by Scott, Kylie
I could soak it in forever. In fact, I think I will. “I have a question, but I’m not sure if you’ll like it.”
“When has that ever stopped you before?”
“Good point.”
“Go on, Clem. Ask me anyway.”
“All right then,” I say, taking a breath. “Would you marry me?”
Over at the counter, Iris gasps.
But Ed opens his mouth and out comes nothing. Lots of lots of it. The hands on my shoulders falling perfectly still. Oh, fuck me. This isn’t working. There is none of the expected or at least hoped for explosion of love, delight, or any other positive response sort of indicator crossing his face.
“You don’t have to, of course. I mean . . . it was just a thought.”
He licks his lips. “It was just a thought. So you didn’t really mean it? Asking someone to marry you is a pretty serious business. You can’t fool around with that sort of thing.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, or asking rather, would you marry me?” I explain, lungs tight and awful. More emotion than trauma. Or maybe a bit of both. “But then you didn’t say anything and I got scared so it all kind of went sideways.”
He just studies me.
“Maybe we should talk about the weather or something a bit safer than . . . you know . . . weddings.”
Slowly but surely a smile spreads across his face. “Yes.”
Shit. “You want to talk about the weather?”
“No.” He laughs. “Clementine, I would like to marry you.”
“You would?” I exhale, suddenly about a hundred times better than I had been a moment before. This is right. In fact, it’s quite possible the rightest thing I’ve ever done, apart from searching him out in the first place. “Good. That’s good. Phew. I love you, you know?”
“I know. I love you too, baby.”
Perhaps not the most romantic of proposals, but given the state of my poor stomach, getting down on one knee just wasn’t an option. And it worked okay in the end. Then Ed’s mouth covers mine and it hardly even matters that Iris is sobbing loudly in the corner. Ed and I are getting married. This life is great.
Three months later . . .
“I’m not so sure about this.” Hands out to either side, I stand oh so fucking precariously in the stiletto heels. While they do look amazing with my sharp white pantsuit, balance is definitely eluding me. Big time. And my peony bouquet is no help at all.
On the plus side, my French nail polish looks awesome with the antique engagement ring Ed slid on my finger a few months back. Not landing on my ass in the cobblestone street, however, would be good. We’ll obviously be getting no help from the driver since the car just took off. Never mind. It’s just me and my unofficial bridesmaids. Since we decided on keeping things simple, there’s no big wedding procession or anything. But Tessa and Frances have been at my side through all of the recuperating and planning. I’m lucky. This is a fact.
“I told you to practice walking in them,” says Tessa. Pregnancy hasn’t mellowed her much despite all of the glowing. But we’ve been having a huge amount of fun shopping for baby gear and maternity wear. “One of these days you’re going to actually listen to what I say.”
Frances just sighs. “Knew you’d regret the choice of footwear.”
“But they look so fabulous,” I groan. “Maybe I’ll just take them off.”
“No, wait. Knowing your luck, you’ll step on a piece of glass or something. Just hold on a minute, I can fix this.” Tessa strides across the cobble stones in her fancy wedges with nary any difficulty at all. At the restaurant door, she signals to someone inside. A moment later, Nevin comes out, followed by Ed, Leif, and Niels. All of them looking mighty damn fine in black suits. Like seriously, so much eye candy. If I wasn’t head over heels in love with one of them, I wouldn’t know where to look first.
Leif wolf whistles. Such a flirt. I carefully wave my bouquet in his direction. There’s been kind of a cloud hanging over the man ever since the attack. Guess having your choice in bed partner turn out to be so disastrous would be hard to take. Not that I ever blamed him about Shannon. But I think he still blames himself.
Niels just nods. He’s every bit as big, silent, and intimidating as his little brother made him out to be.
“Go rescue your bride, Ed,” Tessa slips into Nevin’s arms, being wary of her bump. They make such a great couple, and they’re going to be awesome parents.
“He’s not supposed to see you before the wedding!” Frances laughs, holding my hand, helping me stay upright. My big sister is the best. Also, we drank champagne in the car. We even had a glass each for Tessa since she’s otherwise indisposed. These are the sort of hardcore sacrifices friends and family make for one another.
“You know, Mom would be appalled,” Frances continues. “No froufrou wedding dress, Vito’s cannoli instead of a cake, and now this. You were her one hope for a big wedding since I just took to off to Vegas for a weekend.”
“Oh, well.” I give her fingers an affectionate squeeze. “I’m wearing white at least.”
Ed lopes over with his long-ass stride. “What’s wrong?”
“My pretty shoes are impossible to walk in.”
“Those are some sexy heels.” His smile is slow and wide and everything I want in this world. With no effort, he lifts me up into his arms. Inside of me is all of the swoon in all of the world, solely for this man. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you.”
