by Tina Leonard
“And I didn’t tell her. I didn’t tell anyone. Anyway, does it matter, Mitch?”
“Yes, it matters,” he stated, his voice flat. “It matters, Crystal, more than you can know.”
Hurt, she drew back a little. Of course. He’d married her in order to have the picture of respectability he needed. That’s what she had agreed to do for him. It was her part of the bargain. Obviously, being married during a lawsuit provided him with a more stable persona; hence the haste for the wedding. Of course the expected honeymoon could come later; that was the least important aspect of their relationship.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured, feeling the hives she’d thought conquered heat along her back. Uncomfortable warmth spread along her neck and zipped down her hips.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You suddenly look…as if you might faint.”
“No, I won’t faint. I won’t faint,” she reminded herself. And I won’t cry, and I won’t be crushed, and I won’t tell myself how stupid I was to believe that this time, all my dreams would come true.
“How is the bridal couple?” Bess called, coming to stand beside them. “Ready for the rice shower as you run out the door? Rice signifies luck for fertility, you know,” she told them merrily, “and believe me, I made enough rice bags for the guests to throw that I’m positive it would fill a bushel basket. A bushel of babies! That has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”
Chapter Sixteen
“I didn’t think we’d ever get away,” Mitch said on a groan. “I’m pretty sure I have rice lodged in my ear and embedded in my scalp.”
“My mother has excellent aim,” Crystal agreed. “One grain hit my tooth and it felt like she’d thrown a rock!”
“Your aunt Elle is no slouch with her aim, either. I think she dented the car with one handful. I’m taking the car into the shop next week and see if I can claim hail damage. You don’t think they can run a test to tell the difference between hail and rice damage, do you?”
She shook the long skirt of her lovely wedding gown so that the rice would fall from the folds onto the living room carpet. The sequins and crystal beads danced in the light from the ceiling fixture, and for just an instant, she thought she saw the skirt twinkle with extra energy. Of course it was the effect of light on satin; there was nothing extraordinary nor magical about a woman’s wedding gown. “Mom’s and Elle’s enthusiasm was certainly showing.”
He shook rice out of his hair. “Did they say something about rice affecting fertility in a positive way? I definitely thought I heard something to that effect, right before I was rice-blasted. Is rice a good luck charm, or is that one of those old wives’ tales that have great underlying truth?”
Crystal decided it was best to shy away from the subject of fertility. “Probably rice only helps fertility if you scoop it up off the ground and take it home to boil up and snack on during the honeymoon. The groom would need to keep his strength up somehow, I suppose. Rice has stick-to-your-ribs qualities.”
He tugged her hand. “Let’s get back and start scooping, then. I’m famished!”
“I’m sure there’s something in the kitchen you can forage for.” She pulled her hand from his and picked up her skirt, heading toward her bedroom.
He caught her hand to turn her around. “Hey. Where are you off to?”
Her breath caught in her chest as she stared into his eyes. “I’m going to change.”
“This minute?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, this minute.”
“Couldn’t it wait a little while?” He turned her slowly around. “I really haven’t had a chance to admire you.”
The familiar tremor zinged up her legs and ran into her stomach, tightening it. Why did he have to look at her with such fire in his eyes? It made hope spring to life inside her; it made her heart beat faster with hopefulness! “You’ve seen me every night, Mitch. There’s nothing more to admire.”
“Oh, but there is.” He reached out to gently touch her veil with one finger. “This is very soft.”
She moved his hand away from the fairy tulle fabric. “Yes.”
He touched the satin of the skirt. “And this is very soft.”
She stepped back fractionally, so that her skirt was out of reach of his fingers. “Satin is a soft fabric,” she said cautiously.
“And this is very soft,” he said, stepping near to stroke her cheek. “And your lips are soft. Can I kiss you, Crystal?” he asked huskily.
The fact that he’d asked her permission caused her to hesitate. Had he sensed the barricade she had erected and wanted her to invite him to assault her senses? “I…don’t know,” she said, her voice a choked whisper.
He stepped nearer, his body pressing the skirt against her so that there was very little barrier left between them. “Why not? A groom should kiss his beautiful bride. I should kiss you.” He enfolded her into his arms, sighing with what sounded like utter pleasure. “You feel made for me, almost a special order bride.” Running a thumb lightly along her cheekbone, he swept along her lip in gentle, mesmerizing whisper-strokes. “I want to be your special order groom.”
You are! she wanted to say. No other man could ever fit her the way he did; no other man could ever make her so happy. Even in high school when other girls were fickle, she only had eyes for Mitch McStern. He was her dream come true. “Did we want to marry each other, so we used Mother and a marriage of convenience as an excuse?” she asked. “Did we simply need each other?”
“I’ve asked myself that, too. Did I rationalize what we were doing because I wanted you so badly, and I knew the only way to get such a stubborn, set-in-her-ways young lady to the altar was by emotional luring? Was I trying to be your hero just so I could see my ring on your finger?” He rubbed his nose lightly against hers. “These are the wrenching questions that keep me up in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, stop!” She laughed, giving him a slight slap on the arm as she stepped away from him. “You’re back, Mitch McStern. You’re back one hundred percent.”
