Stepping back, I turn to the living room. I never made it to this room in my efforts to change everything. My mountain of books is still overflowing from the bookcase, and Ganesh is still holding a tray with even more. My beaded lamp is on the end table, and the jewel-toned cushions are all over the place.
“My brain is healthy,” I whisper, looking around.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Mariska.” It’s that strong, confident voice I’ve always loved.
Dropping my chin, I wrap my arms around my waist. It’s a gesture I seem to be repeating a lot lately, only this time, not a second passes before another set of arms wraps around me over them, strong and tight. My back is against Stuart’s chest, and his face is in my hair.
Love filters through my veins like warm honey. I’m in Stuart’s arms. I’m safe and secure and not alone. The hollow ache of emptiness in my chest floods with hope and joy and most of all renewed love for this man.
“Mariska,” he says against my neck, and chills race across my skin. “I told you I’d wait. I’ll go if you want me to leave—”
“No!” I turn in his arms. We’re chest to chest, and I’m holding his biceps. “I want you to stay.”
Our eyes mix and mingle, and all the words we need to say to each other and all the words we want to say to each other hang around us in the air as we hold each other’s eyes. His gaze drops to my lips, and I feel them throb with desire to kiss him. I don’t have to ask. Full lips cover mine in a rough, possessive caress. A little moan slips from my throat as my arms go around his neck. His strong hands are on my waist, moving to cover my lower back, and I pull my body flush against his.
Our mouths move together in desperate kisses, tasting the sweet tang of wine and water, a little salt and the sweet berry of my lip gloss until at last we hold each other, breathing fast, shimmering in this moment of reunion.
“I love you,” he says, warm breath whispering across my shoulder.
“I love you so much,” I say in response, and his arms tighten.
“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” Stepping back, he lifts my fingers to his lips, a tickle across the back of my knuckles. “Come with me.”
He starts to lead me toward the bedroom, but as we pass the little studio, I stop. “Wait!” I open the door and turn on the light. “I want to show you something.”
Following me inside, he exhales a chuckle at all the sketches of him leaned against the wall, but when he sees where I’m headed, the room grows quiet.
My abstract painting of the little angel girl dancing as her wings grow sits on the easel finished. For a moment, I can only look at it, stunned by how closely it resembles my vision. The yellow paint mixed with white makes the canvass seem to glow as if lit from within. It feels mystical to me now, spiritual.
Stuart steps in front of me, reaching out as if to touch it, then pausing above her face. “She has your hair.”
Grief twists in my chest, but at the same time, it’s a good thing. We’re here in this place of healing. It’s where we needed to meet long ago, sharing this loss that hurt us both so very deeply.
“She has your eyes,” I say, watching him study the painting.
His hand goes behind his neck—a gesture I’ve only seen him do a few times under extreme stress. His face is lined, and I see the pain in his eyes.
Reaching for his elbow, I pull his arm down and guide his hand around my waist. I slip my arms around his and bury my face in the warmth of his chest.
He holds me, and in that moment, I feel his incredible strength slip. I feel his muscles collapse, and I close my eyes. I’ve come through this pain. My painting helped me release it. Now it’s his turn.
We hold each other as we grieve the loss of our little girl. We will be stronger because of this break, but even more now that we’re helping each other heal.
“I want to go home,” I say, quietly.
Warm hands slide up my shoulders, and he moves me back so our eyes can meet. “Back to Princeton?”
“Back to Great Falls.” As I worked on the painting of our angel, the truth became clear in my mind. “I want to make our home there. It’s where you’re happy. It’s where our daughter is. It’s where we belong.”
His eyes shine with emotion, and he doesn’t speak. He only leans down to cover my mouth with his, and I know it doesn’t matter where I am. He is my home.
* * *
Stuart
Mariska is back in my arms, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like the clouds are lifting. I want to take her away from this place. I want to pick up our life together where we left it. More than anything, I want my ring back on her finger.
Looking at that painting of our little girl filled the emptiness in my chest with one rough push. It gave her back to me. When Mariska moved into my arms, it put us back together. I’m angry that some idiot doctor tried to make her doubt her gifts. Since the day I met her, she’s been a healing balm to all my inner wounds.
Her face is in my hands, and I smooth back her hair. “Remember when you told me you only dream about yourself?”
Sunset hazel eyes shine up at me, and she nods. “You’re the only person I’ve ever dreamed about who wasn’t me.”
“I was hell-bent on going back to the desert. I’m certain I wouldn’t have come back alive.” She tries to hug her body to mine, but I stop her. “You healed me then, and tonight you healed me again.”
At that, she relaxes. Her palm is cool against my cheek. “I saw her like this. After I fell, I was in this place in the grass, and she was dancing around me.” A hot tear spills onto her cheek. “She was so beautiful. I wanted to hold her, but she flew away.”
Placing my other palm against her face, I lean down to kiss her again. Her lips are warm and sweet, and as I kiss her cheek, I taste her salty tears. “Will you marry me, Mariska?”
My cheek is against hers, and I feel her nodding. “Yes,” she says, her voice laced with tears. “I want that very much.”
