Fearless (Elite Doms of Washington Book 5)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  It wasn’t a good enough answer. He glared at the man, his eyes as fierce as the odd mix of rage and compassion that coursed through his veins at his advice. “Is that what you would do?”

  “Fuck no. You’re talking to the man who gave up his seat in Congress to marry a woman too young, too impressionable, and too innocent for him.” He laughed. “Just be there for her. And this may be the worst timing in the world, but you should know, Christiana and I are going to get married here. We’re going to have a small ceremony on the beach tomorrow. Sunset. Just the inner circle, Tribunal Council members and significant others. So if you’re serious about Sarah, that includes you.”

  “No Claire?” Steffan asked.

  “She may never get over being left out, but I’m fine with it.”

  Now that Steffan knew more about Sarah’s mother, he knew she would be livid—and he was fine with it, too.

  She let Sarah live with a terror buried so deep, she’d lost touch with it. Trouble was, he had to figure out how to exorcize a ghost, and he hadn’t a clue how to start.

  34

  A sudden burst of warm tropical air puffed out Sarah’s dress and the diaphanous fabric teased her calves while the salty, humidity of the Caribbean caressed her skin. She took a sip of champagne. The bubbles tickled the roof of her mouth before cascading over that annoying, persistent lump in her throat. Hundreds of people wished to be where she now sat—on a balcony at a resort in St. Thomas overlooking the gray-blue ocean. Joy should be coursing through her veins. She was lucky. No, she was blessed. Remember that, Sarah Marie Marillioux. Plus, she’d confessed her greatest sin. Steffan refused to buy it as a sin, and Laurent, well … what could she say about that bewitching man?

  She’d made some calls this morning and discovered that the Tribunal council in Amsterdam knew all about the Masters of X, and Steffan had been right about their incarceration. It was too good enough for them.

  Through a break in the palm trees that led to the beach, she could see Steffan and Laurent roughhousing in the waves. They jumped and threw each other down like teenagers, skin shining in the sunlight. They were a gift to her, one she would enjoy for as long as she could, which meant two more days. Jonathan had announced elopement plans, so all members of the Tribunal Council and their significant others extended their stay with little complaint to see Jonathan and Christiana marry. She chuckled into her glass recalling his text.

  <>

  Her mother was going to have a coronary as all her plans crumbled. Her commands for men’s morning suits would be for naught, and the whole of DC society no longer needed to fit themselves into the National Cathedral in two months to watch her stepson, the former U.S. Congressman from Rhode Island, marry the lovely Christiana Snow before Church and God. Ah, well. Best laid plans and all that.

  Her plans to hop on the first flight back to DC that morning were dashed as well. Now? She wouldn’t be the petulant child who has a tantrum and runs off.

  She’d texted Madeline, saying she was taking a few more days off and to reschedule all her appointments to next week. Madeline didn’t seem at all surprised. Sarah had done it frequently lately. Her life really was dissolving into a mess of chaotic disorder.

  From her balcony perch she caught sight of Alexander striding around the pool, saying hello to the guests who’d stayed behind—Carson, Mark, Ryan, each having their woman nestled alongside them in their bikinis—well, the bottoms anyway. She owed Alexander an apology for her mad dash out of the ballroom the other night. She just didn’t know what to say. Sorry for my drama? Sorry for being wholly inappropriate at such an auspicious occasion? He hadn’t reached out to her either, for which she was grateful.

  Steffan’s long, lean body stretched out before a wave. Earlier today, she’d ordered Laurent to lure Steffan out to the beach for a swim. They were beautiful, annoyingly attentive, hovering men who continued to watch her with worried eyes whenever she so much as sniffed. She’d needed some alone time with Christiana. She was going to give her and Jonathan the elopement of their dreams. After all, that’s what she was good at—spinning dreams in yards of silk and tulle and sky-high heels, or in Christiana’s case, glitter tennis shoes.

  A soft knock sounded, signaling Christiana had arrived.