“What’s on your mind, Clem?” he asks, lowering his voice, making it just between me and him. “Everyone’s waiting inside. Are we doing this or what?”
“Rest assured, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you get away from me this time.”
He grins and the light in his eyes . . . oh my. “C’mon then, baby. Let’s get married.”
Purchase Kylie Scott’s Other Books
It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Trust
THE DIVE BAR SERIES
Dirty
Twist
Chaser
THE STAGE DIVE SERIES
Lick
Play
Lead
Deep
Strong: A Stage Dive Novella
THE FLESH SERIES
Flesh
Skin
Flesh Series: Shorts
NOVELLAS
Heart’s A Mess
Colonist’s Wife
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It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Chapter One
Wednesday
In a fair and just world, he’d have looked like shit. The years would have ground him down to all but a shell of his former glory. Of course, this hadn’t happened. My luck just wasn’t that good.
“You made it,” he said, walking barefoot down his front steps.
“Don’t sound so surprised. You taught me how to drive.”
Pale blue eyes gazed at me flatly. No visible gray in his dark hair. Not yet, anyway.
“Hi, Pete,” I said.
Nothing.
“I come in peace.”
More of the same.
I climbed out of my car, muscles protesting the movement. My sundress was a crumpled ruin. What had looked hopeful, happy, and bright in the wee hours of the morning didn’t hold up so well under the late-afternoon light. A twelve-hour drive from Sydney to South East Queensland’s north coast will
do that to you. I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head, ready to face my inevitable doom. A light breeze smelled of lush foliage and flowers. And the heat and humidity beat down on me, even with the sun sinking over the hills. I’d forgotten what it was like being in the subtropics during summer. Should have worn more deodorant. Should have faked a communicable disease and stayed home.
“What’s it been,” he asked, “seven years?”
“About that.”
“Thought you were bringing a boyfriend with you.”
I paused. Dad must have given him that idea. God knows where Dad, however, had gotten it from. “No. No . . . he’s ah, busy.”
He looked me over; I guess we were both curious. Last time we’d been in the same room was for my eighteenth birthday party. My hair had been short and my skirt even shorter. What a spectacularly awful night that was. As if he too, remembered, he suddenly frowned, his high forehead filling with lines. Victory! The man definitely had more wrinkles. Unfortunately, they kind of suited him. Enhanced him, even. Bastard.
“Better come inside,” he said.
“If you’re still pissed at me, then why am I staying here?”
“I am not ‘pissed at you.’” His tone was light and just a bit haughty. A sure sign he was pissed. “I just was expecting your boyfriend too, that’s all.”
I crossed my arms.
“Look,” he said, “you’re staying here because we’re both doing a favor to your dad. I know you haven’t met her yet, but Shanti’s a nice woman. She’s good for him. They make a great couple and I want their wedding to be hassle free.”
“I didn’t come to cause trouble.”
“But with you, from what I recall, it just seems to magically happen.” Hands on slim hips, he gave me a grim smile. “It’s just a few days, kid. Apparently, your old room is filled with bomboniere, whatever the fuck that is. So you’re staying here with me.”
I’d heard worse ideas in my life, but not many. Also they usually involved the risk of possible loss of limb, death, or incarceration. I’d tried to talk Dad into alternatives, but he’d stood firm, dammit. “That’s kind of you, but not necessary. I’ll go get a room at a hotel, this isn’t—”
“They’re probably booked,” he said. “It’s peak season so even if you could find somewhere, you’d pay through the roof. Anything nearby is going to already be busy with other wedding guests. Look, your dad wants you close so he can spend some time with you.”
I said nothing.
“It’s only five days,” he repeated in the tone of voice he usually reserved for those dancing on his last damn nerve. “Let’s just get through it.”
Great. Awesome.
With a nod, I headed for the back of my car. All the better to hide and take a second to pull myself together.
“Did you bring much stuff?” he asked, following.
“No. I’ve got it.”
Except, of course, I didn’t. As the hatch opened, he was there, reaching for my suitcase. Muscles flexed in his arms, slightly straining the sleeves of his white T-shirt. The man had always been strong, solid. Unfortunately, he hadn’t shrunk any either. I was around average height, but he still had at least half a head on me. Just perfect for looking down and putting me in my place.
“Lock up your car.” He headed for the house, tugging my wheeled suitcase behind him. “We might be in the country, but things still happen.”
“Yeah, I know to lock up my car,” I whisper bitched.
“I heard that.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
He laughed grimly. “Oh, kid, this is going to be fun.”
Out of options, I followed. Up the stone steps and into the house. Pete had never been much of a gardener, but someone had done a wonderful job with the grounds. Not that I was willing to say as much. We were apparently at war, and I couldn’t even blame him since it was all my fault. God, I hated the old familiar feeling of guilt. Life would be so much easier if I could hate him, push some of the blame his way. But the truth was, he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Not back then. Not even really now.