I step back and take her hand. “Come with me.” I lead her out of the room filled with memories of the past, and when we reach the living room, I stop. “I’m going back to Princeton now. I’m going to talk to Derek and officially resign from Alexander-Knight. Between Patrick and Slayde, he has more than enough help.”
She’s calm, listening. “Then what?”
Pulling her hand to my mouth, I kiss her ring finger. “I’ll take you home. Bill and I have been talking about the ranch and what he wants to do with it. He’s been waiting for me to say the word so I can take it over.”
Her smile grows as I speak, but I’m not finished.
“I’d like for us to get married as soon as possible. We can do it here or in Great Falls…”
“Here. So our family can join us.”
Family. “You always wanted a family.”
“I always wanted you.”
Leaning down, I cover her lips again with mine. She pushes her arms around my neck, and meets my strength with her own. Our mouths open and tongues collide, and I almost change my mind about leaving her tonight.
Breaking away, my lips are at her ear and sweet jasmine scent floats around us. “I’ll find out how long it takes to get a license. Let everyone know we’re getting married next week.”
I kiss the side of her neck, and she shivers. It almost does me in, but I pull back, opening the door. “Will that give you enough time?”
She laughs, her pretty eyes twinkling for the first time in too long. I step back and kiss her once more. “Don’t say no.”
“I’ll be ready when you are.”
Another kiss and I’m out the door, ready to make good on my promises.
Promises
Mariska
Kenny waits at the top of the pier for me as Amy arranges my veil. As soon as Stuart left my apartment Friday night a week ago, I called my best friend, who immediately got Patrick involved, who put Amy in charge of tracking down my dress. Sylvia flew in to help with Lane, and Elain
e called over Skype to tell me all the places she’d used to pull her last-minute ceremony together.
“I guess Stuart has one thing in common with his little brother,” she laughed as we clicked through websites ordering flowers and renting furniture.
“What’s that?” I’d asked, trying not to feel overwhelmed.
“When they decide it’s time, you get exactly seven days to make it happen.”
“But hang on…” I had to correct her. “Patrick said he’d been asking you to marry him for two years, and you kept turning him down!”
“Well, I guess you’re right,” she acquiesced. “Maybe Stuart and I have something in common.”
Last year, when I’d taken off to Montana following nothing but a dream and one encounter with a wounded cowboy, Elaine had been right there with me, covering for me and making a place for me in the Knight clan. Today she is one of my bridesmaids, along with Amy and Kenny.
We decided to set up a small enclosure, and Kenny had the idea of arranging the chairs in a swirled design. “Like a seashell!” she’d said.
Now the two of us wait at the foot of the pier where we both have gone in the past to cry or stargaze or wish for the ones we love.
“I can’t believe Amy found this dress,” she says, smoothing the front of my lace gown and wiping her eyes.
“That makes two of us,” I agree, fighting tears as well.
It’s a full-length lace slip-dress with delicate spaghetti straps. I’d seen it in Chicago the last time we visited, and Amy had gone straight to the store and ordered it rush delivery.
“She flew the whole way here with it on her lap.” Elaine is carefully pinning the large piece of tulle that forms my veil to the back of my head. A thin ribbon runs all around the edges, but otherwise it’s uncut.
“I didn’t want to risk my suitcase being lost or delayed and ruining everything.” Amy guides the delicate material over my shoulders and down my back and arms.
“It wouldn’t have been ruined.” Our glistening eyes meet, and we smile.
Amy’s light-blonde hair is styled in a loose bun at the back of her neck, and she looks as always like a supermodel.
All the groomsmen wear khaki pants and white button-down shirts, including Lane and Dex, who are adorable in shorts and suspenders and light-blue bow ties. The bridesmaids are in strapless, A-line cocktail dresses the color of sand and strings of beaded thongs are on their feet. They’re leftover from Derek and Melissa’s beach wedding last spring.
“Does that count as something borrowed?” I ask, but Sylvia answers me.
“It does not. Here.” She reaches under my veil and slips a double-strand pearl bracelet around my wrist. A silver starfish with sparkling crystals covers the center clasp, and it hangs loose on my arm. “It’s only borrowed if you give it back.” She winks, and I hug her.
“It’s gorgeous! I love it.” She kisses my cheek before ducking out of my veil.
My short hair is styled to the side with a large white jasmine flower over my ear. Looking around at the group, I take a deep breath. “I think we’re ready.”
Kenny skips to the end of the pier and waves her small bouquet. “They’re ready,” she says coming back to me.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies swirls through my stomach, and tears flood my eyes. “I can’t believe it,” I whisper.
Kenny grabs my hand tightly. “Don’t cry! You’ll ruin the photos.”
Patrick appears from around the scrub to walk Sylvia to her seat. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, and his shaggy hair is perfectly beachy.
“Wow!” he says loudly. “You guys are hot!”
Elaine skips forward and kisses him. “Not as hot as you!”
“Think Mariska would miss us?”
“I would!” I call out from the back.
He laughs and walks a few steps before his mother pulls his arm, making him turn around. Soft laughter filters through my bridesmaids, and my tears are forgotten as Elaine follows next. The girls all walk in a line, leaving me alone. I follow the path in the sand to Bill, who’s waiting just on the other side of the brush.
