by Leigh, T. K.
“Not many, as I’m sure you can imagine at this late stage. But they did just have a cancelation. June ninth.”
My heart catches in my throat as I try to hide my shock, not wanting anyone at the table to read too much into my reaction. “That’s only a little over two months away.”
“It’s not optimal, but it’s doable.”
Just then, our server approaches and places a bowl of tomato soup in front of each of us, my mind spinning at the notion of marrying Wes so soon. All my preconceived ideas of a long engagement evaporate as I listen to Mrs. Bradford plan a wedding for June of this year. Wes and I don’t even live together yet. I don’t know if he has any weird habits. If he’s easy to live with. If he puts the toilet seat down.
Minutes ago, our marriage was more of an abstract notion, something that would eventually happen. Now, it’s real...a little too real.
With shaky limbs, I stand from the table. Mr. Bradford and Wes do the same, a sign of the manners they’ve learned over the years of wining and dining wealthy clients.
“Is everything okay?” Wes peers at me, concerned.
“I need to get some air.” My voice is even. “Excuse me.”
Dazed, I make my way toward the back patio overlooking the pristine manicured greens. The instant I emerge into the chilly March air, I inhale a deep breath, my lungs expanding. Leaning against the stone ledge, I close my eyes, not caring that my attire of a simple green dress and light white cardigan does nothing to fight against the frigid temperatures still plaguing us, even though it’s technically spring.
I toy with my mother’s locket secured around my neck, hoping for some sort of clarity. It’s moments like these I wish she were still alive. Sure, Aunt Gigi helps in that department, and my father’s long-time girlfriend, Ana, is easy to talk to, but it’s not what I need right now. I need guidance from a woman who loves me unconditionally, who wants nothing more than happiness for me. Wes does make me happy. But is it the kind of happiness I’ve dreamt of since I was a little girl? Am I willing to settle for whatever I feel when I’m with him? Or am I having second thoughts because I almost kissed Drew earlier? Is this just the Catholic guilt I grew up with rearing its ugly head?
As I stand there, trying to make sense of the strange combination of remorse and uncertainty, I sense a presence approach from behind. A jacket is draped around my shoulders and I tilt my head to my left to see Wes beside me.
“Hey,” he breathes, hesitant.
Straightening, I pull his jacket closer. It smells like him, like spice and wood. It offers me a slice of comfort in a world that seems to be spiraling out of control.
“Hey.” The corners of my lips lift, treating him to a small smile.
“I’m sorry about all of that. I had no idea she was planning to go all Mom-zilla on you. I thought we were getting together for lunch to celebrate our engagement. I had no idea she was already looking at dates for the ceremony.”
“It’s okay.” I stare at the unnatural green lawn that goes on for miles, the occasional golf cart driving along the paths carrying golfers getting a jump-start on their game for the season. I’ve never understood the attraction to the game, but Wes claims it’s relaxing. I much prefer the excitement of a team sport…like hockey. “It’s a bit overwhelming.” I glance back at him. “Don’t you think it’s fast, planning a wedding for June?”
He seems to assess my question, then states, “No, I don’t.”
His response isn’t what I expected. Wes is a very methodical person. He isn’t impulsive or spontaneous. The craziest thing he’s probably ever done is go out of his way to stop by the café to see if I was there. He has a routine, and he sticks to it.
“You don’t?”
He grabs a hand in each of his and I face him. “Brooklyn, I love you. Ever since you finally agreed to go out to dinner with me, I’ve been the happiest I can remember. There’s something about you… I don’t know what it is. It’s the same thing that’s drawn me to you since the first day I saw you, heard your laugh, felt your soul. When I asked you to marry me, it wasn’t about having a wedding. It was because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. The wedding is just an excuse to play dress-up.” He brings a hand to my lower back, dragging my body into his. When he leans down, his breath warms my neck. “Then take you back to a ridiculously expensive hotel suite where I can strip you down to nothing but your wedding ring.”