His brow crooked. “What do you mean I’m back? I never left.”
“Oh, you did.” She scooped her skirt over one arm and went into the kitchen to pour two glasses of champagne. “Your bedside manner is very wacky, normally. But when you’re upset, the humor is replaced by this stern, cold male.”
“Oh, like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde! I kind of like that. They were heroes of mine. Dr. Jekyll for the medicine, and Mr. Hyde for the patience to cope.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about whatsoever. Did you ever see the movie? Help me pop this cork.”
“Absolutely.” He took the bottle from her and wrested the cork so that a silent puff of smoke filtered from the bottle. Pouring two glasses, he held one up for her to take. “No, I never saw the movie, so I’m teasing you, but I am willing to stay more light than dark whenever possible. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She put down her glass. “I wasn’t scared. I was…worried.”
“Wasn’t sure who you were marrying, huh? Worried you’d have to spend your life sleeping with a mad doctor? I know you weren’t worried that I wouldn’t show. I was at the gym this morning before they opened it.”
“Mitch! I was worried about you. I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know very much about you, and we were going at this so quickly, I felt very lost.”
He put her glass back into her hand and held his up. “I promise to always leave a trail of crumbs so that you can find your way back out when your husband turns into an impenetrable forest.”
She smiled wryly. “You make it so hard to be serious.”
“Laughter is the best medicine.”
“For you, or for me?”
“For both of us. For our marriage.”
She nodded. “All right.” They clinked glasses and each sipped some champagne. “Now, let me toast you in comparable fashion.”
“I’m all ears.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not last time I checked. Now, let m
e think of a suitable toast for you…all right. I hope that you’ll always be glad you married me, even when I gripe that you leave the toilet lid up—”
“I do not! I did it once, and Thor decided he wanted a libation, so I’ve been extra-vigilant about that. I even posted a sign that says I don’t drink out of your bowl, don’t drink out of mine at doggie-level!” he said indignantly.
“And when I leave the toothpaste cap off, I promise to—”
“Never mind about toothpaste caps. They’re small in the overall scheme of things. Get to the stuff that matters. I toasted you something important.”
“Okay.” She raised her eyebrow. “Here’s to that smiling family portrait you wanted for your office hallway. I hope it brings you all the respectability you ever dreamed of, and may no one ever draw mustaches on it.”
He laughed. They sipped their champagne and then he took her glass to set it on the counter. “You’d look good in a mustache. Didn’t Lucy Ricardo wear one once?”
“Yes, but I’d rather not.”
“Okay. You don’t have to. I was only trying to make you feel better in case someone ever does put a mustache on the family portrait.” He slid her into his arms.
“You don’t think any of your patients ever would, do you?” she asked, her eyes closed, lulled by his nearness and their gentle teasing.
“It depends,” he whispered against her earlobe. “After the hearing, a mustache may be the least of what is drawn on us.”
She froze, then gently pulled out of his arms. He tried to pull her back but she shook her head. “Don’t, Mitch.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Your mind is occupied by Monday, and I understand that. You don’t really feel like…romance, and I don’t want it when I know that you’re thinking about something else. Let’s wait until our hearts are in it.”
The smile slipped from his face. He sighed. “I’m so sorry, Crystal. I wanted tonight to be everything you would have ever dreamed of for your wedding night.”
“I knew what I was doing when I married you, Mitch. We set the table ahead of time, and there’s no point in complaining about eating the meal now.” She leaned up to give him a fast kiss on the lips. “Thank you for trying, though. It means a lot to me.”
She turned and escaped down the hall into her bedroom. Not her bedroom, theirs now.
Theirs, because they’d agreed to it—for six weeks.
Why had she let herself forget that?
“WAIT,” HE SAID, coming into the bedroom just as she realized she’d never be able to get herself out of her own wedding gown. There had to be fifty crystal bead buttons securing the back of her dress, and she could only reach the ones at the bottom of the skirt. She’d known the beading was slightly impractical, because it would take someone five minutes to help her into the gown, and five minutes to get her out. But she’d loved the old-fashioned feel of the minute buttons, and she’d loved how they glowed in the three-way mirror in the salon. Uncle Martin had assured her that the expensive, princess look of the gown was perfect for her.
Crystal had never considered that maybe she wouldn’t want Mitch to have to undo fifty bead buttons along her spine. It wasn’t a good way to keep distance between them.
“Let me help you.”
She stiffened as he touched the first button at the back of her gown. It lay just where her bra strap would be, if she were wearing one. The gown left her shoulders bare, and swept to the floor in a glorious sea of twinkling sequins and shining satin, the skirt a little full but not bell-shaped, more suited to the old Hollywood-style of elegant evening wear. Crystal loved it.
Had loved it, she thought, as Mitch’s fingers brushed the bare skin of her shoulders.
“These are tiny buttons,” he murmured. “Why didn’t they just put a zipper in here?”
“Uncle Martin says the beading is better craftsmanship done by hand, without the zipper to lie over. He says the effect is more smooth and dreamy,” she replied, her heart racing.
