by Tawna Fenske
Not unheard of after sex, but I get the sense there’s more than that. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
She nods and gives me a shaky smile. “Certainly.”
I stroke a hand over her hip, doing my best to soothe her with my touch. If she doesn’t want to talk, I’ll respect that. “Just know I’m here to listen if there’s anything you want to tell me, okay? This is a judgment-free zone.”
She smiles and meets my eyes at last. “You’re dictating the rules of my bed now?”
Laughing, I trace my thumb over her hip bone. “You’d prefer a judgey bed?”
“Perhaps.” Her tone shifts to flirtation, so I move with her as I keep stroking her hip.
“Well, in that case.” I touch the seam at the edge of her pillowcase. “This feels like American Pima cotton, but I’ve always felt American Upland is far superior.”
She laughs and swats my hand away from the fabric. “It’s Egyptian Cotton, actually.”
“Of course it is.” I could have guessed, but I’m grateful to get a laugh out of her, so I keep going. “How about this headboard? Surely there’s something judgmental we can say about it.”
She traces a fingertip over the pale blonde wood. “I suppose you’re right.” Her eyes flicker with mischief that shoots straight to my groin. “Iron would be sturdier for tying up a lover.”
I go a little dizzy as I fight to keep from lunging for her. “Is that the plan?”
Her gaze skirts away as a flush pinkens her cheeks. “It’s on my fantasy list.”
“I’d very much like to hear about this list.”
She smiles and shifts her hand from the headboard to my chest, locking me in with those bright green eyes. “Having sex with a man who’s an expert on female anatomy wasn’t on there,” she says slowly. “But it should have been.”
“I’m flattered.” I dip my chin to kiss the tips of her fingers. “What else?”
“Well, there’s the fantasy where I can fly, of course,” she says. “Not in a plane, but with wings. Maybe feathered, or maybe bright, beautiful butterfly wings.”
“That’s pretty specific.” I slide my hand from her hip to the hollow in her waist. “What else?”
Her gaze shifts to the ceiling as she considers it. “I’ve always wanted to eat my body weight in cotton candy.” Laughing, she trails her fingers over my pecs. “Which would be quite the feat, considering what cotton candy weighs.”
“I would pay good money to see that.” I flip through my own mental list of fantasies, skipping quickly past the filthy ones. That’s not where we’re at in this moment. “I always wanted to be a superhero,” I admit. “Not Superman or Batman, but something unique. A niche that’s not filled yet.”
“You mean like Pig Man?” She grins. “I read that Alexander the Great used pigs for counterattacks on elephants. They’re quite fierce warriors.”
“No kidding?”
She shrugs. “Apparently, elephants are terrified of pig squeals.”
I laugh, so charmed my heart nearly bursts. “Maybe not what I had in mind for my superhero self. How about something more practical? Maybe Racial Injustice Man or something like that.”
Iz quirks an eyebrow. “Able to eradicate white supremacy in a single bound?”
“Exactly.” I tuck a curl behind her ear. “Or Medical Marvel Man—something where I can snap my fingers and instantly diagnose and cure whatever’s making someone sick.”
“Very altruistic. Much more so than the cotton candy.”
“Oh, I’ve got frivolous fantasies, too.” I roll onto my back, and Iz rolls with me, still stroking my chest. “Stuff about jumping out of airplanes or maybe holding a koala.”
“That’s smart, choosing fantasies that could really come true.” Izzy’s brow furrows. “I need more of those. Maybe riding a camel or learning to turn a cartwheel.”
“I like it.” And I swear I’m not picturing Iz turning that cartwheel in a floaty little skirt. “How about silly fantasies? I had a friend once who wanted to buy a devil costume and ride the elevator all day asking everyone who got on if they’re going down.”
Izzy laughs, dark curls tumbling over her face. “I had a friend who did something similar,” she says. “A marchioness from Illingheim. If we were out together drawing undue attention, she’d stare at someone with this evil look and say, ‘I must find a new host body. Yours looks suitable.’ It never failed to send them running.”