The way his body feels against mine, coupled with his deep, sensual tone, causes a tingle to spread through me. It’s not the hurricane of butterflies that flapped their wings in my stomach when Drew had me pinned on the ice, but I can’t think about that. I shouldn’t think about that.
Wes pulls back, his entire expression brightening. “If you want to wait until you’re done with your PhD program, I’ll do that for you. It will be torture to wait that long for you to have my last name, but your happiness is what’s most important to me.”
I stare into his calm eyes, physically able to feel his adoration for me. Should it matter when we get married? I agreed to be his wife. The wedding is just a way to make it official. Maybe it’s for the best we marry sooner rather than later. I fear the longer we wait, the more complicated things will become.
“I don’t want you to have to wait, Wes,” I finally say, cupping his cheeks in my hands, bringing his lips toward mine. “Like you said… It’s just a wedding. I already agreed to marry you. So let’s plan for June.”
All the tension seems to roll off his body as he presses his mouth to mine, his arms swallowing me. His tongue skims my lower lip, asking for permission, and I open for him. Our kiss is simple, but full, his embrace offering me warmth and love.
But there’s no charge of electricity like there was when Drew’s body was against mine. No unquenchable need pulsing in my core when his dark eyes gazed upon me, piercing my soul. No racing of my heart when his mouth drew closer and closer, agonizing, torturing, teasing.
Am I resigning myself to a lifetime of mediocrity?
Chapter Nine
Drew
“Hello, hello!” a familiar voice calls out as I maneuver around the kitchen, sampling the sauce that’s been simmering the past few hours. It tastes perfect, the right blend of spices. Of course, the real test is if it lives up to Aunt Gigi’s standards. She’s the one who taught me the family recipe, after all.
“Auntie Molly!” Alyssa and Charlotte jump up from the floor of the family room, abandoning their Play-Doh project and running toward the foyer.
“Hey, lovebugs,” she says, beaming as she turns the corner. Noah is right behind her, carrying a few bottles of wine, their weekly contribution to Sunday dinner, placing them on the large island.
“Your belly’s getting even bigger!” Charlotte observes enthusiastically.
“Char,” I warn, looking up from the stovetop built into the island. Placing the cover back on the pot, I head toward the open living area. The place we moved into a few years ago isn’t as big as the house I bought after I hit it big in hockey, but I was young and stupid back then, thinking the money would last forever. After several mistakes, my father talked some sense into me, helping me with a few smart financial decisions, which have kept me very comfortable since I was forced into early retirement. “That’s not nice.”
“What?” She spins around, furrowing her brows at me. Her six-year-old brain can’t grasp what’s wrong with her statement. “You told me the baby’s in there. That my cousin’s getting big and will come out when it’s time.”
“Yeah!” Alyssa chimes in. “You said Uncle Noah put the baby there.” She shifts her gaze toward Noah. “Didn’t you put the baby there?”
Uneasiness filling his blue eyes, he runs his hand through his dark hair. “Yes, but—”
“How?” she presses.
Alyssa, like Charlotte, has always been an inquisitive child. That inquisitive nature has only grown with age. After everything I went through with Carla, I promised to always be upfront and truthful wi
th them, that I would do my best to answer their questions honestly. That was before I had to explain why their auntie Molly’s belly was growing. Ever since they learned they’ll be getting a new cousin at the end of the summer, they’ve been curious about how the baby got inside her.
“Yeah, how?” Charlotte chimes in. Then her eyes widen, as if having an epiphany. “Did you eat your baby?”
I stifle a laugh at her grave expression.
“Yeah, Charlotte. Something like that,” Molly responds, having difficulty holding in her own laughter at the ridiculousness of Charlotte’s questions. I’m surprised she doesn’t go into detail. As a romance author, she has quite the vocabulary, particularly when it comes to sex. All I can do is hope she doesn’t pass any of her knowledge on to my girls…even when they turn eighteen. Auntie Molly’s books will always be very off-limits.
