She was in no shape for the things he had in mind. “I should go, while I’m still capable of walking out of here without permanently maiming myself...But tonight, Ophelia, we make up for lost time.”

  ~~****~~

  Ophelia sighed as he stepped away. Why was it, she wondered, that a single touch from him could set her on fire? She was s
ick, miserable and hung-over as hell, yet it didn’t matter. It had taken all her restraint not to just rip open her robe and climb him.

  Watching him walk away, Ophelia savored the play of muscle beneath the t-shirt he wore, not to mention how his jeans perfectly cupped his well sculpted ass. Lying back on the bed, she acknowledged that she was in way over her head.

  Sleeping with Vincent, being so physically intimate with him would only deepen her feelings for him. She was going to get her heart broken—destroyed, even. It was inevitable, but accepting that gave her a sense of peace about it, at least momentarily. Some things were worth the pain, and having Vincent, even for a short time, would be one of those.

  “What are you doing? Get up!”

  Ophelia immediately recognized Kaitlyn’s strident tone. Forcing herself to sit up, she glared at her future sister-in-law. “You don’t actually live in this house, do you?”

  “I have for the past week! Now move, cause we have shit to do...the hairdresser and makeup artist will be here any minute and you look more like you’re being laid out for a funeral than dressed for a wedding!”

  Ophelia rose, and retrieved a pair of Capri pants and on impulse, swiped one of Vincent’s shirts to put on. It was a sentimental gesture, but she wanted to hold on to that feeling of peace she’d just had. When she walked back into the bedroom, she met Kaitlyn’s raised eyebrow with one of her own. “You have a problem with this?”

  “You’re pitiful. The dress is downstairs. I thought we’d get you ready in the parlor, so you wouldn’t have to try and walk down the stairs with your knees wobbling.”

  “I need a pair of scissors. I can’t get this damn thing off my ankle.” She pointed toward the gris gris satchel that was still tied around her ankle.

  “That doesn’t come off until tomorrow. It’s supposed to be for good luck and lord knows the two of you need it!”

  “What exactly did I do last night?” Ophelia queried, her voice filled with concern and no small amount of embarrassment. “I can remember bits and pieces—and they are bad. Very, very bad.”

  Kaitlyn smiled smugly, though Ophelia noted that she looked a little worse for wear herself. “Let’s just say that I saw a whole new side of you, Ophelia—I’m starting to reconsider your reputation as a goody two shoes!”

  “Kaitlyn, damn it!”

  “And she even curses,” Kaitlyn shot back in mock mortification. “First, you assisted that stripper in removing his clothes, then there were those body shots—and now comes the potty mouth. Whatever is my poor brother going to do with you?”

  “Oh, my God! Really? Could you not just lie and tell me that I’d already remembered the worst of it?”

  Kaitlyn laughed. “It wasn’t too bad, really. Brenna took good care of you and didn’t let things get too out of hand. As far as bachelorette parties went, we were pretty tame. Let’s get you ready, okay?”

  Still concerned about exactly what she’d done the night before, but realizing it might be for the best if she didn’t know, Ophelia followed Kaitlyn down the stairs.

  The caterers were there already, preparing the kitchen and the smell of food made her vaguely ill. Trying to breathe through her mouth, she entered the parlor and found a team of people waiting for her. She didn’t protest.

  It was Kaitlyn, after all, and Kaitlyn hired teams to get her ready for events all the time. Expressing any objection on the basis of it simply being too much would only result in eye rolling and unnecessary arguments.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re already shampooed!”

  Ophelia looked at the man who spoke.

  He was flamboyant, dressed head to toe in bright pink and was wearing full face makeup.

  “It wasn’t really an option,” Ophelia responded, thinking of the amount of coconut oil that had wound up in her hair.

  From that point forward, no one really spoke to her. They spoke about her to one another. They talked about her to themselves. They directed her to close or open her eyes depending on what they were doing to her, or to lean her head to one side or other as they curled, teased, and pinned her hair.

  It took hours. Hours upon hours, until at last they stepped back, like a team of gifted but exhausted surgeons and proclaimed that their work was done.

  It was left to Kaitlyn to help Ophelia into her dress, as Brenna had yet to arrive.

  Stepping into the fit and flare gown, Ophelia noted that her knees were shaking and it had nothing to do with being sick and hung-over. It had everything to do with being scared half to death. As Kaitlyn pulled the laces on the gown tighter, Ophelia felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if the air simply would not travel into her lungs.

  “Stop it!” Kaitlyn hissed. “You’re hyperventilating!”

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Ophelia breathed, her voice sounding tremulous and uncertain.