  The young girl had said she wanted something that resembled a beach party, not an ounce of formality. Sarah hadn’t done a beach wedding in years, so she had to get creative. Madeline was able to pull the dress she’d wanted for Christiana and rush it to Regal, along with linen suits for the men which would always look rumpled but, again, beach. Sarah pulled a number of deep blue silk-blend Hawaiian shirts from one of the Regal shops to pair with the white linen pants. The men would be a picture postcard of tropical casual and chic.

  She swung open the door to find Christiana, a blush of sunburn over her nose, holding a garment bag.

  “Come in, beautiful bride.” Sarah stepped back, but Christiana launched herself at her, engulfing her a bear hug. The plastic garment bag rustled around them.

  “You’re going to be my sister in a few hours!”

  Sarah laughed. No one ever pushed Christiana away. She was like a little secret weapon, the kitten in their group that made eighteen-wheelers stop in the middle of the highway so the little fluff ball could cross the road.

  “I am, and your dress arrived,” Sarah said. “Nothing like the nick of time.”

  “Well, about that. I have an idea. Hear me out.” She raised the garment bag in her hand. “This is what I wore when Jonathan first took me to Covil Sereia and we …” She blushed a deep pink. If Sarah had any question how this woman had toppled her step-brother from bachelorhood to committed man, that doubt faded seeing her innocent reaction to a mere memory. The girl was just so honest. Had Sarah ever been that innocent?

  “Well …” Christiana laid it over a chair and unzipped the bag. She pulled out a cheap, white cotton, sundress. It was so perfectly Christiana. “I want to wear it. I’d have thrown it out years ago, but Jonathan insisted I keep it. Now I want to surprise him. Also, if we could weave in some yellow and blue tropical flowers into my wedding veil, we’ll have … Sarah, are you okay?”

  Sarah swiped a finger under her lashes to remove any traces of the emotion leaking from her eyes. “I’m more than fine. Your enthusiasm is catching, and it’s a beautiful idea.” Christiana’s gesture was a stunning display of love, loyalty, and truth. She took the dress and shook it out. “Let’s see what we can do. Would you mind if I added a little gold threat along here?” She ran her finger over the neckline. ‘Nothing too … blingy, I believe was your word.”

  “Anything you do will be fine. I trust you completely.”

  And with those words, Sarah was in serious danger of losing her composure. She wouldn’t allow it as Christiana would worry and now was not the time for a bride to worry about a thing.

  “Now, what about your father? Was Alexander able to find him in Africa?” she asked.

  “Yes. Alexander is amazing. He can make anything happen—like you.”

  She laughed at that. “Not everything. I didn’t stop my mother from the horrid magenta.”

  “You would have if I’d pressed the issue. You’re the most powerful woman I’ve ever met.”

  She swallowed back that ever-present lump in her throat and straightened Christiana’s tee-shirt, which was always lopsided.

  “There you go again,” she said with a smile. “I love you, Sarah.”

  This time she didn’t try to stop the tears. Sarah hugged the girl, trying to share all the love she felt for her, and absorb some of her magical, youthful optimism.

  “Love you back, Christiana girl.” She wasn’t like her soon-to-be-sister-in-law. She’d never believed the world was good. She thought you had to be good and then good would come. She pulled back, and Christiana swiped at her cheek.

/>   “Look at us? Two emotional women,” Christiana said. “It’s really happening, isn’t it Sarah? Over three years and I’m finally marrying Jonathan. Despite everything.”

  “Despite everything,” Sarah mirrored.

  At least something was moving forward.

  The door swung open, and Laurent and Steffan tumbled inside, Steffan grinning, having Laurent in a headlock, salt water dripping off his hair—so much like two best friends, a best friend to best friend. He released him once they saw Christiana standing there.

  “What did we miss?” Laurent asked.

  “Nothing,” Sarah said.

  “Well, the last of the holdouts are gone,” Steffan said. “We saw Seraphina and Michael load into a taxi. Now it’s just us and the Tribunal.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Laurent said and tossed a frisbee in the air. “I like our tribe.”

