by Kira Blakely
“Duh, man,” I tell him, clapping him on the back. “And no, you can’t have her. That’s too weird.”
“What? Why?” James yelps. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
That makes me laugh, and I head toward the groom’s chamber to prepare myself. James follows. “Don’t you mean everything you’ve done to me?” I ask. “No, I’m not particularly eager to introduce your immature ass to my future sister-in-law. She already survived one disease. Let her avoid this one.”
“Oh, come on!”
I have to listen to James’s pleading to be introduced favorably to Maggie, as my tuxedo and my hair and the rings and the vows are all painstakingly perfected.
When it’s time, I’m ready, and I stand with the pastor when the wedding march plays.
The doors of the cathedral sweep open, and a white taffeta dream comes floating down the aisle toward me. I swallow, unable to believe that this beauty is mine.
When Sofia reaches the front of the sanctuary, where Maggie gives her away, her eyes are already cloudy with tears. I have to swallow, too. My throat feels tight.
As the pastor speaks about marriage, we gaze into each other’s eyes and smile and giggle, and everything that came before now matters so much less. The fact that she lied to me about who she was. The way Astrid completely fell apart and still struggles with normal parenting now. None of it matters anymore. When we’re together, all the cracks heal, and I’m whole again.
The pastor requests that we give our vows, and I go first. I’m surprised at the way my voice slightly trembles. I never cry, but right now, looking at her, I think I might.
“Sofia,” I whisper to her, forgetting about our audience and whatever they might be hoping to hear. “I knew that we were meant to be so quickly after meeting you. It wasn’t how beautiful you are, even though you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It wasn’t even how Charlie and Madison trusted you and looked up to you. It was your warmth and your strength. It was the way you complemented me in everything that I did. I’ve been waiting for you my entire life, and I didn’t know it until you walked through my door.”
Sofia sidles closer to me and presses a kiss to my lips, and giggles ripple through the crowd.
When she pulls away and lightly touches at her now imperfect lipstick, she makes a little “oops” face and my heart warms.
“Ahem, Lucas,” she reads from her own vows. “I hate that I have to read my vows second, because I know that yours were better. I just know it. I want to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You were completely willing to break the law for me. We were a whirlwind romance when we started. It didn’t make any sense, and we didn’t care. But when the dust settled, it started to make sense. You could’ve backed out. I lied about who I was. I was wanted for fraud when we met. I got a job as a nanny with a false identity. But you didn’t kick me out. And when I got pregnant with Maggie, the timing could have been better. You could have told me to deal with it myself. But you didn’t. You were so happy to have a little life inside of me. You wanted to make me your wife. I love you, Lucas. Thank you for loving me so much. Thank you for always making me feel welcome and wanted.”
Tears pour down her face now, and I can’t resist the urge to cup her chin in my hands and kiss her on the mouth, only ruining her lipstick further.
The pastor gives up. “By the power invested in me, you may kiss the bride,” he announces, and I bend Sofia over backward, deepening the kiss. Catcalls rise up from our audience, but I don’t even hear them. All I can think about is what a lucky man I am today.
After the ceremony, as our friends and family enjoy the reception, we sit together at our own tiny table with Baby Maggie, Madison, and Charlie all enjoying cake and catering.
“Thanks for the shout-out during your vows, Sofia,” Charlie says around his mouth packed full of barbeque sandwich.
“It was the truth,” Sofia replies warmly. “I love you guys.” She kisses them both on the crowns of their heads, but when Baby Maggie starts to squirm and rebel in her arms, the only way to soothe her is with another bite of cake.
I smile down at the scene, at my young wife feeding my new baby, at my two children stuffing their faces, welcoming her to our family. I knew everything would be OK. I was scared, but deep down, there must have been some part of me that called out, “Everything will be OK.”
My eyes rove the dance floor, enjoying the sight, when they freeze on Maggie and James, locked in each other’s arms, slow dancing to a fast song. My brow furrows. No way. This cannot be happening.
“Hey, Sofia,” I call to her, nudging her with my elbow. “Look out on the dance floor and tell me if you like what you see. I’m going to let you be the judge.”
Sofia’s eyes tilt away from Baby Maggie and rove the dance floor, freezing as soon as they light my brother and her sister, arm in arm. Her lips fall open.
“No way,” she breathes. “They were supposed to hate each other. He’s so goofy, and she’s so serious. No way!”
But there is no denying the way that Maggie smiles up at him on the dance floor. No denying the way he’s smiling down at her.
“They’re going to hate each other,” Sofia whispers, still certain, and I loop my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She and I both have always been the type to fight the inevitable.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I say, and she reaches up her free hand to thread her fingers through mine. “You know what they say. Everything happens for a reason.”
Sofia sighs and her head drapes on my shoulder. “Everything does happen for a reason.”
Wait! It’s not over...
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She’s Mine
BY KIRA BLAKELY
*Amazon Best-seller, 4.8 stars, 340 reviews!*
Finally, a second chance.
Yeah I’m rich, but it doesn’t fu@king matter if I’m empty inside.
Harper is the only woman who has ever filled this crater in my chest and she just walked into my resort after 10 years.
