by Amelia Mae
“True, but it was so cute and homey. And the lady there was always giving us cake.”
“So you’d take cake in Croatia over anything else?” he teases. “What about that really swanky one we stayed at in Australia?”
I shrug. “It was really good cake.”
He laughs.
“I know what you’re trying to do, Dylan. You’re trying to distract me from the not sure comment you made earlier,” I say, calling him out.
He sighs. “You caught that?”
“I did.” I raise my eyebrow. “Are you really thinking of seeing them? I mean, have you actually entertained the possibility?”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“I was thinking about what you said on the plane,” he finally answers. “Something about how I’m much closer to getting what I’m after by just coming here than I would be if we’d just gone straight back to LA. Well, I’m never going to get any kind of closure from them if I never give them the opportunity to apologize.”
I smile ear to ear.
“Don’t get too excited,” he says. “I might change my mind and spend the whole time with Viv and Justine and ignore my parents. I reserve the right to do that.”
“Of course.”
“But I was thinking that maybe… on the way to the airport… for, like, half an hour…”
I try not to get too excited.
“You know, Jane,” he starts, definitely choosing his words carefully. “I’m beginning to wonder why you’ve put so much into my meeting with my parents. As opposed to… you know…”
I do know.
“As opposed to trying to reunite with my own mother?” I ask.
He nods, gently.
“Dylan, I reached out to my mother after you and I got together officially. I emailed her that night. Then again after we moved in together,” I tell him. “And a third after you proposed.”
“You emailed her last night?”
I nod. “No response. Not to any of them.”
“Are you sure you have the right address?”
“Yes. And they always get marked as seen. She just never replies.”
We reach the hotel and say our thanks to the driver. We check into the hotel and take the elevator to our room. It’s perfectly lovely for a chain hotel. I’m not picky.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says.
“About the room or about my mother?” I ask, attempting a joke, but probably not nailing it.
He just looks at me like… you know what I mean.
“Are you upset?”
“I mean… I don’t think so,” I answer. “This is just kind of the way it’s always been. I don’t build myself up to expect anything when I send her messages. I think of them more like journal entries at this point.”
“That’s so sad.”
“She’s made her choice. I have to go along with it.”
Dylan steps in behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders. He smooths my hair over one shoulder and presses a kiss to the back of my neck. No matter how many times he’s done something like this to try and soothe me, it makes me shiver when he kisses me there.
“I’m okay, really.”
“Jane, you got engaged and told your mother and she said nothing.”
“I told Kelvin too. He got excited. He’s already decided he’s my man of honor and will be throwing my bachelorette party.”
“Not the same.”
He holds me closer, his breath warming my skin, and we just stand there.
“Jane, I have to confess something…”
I turn to face him, but he keeps me in place, talking to the back of my head.
“If I do bail on seeing my parents and we leave New York empty handed… I can’t stand the idea of disappointing you,” he whispers.
“You won’t.”
“I might.”
“You won’t disappoint me, Dylan. You’ll disappoint yourself,” I tell him.
He mumbles something that sounds like assent against my neck. I close my eyes, relishing how I feel right now. Completely vulnerable, but also protected.
Like we can protect each other.
“Come on,” he murmurs.
“To where?”
“We just got engaged, and we never properly celebrated.”
Dylan takes me by the hand and leads me into the bathroom. I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s got up his sleeve.
Twenty-Three
Dylan
I start the shower and the room fills with steam.
Jane smirks. “Is this some ploy to get me naked?”
“Of course not,” I reply. I take my tee shirt off slowly, letting her watch as I undress. “I’m showering. But I mean… you’re welcome to join me if you want.”
“Am I?”
I undo my jeans, not breaking eye contact with Jane, silently goading her into taking off her sweater. She gives up a saucy little smirk and peels it off.
She takes her time with the rest of her clothes, but when we’re both finally naked, I lead her under the spray. She leans back and gets her hair wet, letting out a low moan that I feel in my bones.
I was hard when we stepped into the bathroom but want courses through my veins as Jane moans. I press my throbbing cock into her lower back, and she makes that noise again.
“Dylan,” she seethes.
My arms wind around her waist, and I kiss the spot just under her ear. She lets out a shaky breath and lets herself sag against me.
“I love that you do that,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“Fall apart in my arms.”
I press my cock into that lower back notch again. It drives her crazy. Which, in turn, drives me crazy.
I turn her around because I need to kiss her. I push her up against the tile wall with my full weight.
Jane slips her tongue into my mouth, and I’m shocked at her forwardness. She kisses me like she’s trying to devour me whole, but two can play at that game.
I thumb her right nipple, circling her little barbell piercing.
“Dylan…” She sucks in a breath. “Fuck.”
I dip down to kiss her neck and work both of her nipples with my thumbs. She leans against the wall, panting. Winding Jane up is one of my favorite pastimes and tonight, I’ve got her ready and dripping wet in record time.