“I love it.” I might also love Izzy, but no way in hell is this the time to spring that on her. “My sister used to get laughs by dashing into public places and asking the first person she saw what year it was. When they answered, she’d shout, ‘It worked! The time machine worked!’ and run out whooping and pumping a fist.”
“Oh, I love that. I’d like to meet your sister.” She blinks. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m not implying this is the sort of relationship where we’re meeting each other’s families.”
“Technically, I knew your Bracelyn family before you did.” I keep my voice light, trying to clear the worry flickering in her eyes. “And you’ve already met my mom. I’d say we’re halfway to getting married already.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. A stupid joke, but one that sends her bolting upright with the sheets clutched to her breasts. “Was that my phone? I left it in the other room, but I’m expecting a call from my moth—”
“Iz, I’m sorry.” I sit up, too, dragging a hand through my hair. “It was a joke. A dumb one, I’ll admit that.” I put a hand on her arm and feel she’s trembling. “I know we’re not getting married, okay? You’ve made it clear you’re not here long-term.”
Maybe my heart hasn’t gotten the message, but the rest of me has. I know this thing between Iz and me can’t go anywhere, and I accept that.
I’m trying to accept it.
She bites her lip and holds my gaze. “I care about you a lot, Bradley. So much.”
“And I care about you.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. “Our time together—it’s been amazing. And this, what happened between us just now—” Color floods her face again, but she doesn’t drop eye contact. “It’s amazing. You’re amazing. But my time here is ending soon, and I don’t want it to hurt too much.”
“It’s okay, Izzy.” I cover her hand with mine, not sure if she means her or me. Which of us is more likely to get hurt? “I understand you can’t stay. I’m happy with the limited time I’ll have with you.”
It’s not a lie, but also not the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.
“Good,” Izzy says softly. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“We are.”
We’re not. Because if we were, my heart wouldn’t tick up to tachycardic rhythms, rattling my ribs as Iz pulls me in for a slow kiss. My head wouldn’t swim as my whole body moves toward her like we’re drawn by magnets.
It’s then that I know for sure a finite time with Izzy isn’t enough.
It could never be enough.
Chapter 11
Isabella
I swear I’m not avoiding Bradley over the next several days. I’m simply swamped with wedding-related tasks and medical appointments.
There’s an overnight trip to Portland for checkups with my nephrologist and transplant team. Apparently, all this stress requires an adjustment in my medications, though I refrain from sharing this with the family.
There’s also a rehearsal dinner catered by Sean, a six-course meal featuring dozens of delicacies that have me piling my plate with more bruschetta and chicken cordon bleu than any human ought to eat.
Then there’s the last-minute dress fitting where I discover I may have eaten a bit too much bruschetta.
“You’re sure it’s not too much trouble to let out the seams?” I bite my lip as the dressmaker—a lovely woman I’ve only just discovered is a Bracelyn cousin—adjusts a pin at my hem.
“Relax, girlfriend.” Valerie smiles and plucks another pin from her magnetic bowl. “I’ve got you
.”
Girlfriend. I like that. Love it, actually, the thought that I’ve built these close but casual relationships with people connected to me by both blood and community. The thought of leaving them soon is almost too much to bear.
“Hey.” Lily sidles up to me and flashes her Cheshire cat smile as Val moves away to pin someone else’s dress. “You sure you’re not knocked up?”
“What?” Heat floods my face as I translate the colloquial phrase. “No! Of course I’m not—Lily.”
“Hmm?” Her eyes flash wide and innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about my sister-in-law. It’s my favorite thing about her. “I mean, it’s always a possibility,” she murmurs so no one else can hear. “Birth control can fail.”
She’s baiting me, of course. Waiting for me to insist I couldn’t possibly be pregnant because I haven’t had sex.
