And that was it. All I ever wanted from the old coot.
Validation. Acceptance.
"Are you planning on looking for her?" he asks me about my mother.
"Don't you know exactly where she is?"
He pauses.
"I do."
"I don't plan on it. I think this conversation we just had is all the closure I need. No need to open up that can of worms."
"I don't think anything good could come of it, but she is your mother, and you do have the right."
I decide not to acknowledge his last statement, and just say my good-byes.
"See you tonight, old man."
"All right, son, see you then."
37
Elizabeth
To: Elizabeth Hill
From: Henry Lambert
Re: School Bucks
* * *
Dear Miss Hill,
* * *
I just wanted to follow up personally on our conversation from the night of the Autism Alliance Gala. I'd love for us to meet about a possible source of funding that might work for your app expansion. Let's pencil in a time during the second week of January. Call Daniella and she'll set it all up. Happy New Year.
* * *
Sincerely,
Henry Lambert
38
Elizabeth
"Elizabeth, are you ready?"
Roman calls out for me from the kitchen, but I can't stop staring at my phone long enough to respond. I keep reading and rereading the email, resulting in a permanent grin across my face, because Roman says something about it as soon as he comes looking for me.
"Why do you have that goofy grin on your face?"
I turn my phone and show him the email.
"Nice."
"That's it? Nice."
"I'm proud of you?"
"Is that a question or a statement?"
"Hey, I 'm a little surprised that you managed to have a coherent conversation with the man considering you were blasted out of your mind that night."
"Stop being dramatic and a Debbie Downer. I wasn't even drunk at that point."
"Or stalking me yet."
"Whatever," I say, not even wanting to think about anything in regards to that night especially Kat.
Even though I know she's just an old friend and a client, she's still a drop dead gorgeous woman from his past. And I'm pregnant with raging hormones. So I'm giving myself a pass to feel a little jealous right now.
"I know that Aunt Juliette probably had a lot to do with making this happen for me, but I've decided that a little help is okay nowadays."
"Is that right?"
"That's right."
"Well I could have helped you with the money for your business a very long time ago. I can still help since you're starting to see the light and all."
"I don't need your money now. I've got Mr. Lambert's." I start doing a little victory dance using my crutches.
"Stop it, nerd, before you fall and break your other leg."
"Shush it. So do I look pretty enough for whatever lame plans you have for us tonight?" I give him an exaggerated twirl and curtsy in my little black dress, which is harder than you would imagine when you're on crutches.
"You're really mad that we're going out aren't you?" He chuckles.
Yes, I'd rather be underneath you.
"I'll make the best of it." I try to say nonchalantly.
♥ ♥ ♥
Roman and I drive for what seems like forever in the direction away from the city. Traffic is especially bad because of the simple fact that it's New Year's Eve, and it's close to midnight. We just finished having a late dinner at what will probably be my new favorite restaurant. My lobster and rib eye were perfect. So were the grilled asparagus and lobster macaroni and cheese. The only thing that was missing was a nice glass of merlot, but it's all worth it for this little blessing growing inside of me.
I recognize the exit ramp we're on. It leads to one of the biggest malls in the area, although I can't imagine why we'd be going there at eleven at night on New Year's Eve. It's not even open.
Roman pulls over on the side of the road for a moment. It's terribly dark on this stretch of road.
"What's wrong?" I ask nervously. Worried that something may be wrong with the car. He opens the glove compartment and pulls out a piece of yellow satin fabric.
"I want you to put this blindfold on."
"What?! Why do you have a blindfold in your car?"
"I don't want you to see where we're going just yet."
"Okayyy," I say hesitantly. "But I hope this isn't the part in the movie where the girl is about to be murdered."
"There's no murder movie with a blindfolded, pregnant girl, wearing a yellow leg cast inside of a Range Rover." He makes fun of me.
"Fine." I turn my head and he ties the fabric around my head.
"Comfy?" he asks.
I nod my head.
"All right, I'm going to get back on the road now. Try to sit back and relax."
A few minutes later I hear the car drive across what sounds like gravel. If I didn't trust and love this man so much, I'd swear that he was about to murder me and dump my body at a construction site.
Stop going to sleep watching shows like Criminal Minds, Elizabeth.
Roman turns the ignition off and tells me to, "wait." I hear him exit the car and walk around to the passenger side. First he grabs my crutches then helps me out of the Rover, which has noticeably high seats when you have a broken leg.
When I'm totally on my feet and have the crutches under my arms, he growls in my ear. "Pull your teeny tiny dress down. I can see your panties. I should spank you later for that."
I grin. "You told me to look pretty."
"That I did. Keep the blindfold on and keep walking," he orders with a smile in his voice.
If you think walking on crutches is difficult, just imagine walking blindfolded, on a variety of surfaces, on crutches. First gravel, then concrete, then earth. It isn't easy.