  Christiana giggled. “Good way to put it, Laurent. Tribe Tribunal.”

  Belonging. It was a human need to be part of a tribe, to belong to something greater than yourself. It’s what Accendos, and inside that, the Tribunal Council, had been for her for so long. Now her tribe had changed. Derek already had children, and she didn’t seem him often. How soon before Carson and London moved further south, something they both had talked about? Or, Jonathan and Christiana? Christiana said children weren’t in the cards but that could change overnight, and Sarah would ensure they’d be the best-dressed children in DC. She supposed change was the price for living—and she, too, would put some changes in place when she got home, starting with moving into Accendos full-time.

  “Laurent, why don’t you pour us some more champagne?” she asked. “The next two days are going to be about celebrating Christiana and Jonathan.” She raised her glass. She could do this. She could be whoever they needed.

  35

  The soft steel drum tinkled through the air. Not exactly Pachelbel’s canon, but the music was light and festive, which is what Christiana had asked for. Once the girl understood her wishes would be honored, she’d turned into a powerhouse of requests. Music was just the beginning. Fairy lights—hundreds, no, thousands of them. And, flowers and tiki torches, and leis for everyone and umbrella drinks. “Not a single champagne flute within a hundred miles,” she’d said. Sarah drew the line at coconut shell glasses. They’d compromised on brightly colored plastic wine goblets. “With umbrellas,” Christiana had countered. Never again would she consider Christiana weak, but then she’d never thought the girl was—or any submissive for that matter. Laurent also proved that theory—repeatedly.

  He brought her espresso in the morning and a second cup precisely at 4 p.m. when she liked that second hit of caffeine. He rubbed her feet when she was on the hundred calls a “simple beach wedding” demanded, threatening her ability to form sentences with his wickedly strong fingers. Then, there was the magic of his tongue. She wasn’t sure she’d ever take another shower again without thinking of how he could bring her to orgasm in under two minutes from his knees, his hands boxed behind his back.

  She let Steffan watch, his confident, cool blue eyes never once showing he was upset being relegated to voyeur. Perhaps to allow her to display her control? The fact he never once questioned her only grew her irritation. The man was just so … unwavering in his calm. She now understood more deeply how a submissive might brat to get a rise out of someone. The only saving grace was his lusty appetite for her body never diminished. She’d find herself atop him in the middle of the night, his cock rigid as steel and finding her greedy pussy with little need for guidance, as if he’d ever take direction anyway.

  Sarah stepped down the four stone steps leading to the circular terrace where the ceremony would be held. Steffan and Laurent had escorted her down the elevator, but she’d asked Laurent to fetch some last-minute items, including the flower petals and birdseed, people would throw in the air—another Christiana request—after the vows. Steffan joined the men, quickly, heartily accepting a flask from Derek.

  “I thought I said no heels.”

  She turned to find Jonathan’s green eyes twinkling down at her in the twilight.

  “Did you think I’d obey?” she asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Not on your life.” He pecked her on the cheek.

  “You look wonderful, Jay. Happiness suits you,” she said. “You’re finally getting what you want.”

  “Yes. Legal marriage. Who knew?”

  “I still can’t believe you sent in a marriage application months ago to St. Thomas. Had this planned all along?”

  “I like to be prepared for any inevitability. I had once thought I had her almost convinced on a destination wedding. Then Claire stepped in …”

  She raised her hand. “Please, no mother talk today. I’ll think about breaking the news to her later.”

  He ran a finger over his lip. “Thank you, Sarah.”

  “You know you don’t have to thank me.”

  “No, I do. Thank you for sticking by me, always.”

  Her throat clogged with love for her stepbrother, who’d been more family to her than any of her full-blooded relatives. “We stick together, Jay.” Their childhood—all the ups and downs, the secrets and lies, the pressures of being raised in the public spotlight—wasn’t something they discussed often, but the understanding that streamed between them didn’t require words.

  “Now today,” she said, placing her hand on his heart. “Is for the future.”