One look from her still makes me hard in two seconds flat.
In high school, I followed Harper around like a dog wanting a bone.
But I was too much of a di@k to treat her the way she deserved, and now her guard is up.
She can hate me all she wants. We’re drawn together like magnets.
And my instincts to possess her are fu@king savage.
This time, she's mine.
Chapter 1
Harper
Shimmering tarmac filled the window’s view as I felt the roller-coaster drop from sky to terra firma at the Miami International Airport. I’d been practicing my deep breathing as I lost count of how many times we’d circled out over the Atlantic, waiting our permission to land. By the time the plane taxied to the jet bridge, I’d managed to relax my knees and give myself permission to contemplate a future again. Each time, I swore I’d never fly again, and yet, there I was.
I let the others disembark first; it just seemed easier. Reaching into the overhead, I pulled down my Louis Vuitton knock-off carry-on bag. I checked the tag for the fourth time—Harper Filkins—yes, that was me. With wobbly knees, I guided myself toward the exit, grabbing seat backs to steady my drunken sailor gait. How do I get myself into these situations?
I wanted to deny knowing myself as I heard my voice ask the attendant at the door, “Miami, right?” He nodded slowly, eyes wide, as though acknowledging an idiot. I felt the urge to dig in my pocket for a bus token. I’m really losing it. I knew where I was, but it wasn’t sinking in.
The airport terminal was a thick stir-fry of languages and colors. Vivid hair, huge hoop earrin
gs and Hawaiian print shirts swallowed my attention. I moved down the vaguely familiar concourse with the general current of bodies. As hoped, they led me eventually to the luggage carousel. Mine was easy to spot; knock-offs seldom survived the baggage handlers. Sure enough, my new JC Penny pink lace panties were peeking out of the mangled zipper. I quickly grabbed the bag, tucked in my unmentionables and surveyed the crowd to catch who might have seen them. No one seemed interested, and I felt a moment’s disappointment that maybe I’d wasted the last of my available credit on the Penny’s card.
My less-than-ideal financial situation was responsible for my circumstance. The alternative to accepting the nanny position with the Bonhams had been starvation while sleeping in a cardboard box. The adage, “location, location, location,” seemed particularly appropriate, considering my box would have graced downtown Cleveland. I mused that being lost in the Bermuda Triangle had its benefits, when faced with Cleveland.
I had a degree in computer science and had done some freelance programming after college. Then came the job; the one I figured would net me six figures long term. That had all gone to hell when Cleve-Mobile’s CEO, Steve Tabbott, flew off to an island somewhere with the company checkbook in his pocket. He’d made it for almost a month without being caught. When the paychecks began to bounce, people questioned his prolonged vacation. That and when the power was shut off due to non-payment. Laptop batteries only last so long.
Steve and I had become good friends, very good friends. People gave me the stink eye until they realized I was going out the door with them.
I followed daylight and was eventually shoved onto the sidewalk next to the passenger pick-up lane. Scanning the curb, I spotted a limo with its driver wearing a bored expression. He was leaning against the front bumper, ankles crossed and calmly holding a small blackboard with my name on it. I managed a half-hearted wave and headed toward it.
The rear passenger door burst open unexpectedly and a woman with too-black hair popped out, frantically gesturing. “Harper! Harper! Hurry! We’ve already been told to move on!” she shouted, gesturing for me to move faster. I felt like I was reporting for a prison term as I smiled and reached her. “Oh, so glad you’re here! We’ve been driving in circles, haven’t we, Fred?” Fred must have been the driver.
“I know the feeling,” I muttered and the slender arms with bangle bracelets grabbed at me. There was nothing to do but climb in. As hard as I might pray, there was no way the fates would let her be anyone other than my new employer.
“I hope you don’t mind that we picked you up. How lucky we are that you’d just decided to move back to Miami! Imagine the coincidence!”
I could imagine it very easily. Cleve-Mobil had given me the confidence to take a lease on an expensive apartment, max out my credit cards and I was still paying off my degree. That’s when Steve had decided to see the world. Over-extended, I was combing the job boards when I spotted a nanny position in my hometown. The job felt wrong, but the location was comforting and they were financing the whole thing. I talked myself into applying and the result was sitting next to me in a designer sundress, heels that could harpoon a whale and so much perfume that my eyes were watering. I recognized new money when I saw it. They were flashy, loud, and squandered Ben Franklins like salt on popcorn.
The driver, Fred, loaded my bags in the trunk and soon we were off, skimming the highway on our way to the Keys. Bernadette was chattering as if calling a horse race.
“Dougie, he’s eight and a little high-strung. Not in a bad way,” she threw in and watched my reaction from the corner of her eye. “He tends to overreact a little bit, and we’ve consulted with the doctors. They tell us just to let him have what he wants; he’ll get over it in time.”
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Then there’s Katie. She is six, very smart. She takes after her father. She is our explorer, always asking questions and her middle name should be ‘Why.’”
I took a deep breath to combat the rising panic. Maybe the younger kid I could work with.
“You and your family live permanently at Utopia?” I asked, referring the very exclusive resort to which we were now headed.