"Okay, stop."
Roman unties the blindfold, and as I survey my surroundings I'm utterly speechless. We're in a park. Longwood Park to be exact. I know it well, because I've been here twice before after meeting friends at the mall. I just didn't know Roman knew anything about it.
The park is beautiful. No, it's magical. It's bathed in holiday splendor. There are hundreds and hundreds of white lights decorating every single tree around us. There are even some covering the trunk of a large weeping willow tree, which we are standing under.
"It's so beautiful, Roman. How did you–"
"Have a seat, Duchess."
There's a wrought iron bench with wooden slats under the tree. On one of the slats is an engraved metal plaque. The plaque looks brand new because of the metal's sheen and the bench might be new too based on the fresh mulch surrounding the base of it. All details which make me curious. So I sit down, turn my body around, and read the plaque.
There is only you.
There will only ever be you.
Will you marry me, Elizabeth?
On bended knee ...
Roman
Oh. My. God.
I whip my head around and see that Roman has bent down on one knee holding a black velvet box in his hand. I can't really say anything. I'm speechless. This is unreal. Like a fairytale. And here come the tears. I'm hormonal anyway, so I expect nothing less from myself than the waterworks.
"Elizabeth, when I first noticed you dancing in the middle of the club like no one was watching, I knew that I had to have you. I didn't realize at the time that my desire for you wouldn't be for just that one night, or one month, or one year, but for all my nights. I love you. I need you. I want you. So under the moon and the stars, I'm asking you, will you marry me? Let's officially let all these asshats in the world know that you're mine, and as they say, let me put a ring on it."
He opens the box and inside is a flawless princess cut diamond on a simple platinum band. It's a pretty big stone.
Almost Elizabeth Taylor big, yet it's tasteful at the same time. A classic cut stone in a simple setting. It's totally me.
In this moment, there is not a moment of doubt, of fear, or concern about who he is, who I am, how we met, or the timing of it all. All there is, is a tremendous amount of surety that I'm with the person that I'm supposed to be with for the rest of my life.
So I immediately give him my answer.
"Yes!"
He slides the ring on my finger, sits on the bench next to me, and kisses me like he never has before. His tongue plunging inside of my mouth, claiming it, devouring it. I love that I can taste a blend of the salt of my tears mixed with a little of his chocolate and whiskey.
"I see you had a stiff drink already," I observe happily. "Were you nervous I'd say no?"
"I have a drink every night, smart ass."
Roman pulls out his cell and sends a quick text.
"Take a picture of the bench with your phone," I say wanting to make sure he gets a picture of the plaque.
"It's our bench, Duchess. We're going to sit here for the rest of our lives and watch our children and grandchildren play in this pretty ass park. We don't need to take a picture. We can see it anytime we want."
I start crying again. "Take one anyway."
"Are you going to cry this entire pregnancy?"
"Yep, and who were you texting just now anyway?"
"I'll show you," he says. "Come on."
"I don't want to leave our bench!" I exclaim while hugging the bench.
"It's not going anywhere, baby," he chuckles. "We can come back. I promise, but right now there are a few people waiting on us."
Roman effortlessly scoops me up in his arms and walks me over to another section of the park where there is a large gazebo also decorated in tons of white lights, vases of sunflowers, and filled with all of the people we love and who love us.
"Congratulations!" I hear voices cheer.
There's my mom, my dad, Juliette, Joseph, Sloan, Cutter, Camden, Tiny, Jade and even Jagger. I can't believe that Roman did all of this. I'm dumbfounded at all the effort he went through to propose to me. It's the most romantic, beautiful proposal ever.
After a lot of congratulatory hugs and kisses, music starts playing from a speaker that's mounted high up in the gazebo.
"It's one of Juliette's mixes, so you know we'll be bringing in the new year to a lot of 90's music." Roman laughs.
"It's the music we first danced to." I laugh too.
He pulls me in closely and hands my crutches to a nearby Jade.
"It's the music we fell in love to," he says.
I wrap my arms around his neck and stare into his eyes. A long gaze that I can't break away from. I'm falling deeper into him just when I didn't think there was anywhere further to tumble.
All the way to Oz.
Juliette interrupts us to hand us champagne flutes. One has actual champagne for Roman, and the other has sparkling cider for me.
"Only ten more minutes until the new year!" she says excitedly.
"Thanks, Auntie," I say.
"When do we get to start planning the wedding?" she asks grinning from ear to ear.
"You mean when do you get to start?" I ask.
"You, me, us. It takes a village. Especially if we're short on time," she says rubbing my stomach.
"I think we'll wait until after the baby is born. I'd like a flat stomach in my wedding pictures," I joke (but not really).
"I don't see why we have to wait," Roman pouts.
"Because it's the bride's day," I respond. "And I want to look stunning."
He threads his fingers in my hair. "You already do, Duchess."