“Suck on them,” she orders.
“Demanding Jane. I like it.”
“Please.”
I take her right nipple into my mouth and suck hard. I feel her fingers thread through my hair. I tug at her piercing with my teeth. Jane makes noises like she’s losing her mind, and I fucking love how responsive she is.
“I could do this all night,” I grit out.
“Fuck me,” she orders.
I look Jane right into her pleading green eyes. She looks desperate. Soaking wet and horny. I’m about to lose my mind. I kiss her hard and guide one of her legs up around my waist.
“Now. Please…”
I line myself up with her entrance.
“Dylan…”
I let out a primal grunt as I push into her and she almost shrieks out my name as I thrust into her.
“Fuck, Jane… Damn.”
I roll and snap my hips into her until her legs are shaking and her voice scales two octaves.
“Dylan, I’m gonna come,” she warns me. I feel her fingernails tear into my back, and I pick up the pace, fucking her with abandon. She pulls, scratching my skin and it makes my vision go dark.
She comes with my name on her lips. I’m seconds behind her.
“Fuck, Jane,” I grumble.
My legs are weak as I pull out of her. She looks all hazy. Good and fucked. Her eyes are half open, her lips parted, and I don’t think she can stand up on her own.
“So fucking beautiful.”
“Love you,” she whispers.
“Love you too.
For the next two days, Jane and I play tourists around New York City. Well, I suppose Jane actually is a
tourist, and I’m more of a tour guide. Justine and Viv join us from time to time as we cross things off of Jane’s long list of must-sees.
“This is fascinating, Jane,” I tell her. “You have no desire to see the Statue of Liberty or Radio City, but you want to see every bakery featured in a rom-com.”
“And anywhere they shot Sex and the City,” she says, taking a bite of cupcake number four.
“There used to be a bus tour for that.”
“That sounds cool. Too bad it isn’t the early 2000s. Also, is frozen hot chocolate still a thing?” she asks excitedly.
“We can find you some,” I assure her.
Eventually, our trip is over, and it’s time to head back to the airport. Viv is kind enough to drive, but as she picks us up at the hotel, Jane’s eyes are on me.
I know what she wants to ask.
Are you going to do it?
Viv’s eyes are on me too, the same question burning behind them.
I heave out a deep sigh.
“I’ll stay twenty minutes,” I tell them. “That’s it. Then straight to the airport.”
Jane smiles and grabs my hand. If anything else… even if this all goes to hell, and I regret it forever… at least I made Jane happy.
Twenty-Four
Dylan
I ring the doorbell. I don’t have a key.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Viv says, opening the door with her own key and leading us inside. “Mom? Dad?”
“Kitchen,” my mother says. “And who’s with you?”
We walk into the kitchen, and my mother is sitting at the dining room table, a glass of white wine in front of her as she peels carrots.
“Hi,” I say softly.
My mother drops the carrot peeler.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah. And my fiancé, Jane.”
“Fiance?”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cotter,” Jane says.
“It’s missus,” she corrects.
The stairs creek and my father descends into the dining room.
“Dylan,” he says. Not a question. Not a greeting. Just my name.
“And his fiancé,” my mother adds. “Jane.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Jane adds, her enthusiasm never wavering.
I look around. Viv has abandoned us.
God, this dining room is exactly the same as I remember growing up. Same table that was in my grandparents’ house for decades. Same Christmas tablecloth, even though Christmas was months ago.
“Would you like a drink?” my mother asks.
“We don’t have time. Our flight leaves in a few hours.”
“So what did you come here for if you don’t have time to talk?” my father asks, taking a seat at the table and inviting Jane and me to do the same.
I still haven’t found the perfect answer to that question, but I offer him the closest explanation that I have.
“I wanted… to see you. To let you know that I’m all right and that I have a good life that I’ve made for myself,” I tell them. “And that I’ve met an amazing woman and we’re getting married.”
“I see,” he says.
“Yes.”
I open my mouth like there’s more to it than that but close it immediately.
“Is that all?” my mother asks.
I nod. It is. That’s everything I need to say. Maybe not everything that I want to say, but this is as much as I can see actually being helpful.
We sit in silence for a minute or so.
“Well… I’m glad for you, Dylan,” my mother says, finally. “I’m glad that you’re doing well.”
My father nods in agreement but keeps quiet.
Then we’re all quiet again.
Glad. They’re glad I’m doing well.
No apologies. No admission of wrongdoing. No remorse for cutting me out of their lives or allowing my siblings to pile on the insults.
Not even a question about the wedding.
To the untrained eye, it looks like this interaction accomplished absolutely nothing.
But, for Robert and Martha Cotter, this is a world of progress.
“I’ll take it,” I conclude.
Finally, back at home, I don’t bother unpacking before throwing myself on the bed and dragging Jane down with me.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
“Not sure,” I answer, honestly.