“When I heard you’d opened up a bridal boutique, I thought Bess and Elle were probably the driving force behind you. I was very surprised to find out it was your uncle instead.”
Crystal smiled. “Oh, Mom doesn’t have the patience to sew, and brides would make her nervous. She’s wonderful at hostessing parties, and socializing, but she’d be more suited to running a catering business. And Aunt Elle is a wonderful artist, but she needs absolute silence to create. There is nothing silent about an excited bride,” she said with a laugh. “Uncle Martin learned a lot about sewing out of necessity. My grandparents were tailors in Germany, and during World War II they did less fine sewing and more repair work. Uncle Martin had two little sisters who needed clothes, but Grandma and Grandpa were busy making a living, so he figured he could sew up two pieces of material with a hole for a small head to poke through and two for arms.” She noticed Mitch’s fingers slowly moving down her dress as she spoke—the sensation gave her an agonizingly delicious thrill. “Uncle Martin admired the fashions coming out of France at the time, and decided if he could sew little girl dresses, it couldn’t be much harder to do big girl dresses. He ended up with a nice business in inexpensive clothes that imitated French fashion.”
“Does he still sew a lot?”
Crystal shook her head, realizing with a start that her entire back was now exposed. Mitch’s fingers fought with a tiny button at her waist, and she reached to hold the front of her gown so the bodice wouldn’t fall and leave her exposed. “He taught me how to sew when I was a child, and helped me with high school home ec projects. Occasionally, he’ll help me with a difficult alteration on a bridal gown, and we do go over the catalogs together. He likes to go to market with me and pick out the next season’s gowns. But Mom said once that when the family left Germany to get away from what was happening at the end of the war, he never sewed once he hit American soil.”
“He didn’t have to.”
“I guess not. He worked his way through a small college, got a business degree, married the woman of his dreams, and when she died, he moved to Lover’s Valley to live with us.”
She stepped free of the gown, snatching up her robe to cover herself. Mitch laid the gown over a chair. “It was so pretty I hated to take it off of you.”
Her eyelids lowered. “Thank you. You were very handsome yourself.”
“You know, Crystal,” he said huskily, moving to stand closer to her. “We’re not like Uncle Martin. We’re not doing this out of complete necessity.”
“No. I suppose not.”
“I mean,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her closer to him, “I know we said there were many good reasons for us to get married, but it isn’t like we were forced to do it.”
“You have a point,” she said, her body trembling as he tucked her head under his chin. She stared at the crisp white shirt that spread across his chest in a stiffly proud display of wedding finery. A black tie accented the formal attire. “We were pretty fancy for a gym, I guess.”
He chuckled. “We would have been thirteen years ago, too. I had a great tux rented.”
“I know. I picked it out.”
“I wondered if you remembered.”
“Oh, I did. In fact, I was torn with jealousy when I saw the picture of you and Kathryn in the Lover’s Valley newspaper. You were a very handsome escort for a lovely prom queen.”
His arms tightened around her. “Then I guess you know that this is the same style tux, right down to the tie.”
“It seemed quite familiar.” She snuggled up against him more tightly.
“You little minx,” he said, laughing. “You knew very well I was trying to re-create the entire night we would have had together. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
Putting her arms around his waist, she squeezed him gently, enjoying the feel of muscle and fit male. “It was perfect, Mitch. Thank you.”
With one finger, he tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes. “So what do y
ou think?”
“I think it was much better to be a bride than a prom date.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes, I do,” she assured him. “Even though I broke out in hives getting to the altar.”
“And tossed your cookies for a week leading up to it. It was worth that?”
“The only thing I’ll ever remember being tossed was my bouquet. How’s that for a metaphor?”
“I love it,” he said, sneaking his hands under her robe to feel her bare back. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
They melded against each other and he removed her robe. Crystal quickly undid his tie and stiff white shirt. She couldn’t wait to unzip his trousers and pull off his shoes. He wanted to linger over the white garter belt, which flashed with delicate sequins holding up sheer white stockings, but she wouldn’t let him. “I’ve waited for thirteen years for this,” she said breathlessly, pulling him up onto the bed with her.
“Me, too,” he answered, his lips against hers and his fingers in her hair.
They kissed fast, and hot, and hard. Crystal moaned, wanting Mitch more than ever. She urged him inside her. Gasping, they both stopped for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Oh, my gosh,” she said on a surprised whisper. “The strangest feeling just passed over me that…we’re truly one now. Really one being. Does that sound crazy?”
His smile said he felt the same way. “I was thinking along similar lines,” he told her, swooping down for an instant to kiss her lips, and then each of her breasts. “I feel married. I feel…whole.”
Joyful tears sprang into Crystal’s eyes. “It’s not what I thought it would be,” she admitted. “It’s so much better this way.”
She began moving against him, encouraging him to stroke faster, go deeper. Together they found a rhythm they hadn’t known before, a union of perfect harmony. “Oh, Mitch,” she cried, never wanting it to end, because the moment was perfect, translucently alive with the explosion of happiness bursting inside her. Before she could admit that she wanted the climax, it swept over her, claiming her with abundant freedom to relax in her lover’s arms and succumb to the passion.