"Okay love birds, I see you may need to iron out the details, before I get involved."
We watch my aunt flit away as if she's walking on sunshine over to both of my parents. They exchange a few words that I can't hear but then start laughing together. Actually laughing. And then she places her hand on my father's upper arm as they continue smiling, and for once I'm hopeful that our union may bring the family finally together. They all seem so genuinely happy for us. Happy to be together.
I didn't notice earlier, but at some point Roman must have pulled one of the smaller sunflowers from one of the vases. It's in his hand. He snaps half of the stem off and places the remaining flower behind my ear.
"You've grown as tall as a sunflower, Duchess."
I know what he means. I'm excited about who I'm becoming too.
I'm growing, evolving, and blossoming.
A business owner. A mother. A wife.
"That's because you watered me and I grew," I say.
"Happy New Year, baby."
Then my fiancé pulls me in tightly and kisses me senseless as our friends and family begin cheering and roaring the new year in.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!"
"And don't worry," he says after breaking off our kiss and savoring it a little further by licking his bottom lip. "I was just messing with you earlier today. I'm going to fuck you senseless as soon as we get home."
"Promises. Promises."
Epilogue
Zoe Clarkson
* * *
I'm an artist, and I'm sensitive about my shit. I specialize in creating meaningful, permanent works of art on the human canvas. Some people call them tattoos, ink, or body art.
I require every client to have a thirty minute, consultation with me before I design any permanent art for them. After the consultation, I immediately start drawing the design in my head while the inspiration is fresh. While clients are waiting I prep them for their experience.
They relax in my sitting area where they can eat, listen to music, watch television or just nap. Due to the nature of my work I prefer to take only three clients a day. Elizabeth and Roman are my last appointment.
I tend to work a lot with couples. Couples seem to be more drawn to the type of work that I do, because my art has to mean something. It has to be important to the person first and foremost, to the couple secondly, and then to me third. Everyone has to be in agreement with the design or it doesn't work.
After listening to Roman and Elizabeth's story during our consult, I am very clear about what I will create for these complicated lovers. Especially after reading Elizabeth's email that she sent me prior to this session.
She's quite pregnant, which I knew beforehand, so I've made especially sure to make the accommodations soothing and comfortable. This needs to be a totally pleasant experience. Especially with that huge fiancé of hers out there stewing. He isn't happy, but he will be when he sees the final result.
I've decided that he has to stay outside of my workspace tonight because for one, the permanent art is a surprise for him, and two because his energy consumes the oxygen in the room. It's very important for me that I have a clear space to concentrate on my design, and Elizabeth needs to just be. Not fret after him.
I prep the room and have her lie in my elevated, oversized chaise lounger. After approving the design, she's ready. Sometimes I create intricate, painstaking works of art that take many sessions to complete, and other times I just etch a few meaningful words that take an hour tops. She has chosen the latter.
"Turn on your side, Elizabeth. This won't take long."
I stick my earbuds in my ears and get to work.
Then after about an hour of careful writing and shading it's done. Etched above Elizabeth's right buttock and a little to the right, close to her hip, are the words she selected in a midnight blue script with a variety of swirls and shadows of lighter shades of blue highlighting it.
"Masterson Made"
Evidently her guy mentioned to her a dream he had about tatting the words Masterson Made on both of her butt cheeks. Something about him being totally responsible for her new and improved hips and butt. Unbeknownst to either of them at the time though, the real reason why Elizabeth was spreading is because she is pregnant with their first child.
A boy.
And now she's won s
ome sort of bet between the two of them.
"How do you feel?" I ask her. Spreading a little salve on the design and covering it temporarily with gauze before the big reveal.
"It stung, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be."
"Exactly what I wanted to hear. Here, let me help you up so you can take a look. Here's a mirror."
She smiles brightly, and I know that I've done well.
"I love it," she says to me.
"I'm so glad. Should you bring your fiancé in now?"
"Yep, let's do it."
I go out to the waiting area to get her guy. He's big in stature and in presence. Right now he's sitting in one of my chairs with his legs spread wide, and his body bent over with his elbows and forearms on his knees, staring absentmindedly at his phone.
"She's finished, Mr. Masterson."
His head pops up as if he's been on the edge the entire time we've been in here. God help them (or really her) when it's time for that baby to come. He's going to be a nervous wreck.
"Did you hurt her?" he asks gruffly.
Like I would say yes if I did. Puh-lease.
"No, sir. She barely felt a thing."
"I don't know why I couldn't be in there," he grumbles.
"It's a surprise," I say excitedly. "Of course you couldn't be in there."
"Whatever."
Elizabeth's eyes almost shimmer when her man enters the room, as if their hour apart was excruciating for the both of them to bear.
"Are you still grumpy?" she asks him.
He stares at the gauze and shakes his head.
"What the fuck have you done, Elizabeth?"
Masterson In Love Page 26