  “It’s just nerves...And I’m reminding you that you don’t have a choice. What would happen to Ruby?”

  That reminder of the circumstances surrounding her engagement pulled her back to reality. Her feelings for Vincent aside, all the trappings and all preparation in the world didn’t change the fact that they weren’t getting married because they wanted to spend their lives together. They were getting married because Thomas had left them no choice.

  As disheartening as it was to think of it, her nerves settled immediately. The enormity of the step she was taking lessened in direct proportion to the belief that it was a temporary alteration of her life. “You’re right, Kaitlyn. Everything is fine. Just nerves.”

  If Kaitlyn noted her oddly cool tone, she chose for once not to comment on it. “It’s three thirty. The guests are supposed to arrive at four. The wedding will take place at 4:30 and cocktails after. Then, we’ll move into the dining room for supper and get rid of everyone so you and Vincent can pounce on each other.”

  They would, of course. It couldn’t be helped. Putting the two of them in a room together was like striking a match to tinder. There was an inevitability to it—to them—that left her shaken.

  “Are you okay?” Kaitlyn demanded. “You seem weird.”

  “I’m fine. Just thinking is all. Why don’t you go out and check on everything, make sure it’s all going smoothly,” Ophelia suggested, keeping her tone even and her expression as close to content as possible. She wasn’t going to bolt, but she did need a minute alone to clear her head and to review all the reasons why her feelings for Vincent were going to be disastrous for her.

  That Zen moment of peace from earlier was so far out of reach now she couldn’t even recall what it’d felt like. It’s for Ruby, she told herself, and even for Vincent. She didn’t want to see any of them lose their inheritance. It had been wrong of Thomas to place those kinds of conditions on them, but even if she didn’t agree with it, she knew he’d had his reasons.

  Thomas had loved them all more than life itself. He would never have done something just to make them miserable.

  There was a broader purpose to it, even if she couldn’t understand it. Taking slow, deep, steadying breaths, Ophelia tried to recapture her calm and harden her heart.

  ~~****~~

  Kaitlyn found Vincent in the garden, greeting the small number of guests.

  In all, there would only be about ten people present, other than family. Still, it was important for appearances to be maintained. There were other stockholders in the company, and any hint of internal strife between Vincent and Claude could have disastrous effects.

  Moving in place beside him, Kaitlyn smiled. “Straighten your damn tie,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “My tie is straight. Would you stop already?”

  “Look, this needs to be perfect.”

  Vincent glared at her. “Why? Why does it need to be perfect?”

  “Because the two of you are perfect for each other! Maybe if the wedding feels and looks like the real deal, it’ll help you all start things off on the right foot,” she shot back heatedly.

  Vincent shook
his head. “You know this is temporary, Kaitlyn. I know it. Ophelia knows it. Stop looking for fairy tales.”

  “Tell me that in a year, and I’m not some wide eyed romantic, Vincent. I’m very in touch with reality— at the moment, way more than you are. Don’t fuck this up.”

  Vincent watched her walk away wearing a bright smile and greeting each guest warmly. Kaitlyn worried him. She wore more masks than any of them. His sister had spent so much time hiding who she really was that he doubted she even knew any more.

  A soft breeze ruffled her hair, the same short cut that she’d been wearing for years.

  He could remember Thomas picking them up at the police station after their parents’ deaths. They’d been in his home less than an hour when they’d heard Ruby yelling.

  Kaitlyn had stood in the bathroom with her dark hair piled on the floor at her feet and a pair of scissors in her hand. She’d kept it shorn since then, because of their father and because of him. The guilt hit him then, hard as ever, a harsh reminder of all the reasons there would be no happily ever after for him.

  The next year would be the time he needed to eradicate the fire that burned in his blood for Ophelia and to finally rid himself of the torment of wanting her. They would part ways and he would be certain that she was provided for, and then it would be done.

  The judge approached him with a warm smile. She’d been a close friend of Thomas’ and had agreed to perform the ceremony for them. They spoke briefly and she indicated that she was ready to begin whenever they were.

  Looking back to Kaitlyn, Vincent nodded to her and she had the small quartet begin playing as everyone took their seats. Moving toward the arbor of roses, now festooned with soft lights and ribbons, Vincent waited for Ophelia to make her appearance.

  The terrace doors opened and she walked through them, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. The ivory lace clung to her curves, accentuating every exaggerated inch of her undeniably sinful body.

  His pulse began a heavy tattoo, his blood pounding in his veins.

  Her hair, had been swept to one side, held in place with crystal adorned combs, and an old fashioned bird cage veil covered one eye. The deep, rich red of her lips was a stark and carnal contrast to the white gown.