  He took in a deep breath. “It is.” He snagged two purple plastic goblets from a tray from a server who appeared by his side. He handed her one. “To us. To finding love.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him. He’d seen her out and about with Steffan and Laurent—their mere presence at this intimate gathering told her exactly what the others thought of them. They’d accepted them into their fold, and unless Sarah cast them out, they’d be welcomed at the most intimate moments of their lives.

  “Go,” she said. “Enjoy the last few minutes of your life as a bachelor.”

  He grinned at her and rejoined the men. Derek handed him the flask, which he heartily upended. She laughed a little at watching Carson pluck the little umbrella from his drink and drop it into London’s glass, therefore maintaining his male dignity.

  “Animals,” she said under her breath. God, she loved those men. They could not be tamed, but then neither could she.

  She sipped the cool white wine from her goblet, ignoring the telltale plastic smell, and made a quick pass around the circular terrace. She was pleased to see Derek had managed to commandeer every string of fairy lights on the island. Hundreds of strands were draped under the angled stretch of white canvas, shielding the small crowd underneath.

  The casual atmosphere didn’t stop the women from dressing to the nines. London, tucked into Carson’s side, wore a long blue column dress that set off the collar encircling her throat. The wingtips of a Phoenix bird with rubies for eyes stretched across her collarbone, a symbol of how her Master viewed her—strong and unsinkable, and he’d be sure she’d stay that way. Isabella touched her thick metal collar, a striking contrast against her ruched flesh-colored dress that hugged her curves, almost as close as her Master. Marcos kept a close hold on her. Samantha’s ears dripped with a waterfall of diamonds which Sarah knew wouldn’t last long by the way her little girl’s fists kept clutching at the sparkly things. Derek took the little squirming bundle in his arms and tossed her in the air, a delighted giggle enthralling everyone within earshot.

  Her gaze drifted to the beach. Alexander stood alone facing the waves, hands in his pockets, his white linen suit rumpled and ruffling in the breeze. He could pose for a tourism ad. His eyes were fixed on the red and gold clouds signaling Jonathan and Christiana would have a beautiful sunset for their ceremony. His brow furrowed as if he was deep in thought. As soon as she wondered about what, he turned and caught her gaping at him. He smiled, and he strode over.

  “I’m sorry, Alexander. I didn’t mean to spy on yo
u.” A rush of emotion floated on her whisper.

  “Sarah, you don’t ever apologize to me.” He put his arm around her and pulled her in. “You and I are beyond such things. No matter whose blood courses through our veins, I consider you my daughter. You remember that.” He looked down at her. “And remember who you are.”

  His words were not meant to be an admonishment, but somehow she felt they should be.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “About moving to Accendos permanently.”

  “It’s your home, Sarah. You are always welcomed, but are you sure?”

  “It’s for the best.”

  He picked up her hand—the second time this weekend. “Is it?”

  “Do you know, you may be the only man in the world who could carry off a wrinkled suit?” Things had gotten entirely too serious, and today wasn’t about her anyway.

  He chuckled. “I must say it’s comfortable.” He dropped her hand. “Let’s go and marry those two before Jonathan throws Christiana over his shoulder and marches down to the courthouse for this thing.”

  “He can’t. I spent an hour on those flowers in her hair.”

  Alexander joined Jonathan at the end of the terrace, the ocean at their backs. The second they took their positions, all eyes turned to the two of them. The steel drums in the corner stopped and picked up a new tune, something she didn’t recognize but which had a soft, melodic rhythm. Jonathan’s lips parted, and she followed where his eyes led. Christiana stood at the top of the stairs, her arm hooked through her father’s. The man beamed, his usual cargo pants and polo shirt replaced with a smashing outfit of khaki shorts and a white Hawaiian shirt. A shower of blue Allamanda, yellow hibiscus and Ginger Thomas flowers were woven into Christiana’s hair and cascaded down her wedding veil that floated on the ocean breeze. Her dress had been pressed to perfection, and Sarah had one of the on-site tailors embroider gold threads along the neckline and straps so the sparkle would frame her décolletage.