But the big, silly grin spreading over my face wipes that defense off the board. “I suppose anything’s possible.” I fight to fix my expression into something more Lily-like and less kid-with-a-popsicle giddy. “But doctors do tend to be keenly aware of the need to take precautions.”
“Get it, girl.” Lily beams and holds up a hand, which I obligingly smack. “I ran into Bradley at the coffee shop, and he never stopped grinning. Not even when the barista spilled coffee down the front of his pants. I took that as a sign things had moved to the next level for you two.”
“Oh, well—”
“Way to go, Iz.” Lily wraps an arm around me and gives me a tight squeeze. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” I’m unaccustomed to accepting praise for sexual conquests, but it’s a nice change of pace from being fawned over for my ball gowns. “I’m enjoying myself.”
“Good for you.” She cocks her head, studying me. “Any chance you’ll change your plans and stick around?”
A cold drip of guilt slithers down my spine, and I fight to keep my face from falling. “Afraid not,” I tell her. “But with luck, I’ll come back and visit.”
I don’t tell her how different things will be. I don’t have a glass ball, but it’s certain my whole life will change in just a few weeks’ time.
“I sure love having you here,” Lily says. “We all do. It’s like you’ve always been part of the family.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them back. There’s a buzzing somewhere behind me and it takes a moment to realize it’s my phone. “Pardon me,” I say. “It’s probably my mother.”
I grab the phone and slip out the door into the hallway, careful to keep my dress from brushing against the rough plank walls. The readout on my screen is from a number I don’t recognize, and I hesitate before answering.
“Hello?”
“Isabella! I have some good news.”
Kathryn Parker’s cheer ripples down the phone line, and I’m instantly reminded how much I love her son’s smile. I’m so distracted by the memory of it that I almost miss what she’s just said.
“Good news,” I repeat, already grateful for it. “Is it about Kevin?”
“Congratulations,” she says. “You’ve been approved as a secondary foster.”
Relief, mixed with sadness, swishes through my veins. “That’s wonderful. Do they—are they aware I won’t be around much longer?”
“Of course. That’s the point of a foster like this. A chance to socialize the animal in multiple environments to give it the best chance of thriving in a forever home.”
“Wonderful.” I know I have no right to feel sad at the thought of Kevin having a forever home with someone else. It’s the way things have to be, so I push back my sadness. “When shall I come get him?”
“Hang on.” Her voice goes muffled, and I recognize the male voice in the background. My heart speeds up as Bradley comes on the line.
“Hey, Izzy,” he says. “Congratulations. Want me to bring Kevin over tonight?”
I should say no. I should keep a careful space between us and insist one of my brothers will bring me out later with a pickup truck suitable for transporting swine.
But my heart gives my voice box a different message than my brain would. “I’d love that,” I hear myself saying. “I can make dinner.”
“For me or for Kevin?”
“For both of you, of course. It’s the least I can do.”
“Don’t sweat it, Iz. I know you’ve got your hands full this week with wedding stuff. Isn’t tonight some kind of rehearsal thing?”
“Only for the children and parents.” I survey the hallway, trying to recall the state of my cabin. I’ll need to tidy before they arrive. “Mark and Bree need a little extra time with Libby and Brian to practice having the flower girl tow the ring bearer down the aisle without tipping the wagon.”
“Smart. Well, still, let me cover dinner. How about I pick up takeout from that vegan place you like?”
I love that he remembers the restaurants I favor, even if we’ve never been there together. There’s also no need to remind him about my dietary precautions. “That sounds lovely,” I tell him. “Thank you, Bradley.”
“Thank you.” The smile in his voice is even brighter than his mother’s. “I’ve been putting in crazy hours at the clinic this week, so I’m glad to finally get to see you.”
“Same. I can’t wait to see you.” It’s true, and I hate that it’s true, and I close my eyes as guilt curdles my gut. “I’m looking forward to it.”
He has no idea how much. I need to keep it that way, keep us both on the same page about this being a temporary thing. If he knew how much I want to be with him, want to spend every waking moment—
“Stop it.”