His smiles, his kind brown eyes twinkling. “Now this is how I like to see you.”
Slipping my hand in the crook of his arm, I give him a squeeze. “Thanks for coming all the way out here on such short notice.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
My stomach is in nervous knots as we get closer to the front. We pass Melissa with Derek, Elaine and Patrick, Amy and Marcus, Kenny and Slayde, until we’re there, and I lift my eyes to Stuart’s. He’s standing beside the minister, and when our eyes lock, those butterflies come soaring back full speed.
The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled like his brother’s, revealing lined forearms. I’m thankful for the bouquet of white roses and jasmine so he can’t see my hands trembling. The sea breeze musses his light brown hair, and he’s so calm and sure. My gorgeous cowboy.
The minister says something about giving me away. “That’s alright, Padre. We’re just going to keep this one,” Bill replies, and everyone laughs.
I reach over and give him a hug for that unrehearsed response, and when I turn back, Stuart steps to my side, wrapping a strong arm around my waist.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and I look up into his smoldering hazel eyes. My nerves float away in the briny air.
The minister leads us through traditional vows. Our rings are simple platinum, with mine designed to fit the rose engagement ring on my hand. We promise to love, honor, and cherish; to be with each other through all the difficulties in life. We’ve already had a little taste of how difficult life can be, and I am confident when I say I will. Stuart’s assent is a low vibration massaging my heart.
We’re at the end, and the minister speaks to the crowd. “By the power vested in me through the state of New Jersey, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Looking up, I fix this moment in my memory. The breakers crash on the shore in a shushy soundtrack, and my long veil swirls around us. Ribbons of sunset stretch above us in gold, pink, purple, and red lines, and white candles flicker in clear hurricane jars.
Stuart lifts my veil, and he’s under it with me, holding my chin as our eyes slide closed and our lips meet. It’s beautiful and perfect, and oh, so magical. All of my doubts are long gone. Stuart has always been the man of my dreams.
* * *
Our reception is only a few feet away on the beach with torches and dozens of candles in white paper bags arranged to light the growing dusk. A long table is set for our small party. One of Melissa’s marketing clients is a baker, and she provided a large cake wrapped in Tiffany blue fondant with real seashells and starfish for decoration. Graham cracker crumbs are the “sand,” which is spread out in front of the cake so a small heart with “S + M” inside it can be drawn beside the tiny shells.
We hired a DJ to play our favorite beach tunes, and a bartender keeps the umbrella drinks flowing. I hold a flute of sparkling champagne as I slow-dance in Stuart’s arms to the sweet strains of reggae.
“I can’t stop looking at you, Mrs. Knight,” he says, leaning down to kiss my lips, setting off a delicious hum just under my skin.
“Stuart William,” I sigh, eyes closed, listening to the music. “I wish you would take me home and love me.”
“What about our guests?” A smile is in his voice.
“They should go home and do the same.”
He laughs, and my eyes open. I smile, rising on my tiptoes to kiss him again as warmth unfurls low in my stomach.
“We have to at least cut the cake, or Sylvia will fuss.” His arms are warm around me.
“Your mother will not fuss at us for leaving. You just want cake.”
More deep laughter, and his eyes flicker with desire. “I’d rather have you.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the cake table, where he picks up a glass and taps it lightly with a spoon. Our guests stop dancing and turn
to face us.
“We’d like to thank you all for joining us this evening,” he says. “Now we’re going to cut the cake so we can leave you all to enjoy yourselves.
“You mean so you can enjoy yourselves,” Patrick shouts, and everyone laughs.
Stuart smiles, and looks at me. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”
Picking up the large knife, I reach forward and place my hand on the top of his for the photograph. One slice, and Kenny is at our side, plating it and handing us each a dessert fork. We cut small pieces of the fluffy white cake topped with French vanilla cream frosting. A ribbon of toasty coconut, zesty lime, and rum is in the center, filling my mouth with a burst of the tropics.
My eyes go wide. “I changed my mind. I want to stay and eat cake.”
We laugh, and Kenny cuts a bigger piece. “I’ll save this for you,” she says, giving me a hug. “Now get out of here.”
“You’re the best friend anyone could ever have,” I gush, and we laugh more.
Stuart is shaking hands with Derek, and I hear a bit of their conversation.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be in Princeton long.” His handsome former partner is grinning.
Derek’s wife Melissa pulls me into a hug. “The wedding was beautiful. I can’t wait to visit you both in Montana again.”
At last we’ve greeted all our guests, and we’re walking hand in hand toward the parking lot where Stuart’s truck is waiting.
“This time tomorrow we’ll be in Great Falls,” I say, looking up at the starry sky and thinking about my wish from so long ago.
Peace
Stuart
Mariska’s tiny apartment wouldn’t have been my first choice for our wedding night, but her bridesmaids apparently sneaked in and transformed it into a resort escape. A silver bucket holds a bottle of champagne with two flutes on the counter in front of it, and tall candles in hurricane lanterns are arranged on every shelf and mantle.
Broken and Beautiful Page 118