“Different? Satisfied?”
“I don’t know. Lighter, though. Is that good?” I ask.
“Yes. I think so.”
Jane cozies up to me, wrapping her arm around my waist.
“Dylan, I’m really proud of you. I know that wasn’t easy and… I know you mostly did it to humor me,” she says. “But I’m so glad you did.”
“So am I. I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t have done this if not for you. But had you not pushed me, I’d never have gotten anything out of them.”
Jane kisses my cheek and closes her eyes.
We drift in and out of sleep for the next few hours until we finally get ourselves cleaned up and changed out of the clothes we’ve been traveling in.
I fall into a deep sleep with Jane in my arms and sleep better than I have in years.
Twenty-Five
Jane
“So I have a friend who makes these really cool floral centerpieces,” Kelvin says. “They’re really pretty, but they take, like, eight months to make. So if you want them, you can’t get married for at least a year.”
“Well, I’ll think about that. I guess,” I reply.
I have no interest in floral center pieces. Or any kind of center pieces. Wedding planning is… a topic I’ve been avoiding like the plague.
This isn’t the first conversation about center pieces, seating charts, or photographers that Kelvin and I have had. But it’s certainly the longest one.
And I’m guessing they don’t get easier or more fun.
“Have you thought about what song you’re walking down the aisle to?” he continues. “Or are you doing the traditional Here Comes the Bride thing? Wait… are you getting married in a church?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you getting married in Ireland?” he asks.
That question I actually do know the answer to.
“No,” I tell him. “We’re getting married in LA. The only family I have in Ireland is my mom and that’s not…”
Kelvin squeezes my shoulder, and I clasp my hand over his.
“I thought about doing the ceremony in my grandparents’ church, but we did just visit there last month,” I say. “Plus, all our friends are here. Our lives are here. You and Dean are here. LA is home now.”
“Have you set a date?”
“No. Not yet. We’re going to do it before the tour starts again, though.”
“That’s only a few months from now,” Kelvin says, his eyes wide as saucers. “Jane, are you crazy? You’re going to try and plan a whole wedding in a matter of months?”
“How long could planning a wedding possibly take?”
Kelvin stares at me with his mouth open like a fish.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you serious? Jane, weddings take, like, a whole year to plan,” he says. “I mean… nice ones anyway.”
“Really?”
“And you’re marrying a big rock star, so it better be good because the whole world will be watching.”
I glare at him.
“Thanks, Kelvin, that’s the perfect thing to say to the girl with the social anxiety problem,” I sneer.
“Sorry.”
Suddenly, I feel like my skin is crawling, and I’m short of breath.
“What? Jane, what’s happening?” he asks, concerned.
“I’ve just suddenly realized that I’m going to be marrying Dylan in front of, like, a million people and everyone will be expecting perfection.”
“Do you even know a million people, Jane?”
“I don’t. I know, like, two people in all of Los Angeles, but Dylan knows a m
illion people. More than that even.”
My head spins, and I start feeling a little faint. I’m about to start spiraling into someplace twisted and dark and I know it’s not even rational, but I can’t help it.
“Jane…”
"And they’re all going to be looking at me in a puffy white dress, and I’m going to look like a cupcake with tattoos and they’re all going to be like… Why her? Is she really good enough for Dylan Cotter?”
My heart races.
“This is insane,” Kelvin says, taking my hand and encouraging me to take deep breaths.
“No, it isn’t. It could happen.”
He rolls his eyes like he knows I’m right.
“Okay, look… I’m sorry that I wound you up like this, but more than likely, you two will have a beautiful wedding, nothing will go wrong, and you’ll have a wonderful life together,” he assures me.
“Yeah, but…”
Kelvin cuts right to the chase.
“Jane, do you want to marry Dylan?”
“Yes,” I answer, with absolutely no hesitation. “I love him more than anything.”
Kelvin clears his throat.
“Except you, of course,” I say, feeding his ego. “But I can’t marry you, now, can I?”
“Oh, Christ, could you imagine that?”
“Not even for a second. No offense.”
“None taken,” he says, still laughing.
“I just didn’t take into account all the other people we’d have to deal with,” I admit. “I mean, Dylan’s had a few dozen interviews about the wedding.”
“Has anyone been after you to make a public statement?”
“They have, but I always refuse. I don’t want to talk to press or anything. But now I’m starting to feel like I owe Dylan’s fans something. I mean, that song is about me, after all. And Dylan’s calling the next album Shades of Jane. I feel like I should give them…
“A taste of Jane?” he asks, laughing.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust.
“Unfortunately, it’s what you’ve signed on for dating someone in the public eye,” he rationalizes.
“I know.”
“But two things. One is that you don’t owe them anything. You want to be the mysterious Jane Doe in Dylan’s life forever, that’s totally allowed.”