“Okay,” Bradley says, and I realize I’ve spoken aloud. “What am I stopping?”
I laugh because it’s such a Bradley thing to say. “Nothing. I’m sorry, just thinking out loud.”
“About needing to stop something?” He laughs. “Is this the opposite of positive thinking?”
“Yes, I’m all about the negative,” I reply primly. “A reminder to stop wishing I could have corndogs and cotton candy for every meal and be grateful for what I can have.”
Bradley’s quiet for a moment, and I pray I haven’t revealed too much with my poor—and mostly accidental—metaphor. “Whatever works,” he says at last. “So I’ll be there at six?”
“Can’t wait.” There’s a burst of muffled laughter behind me, and I glance down, remembering I’m still wearing my wedding attire. “I should go,” I tell him. “I need to take my dress off.”
He gives a low groan. “Thanks for that mental picture. Maybe we should meet now?”
I laugh and do my best not to imagine him dragging the zipper down, planting a soft trail of kisses along my spine as he cups my—
“Six will be fine,” I tell him. “I’m sure I can come up with some other items of clothing for you to remove.”
“I’m counting on it,” he says. “See you in a few hours, Iz.”
“See you.”
I hang up with guilt and excitement bubbling together in a toxic brew in my belly. Apparently, it’s done me little good avoiding Bradley these past few days. A poor choice, perhaps. Maybe I should have focused on spending as much time as possible with him before I have to go.
I glance behind me at the door to the dressing suite we’ve commandeered for our final fitting. It was Bree’s idea building this space, part of the luxury package she envisioned for the high-end weddings we host here. What would it be like to be part of that? Not just the team of siblings running the place, but the vision for Ponderosa Luxury Ranch Resort. Watching them work together these past few months, I’ve grown an acute awareness of what it’s like to be part of a team. A family unit that bears little resemblance to the one awaiting me in Dovlano.
I swear my mother must read my thoughts. It’s the only explanation for why my phone suddenly chimes in my hand.
“Hello, Mother.” I straighten my posture, certain she can sense me slouching in the hall from halfway around the globe. “I
’m actually in the middle of something right now.”
My mother gives a huff of dismay. “Something more important than boarding a private jet home to serve your familial obligations?”
I swallow hard, hating how small I suddenly feel. “I’m trying on my wedding dress.” My mother’s sharp intake of breath forces me to clarify. “For Jonathan’s wedding,” I blurt. “My brother who gave me the kidney. I’m part of his—”
“I know who Jonathan is, Isabella.” The tightness in her voice suggests I’ve missed my mark in trying to tug her heartstrings. “He’s not the only one who needs you, you know.”
I close my eyes and lean back against the wall. “I know that, Mother.”
“I don’t think you do know, Isabella. Patience is running thin. There’s been talk.”
There is always talk. I can’t bring myself to ask for details, but I don’t need to.
“Rumors are circulating that you’re planning to disgrace the family,” she continues. “Do you have any idea what sort of political upheaval would be caused by—”
“I know!” The words land like a slap. “I know what’s at stake, Mother. And I’ve told you, I’ll be home soon.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“That’s not good enough. The situation is dire.”
“Dire?”
My mother sighs, then lowers her voice. “It’s not just our family counting on you. You understand what shame can do to a person.”
I understand precisely, which is why it’s the knife she’s choosing to twist. “I do understand.”
“I’m not sure you do. If anything happens—”
“I said I’ll come home soon.”
“And I said I’m finished with your vague platitudes, Isabella.”
I let out a slow breath as someone rounds the corner at the end of the hall. It’s Mark’s wife, Chelsea, beaming like she’s thrilled to see me. I smile back and wave, delighted to see her in spite of everything. I gesture to the phone so she knows why I can’t talk.
It’s not the only reason. I can’t find my voice, can’t find a way to force the words up my throat and into my mother’s ear. She must hear the weakness in me because her voice rings out crisp and tight.