She nodded. “Ripley inherited some money from some old-maid aunt in England. We had no idea she was loaded…” She quickly snapped her mouth shut. It was obvious she’d left off, “Or we would have gone to visit her years earlier.”
“How wonderful it must be to live in such a beautiful place,” I commented, hoping it sounded like a compliment.
She picked up the strand of black beads collaring her neck. They were the size of golf balls and made her look like Wilma Flintstone. Nodding in agreement, she continued, “Well, Ripley likes to take little trips and wants me along. We think it’s better the children have a more permanent home,” she pointed out as if keeping children in a hotel room indefinitely gave them roots. Perhaps I could understand why they had behavioral issues.
“Now, you do understand I don’t have a teaching certificate,” I told her firmly. I think I almost wanted to get rejected at the last minute. After all, I was back in my hometown. Surely there was another job for me somewhere.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll just hire a tutor,” she threw in casually, as if she’d just decided to order in pizza for dinner.
I said nothing more and soon we were pulling up to the entrance of Utopia. The architecture was reminiscent of Rome; fluted columns supporting a broad, low roof behind which stood fifty floors of Atlantic-view rooms and condos. I’d Googled the place after I’d gotten the job and couldn’t believe my luck. It was a resort in every sense of the word. Two golf courses, five restaurants, a spa, tennis courts, water park, marina and even a small landing strip for private jets. Then there was the private beach.
I’d gotten it into my head to build a dating site and pictured tending two young, well-behaved, low-maintenance children while I shoved my toes in the sand and wrote code every day. My picture already needed revision.
Bernadette had a hold on my arm again and was dragging me through the revolving door into the lobby. I swore I saw her posture change, forcing her breasts forward and sucking in her gut. A moment later, I understood why.
“Brayden!” she shrieked in an overly loud voice, as if she was hailing a taxi. “Braden! Here! Come here!” she screamed even more loudly. She began waving furiously. “I want you to meet someone.”
I wanted to melt into the marble floor. A very tall man with coppery hair was making his way toward us. I kept my eyes low, hoping people might not realize we were together.
I saw his shoes first. Italian leather draped by the lower cuff of impeccably tailored slacks. Moving upward, I noted the gold Rolex on the deeply tanned wrist. The suit jacket hung smoothly and led me to the silk tie. The crisp, white shirt hugged a sexy Adam’s apple that fueled the most deliciously low voice. I was already feeling a dampness in my panties when I took the proffered hand and finally looked upward to his face.
Jesus Christ! His topaz eyes, set on either side of his perfect nose uncorked memories of clambakes and sneaking home without a bra because it had been swept out with the tide.
“Brayden!” I blurted in shock.
There was the slightest hesitation. “Harper?”
I held my breath and then let his scent waft over me. I knew this man. I remembered his kisses and the way his bottom, full lip sucked at my bared breasts. I remembered my legs opening of their own volition and then my conscience kicking in. I had imagined the shocked voice of my mother as she hysterically screamed for me to close them and immediately go home. It had all been in my mind: her voice, the sensual reactions. Not this, though. This was the man I’d never forgotten. He was the standard against which no one compared.
Bernadette was nodding like a bobble-head doll. “You two know each other?” she asked, struggling to put the scene together.
I nodded, but couldn’t talk.
“Brayden owns Utopia. He and my husband have been friends for a long ti
me,” Bernadette said for credibility’s sake.
“Welcome back, Harper.” That voice had given me wet dreams since I’d moved away.
All I could do was smile and nod like the ex-girlfriend I was. All I knew was that I’d finally been pardoned by the fates.
I was home—in every sense of the word.
Chapter 2
Brayden
It all came rushing back to me. As soon as I saw that hair, I knew who she was. It was that shade of ash-blonde that women spent hundreds to get, but there was no way you could buy that cloud of natural curls. Harper had always been built like a buxom pixie. It was the first reason I’d been attracted to her in high school, but her personality soon magnified anything physical.
Harper was an enigma, half sunshine and half scientist. She could aggravate the piss out of me with her stubbornness. Maybe it was the challenge of dealing with her that made me so hot for her. I knew she didn’t do it on purpose; she never broke character. I knew because I’d tried. I took a lesson from psychology class in high school and tried to find a middle ground. She wasn’t one for middle anything; she wanted to win. The problem was that I did, too.
“Well, if it isn’t Brayden. What was your last name again? I seem to have forgotten.” She was smirking, and I could see that if anything, the old Harper had perfected the art of occupied disinterest.
“Campbell, Brayden Campbell,” Bernadette supplied obliviously.
Why won’t that horrid woman go away and let me talk to Harper?
“Oh, yes, Mr. Campbell. It’s been a few years,” Harper said, nodding with a smirk on that familiar face.
I could already feel the hardening in my pants. I’d never gotten into her pants, not after two years of dating in high school. I did all the things I thought I was supposed to: class ring, proms, homecoming, buying her flowers. It never got me to home plate and Jesus, but I’d wanted her. I’d had to sit in the back of the room in any class we shared just so no one would notice my woody.