My pity party almost distracted me from the house.
“You did it,” I breathed, wonder pushing the no-compliment rule straight out of my head. “It’s beautiful.”
He stopped, blinked. “Yeah.”
“Last time I was here you were still living in the shed,” I said. “It was just dirt with some pipes and things sticking out of the ground. Now it’s finished.”
“Parts of it are still a work in progress.”
I spun in a slow circle, taking everything in, from the polished wood floors to the gray quartz kitchen located off to one side. A television about the size of a football field hung on one wall, with plush-looking navy couches gathered nearby. A large dining table was made out of a solid slab of wood, the natural edges still rough enough to be decorative. I’d already seen the beginning of that work of art, so I knew he’d made it himself. And the rounded center beam was huge, standing in the middle of the room, holding up the pitched ceiling.
“What is that, two stories high?” I asked, staring up.
“Two and a half.”
“Wow. You really did it.”
At that, he almost smiled. Almost.
Hallways ran off opposite sides of the great room and there was a wide verandah running the whole length of the building out back. There’d be a barbeque, another dining table and lots of chairs to laze in, and stairs leading down to the pool. I knew it without looking. Just like I knew there’d be the main bedroom with a bathroom and an office off to the right. Two guest bedrooms, a reading nook, and another bathroom off to the left. A long time ago, I’d helped him design this place. We’d worked on it together, a dream house.
“It’s perfect,” I said quietly.
For a moment, his gaze narrowed. But then his lips returned to their former flat, unhappy state. “Glad you like it. You’re in here.”
I followed his back into the left wing. The house was amazing. Sadly, my gaze slipped from his wide shoulders, down the length of his spine, to find his gorgeous ass had also lost none of its impact. So unfair. But Pete in jeans always had been a sight to behold. God, his loose-limbed stride. A careless sort of confidence had always just seemed to ooze from the man.
Not that I was looking. Looking was bad.
“This okay?” he asked, throwing open a door.
“Fine. Thanks.”
He tapped the top of my luggage. “Where do you want this?”
“I’ll handle it.”
A nod. “Your dad and Shanti will be over for dinner in a couple of hours.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, it’s all taken care of.” He scratched at his stubble. “Right. Make yourself at home. I’m going to get some work done. Be in the office if you need anything.”
I nodded too. Nods were so great. Much better than words.
He stood in the hallway, staring at me for a moment. Not saying anything along the lines of how it was good to see me again. Because that would be a lie.
“Okay, Adele,” he finally said, using my name, which was never a good sign. Honestly, I think I actually preferred “kid.” Then, thank you baby Jesus, he left.
Carefully, I closed the bedroom door, slumping against it because excessive drama. I’d known coming back was going to be a certain level of hell, but not one quite this deep.
One hundred and twenty hours and counting.
“You looked?” Hazel hissed into my ear. “I can’t believe you looked.”
I lay mostly dead on the bed, my cell jammed against my ear. “I didn’t mean to—it just happened.”
“Rule number one was don’t look.”
“Yeah . . .”
She sighed. “Okay, it’s done now. We just have to move past it. But out of interest, how was the view?”
“Better than ever.”
“Bastard. How did you look?”
“Sweaty and crumpled.”
&
nbsp; “I told you to fly.”
“Yeah, I know,” I groaned. “But then he would have insisted on picking me up from the airport, and being in a contained space for the car ride to his home would not have worked. I would have just wound up having to throw myself out of a moving vehicle, and I don’t think that usually ends well.”
Nothing from her.
“He still hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“No, he really does.” I stared at the ceiling. “What’s going on there?”
“Hmm? Everything’s fine.”
“What is that weirdness in your voice?”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. What is it?”
My best friend groaned. “I’m not sure you need this news right now, given everything already going on.”
“Just tell me.”
Some swearing. “Okay. But this is not my choice. Maddie and I went to dinner last night.”
“Lovely. Where?”
“The Bombay Diner and it was lovely, but that’s not the point,” she said. “Listen, Deacon was at the restaurant with another woman and they were very much together. Heading into serious get-a-room territory.”
I exhaled. “Oh, I see. Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Well, it’s not completely unexpected. We had a bit of an argument last week. I don’t remember what it was about, but it seemed important at the time.”
Silence.
“What?”
“One of these days, you’re actually going to care about one of the people you date.”
“I care.”
“Beyond the normal non-sociopathic ‘I hope he doesn’t get hit by a car and killed in the street on his way home,’” said Hazel. “Think a more advanced level of caring than that.”
“Well, it’s fortunate I didn’t, seeing as he’s cheating on me.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