“Why did you eat your baby?”
“So he has a warm place to grow until he’s big enough to survive outside.”
Charlotte seems to consider Molly’s answer, then looks at me. “Daddy, did you eat Alyssa and me and give us a warm place to grow?”
“No, peanut,” I respond, wanting to end this conversation. “Only mommies carry babies.”
“So did Auntie Brook eat us?”
“No, Char. Brooklyn is your auntie, not your mother.” I swallow hard, the mere mention of her making my heart rate pick up, my body heat, my fingers ache to brush her delicate skin again.
After we almost kissed yesterday morning, I haven’t been able to think about anything else, not even losing the playoff game we should have won. Hell, I haven’t even returned any of Skylar’s messages inviting me over. After my close brush with Brooklyn, Skylar seems inadequate in so many areas. Her immaturity and lack of conversational skills has never bothered me. In my opinion, the ability to hold an intellectual discussion on current affairs doesn’t directly correlate to being stellar in the bedroom. Before, that was all I cared about, was all I wanted to care about.
“Then where’s our mother?” Charlotte’s voice forces my attention back to her.
“Probably skanking it up,” Molly mutters under her breath. I shoot her an irritated look. As much as Carla hurt me, I don’t want to instill any of that animosity onto the kids. They need to form their own opinion.
“She left right after you were born, kiddo.”
“Why?”
I run my hand through my hair, wishing my dad were still alive to give me advice on how to handle this conversation. No one prepares you for these types of things when you’re getting ready to have kids. No manual covers how to talk to your children about why their mother abandoned them six years ago and made no effort to be a part of their lives. My dad went through it with Molly and me, and we turned out fine. Still, I would love his expertise on how to tell my kids their mother didn’t want them, didn’t want any of us.
“I wish I knew, sweetie.” She deserves a better answer. I doubt I’ll ever be able to give her one.
“Here.” Noah’s voice cuts through as he hands me a glass of a red wine. “Figured you could use this.”
“They don’t teach you any of this stuff in parenting classes,” I mumble, taking the wine from him. “Hope you’re ready.”
“Is there such a thing?”
I raise the glass to my lips. “Definitely not.”
“I want a baby in my belly,” Alyssa declares.
I glance at Molly as she takes a sip of water. “A little help here?”
“Oh, no. I’m wearing my auntie hat tonight. This is all you, Drew.”
With a deep breath, I turn back to my two girls, both of whom look excited over the prospect. “You need to be a little older before you can have a baby in your belly.” I pray this explanation works. I don’t want to go into the technicalities of why they have to be a little older.
“Okay,” Charlotte says. “Can I have some juice?”
Relieved that their questions about the proverbial birds and bees are done, I walk to the refrigerator and pour some apple juice into two cups, then add a straw.
“When I’m older, I’m going to have lots of babies in my belly,” Alyssa states, grabbing one of the cups.
“Not if I can help it,” I mutter under my breath so only Molly and Noah can hear, to which they both laugh. “Just wait. Your time’s coming.”
“Eh. We’ve got it easier,” Molly replies as Noah drapes an arm over her shoulders. “We’re having a boy. We only have one penis to worry about instead of one million. Times two.”
I groan. “Great. Way to make me feel good about this, especially considering Alyssa will be in middle school in three years.” Yes, eleven sounds young, but I remember how I was at that age. Remember when I realized girls weren’t filled with cooties, as I originally thought.
“Glad I could help.” She grins.
Giving serious consideration to buying a firearm to use as a ploy to scare any boy who so much as looks at Alyssa in a way I don’t like, I resume preparing our traditional Sunday dinner, checking the sauce every so often. The second Aunt Gigi and Uncle Leo arrive, she kicks me out of my kitchen. I try to argue, to tell her to relax, but she won’t hear it.
Every week, it’s the same thing. So many other people I know rarely see their families, especially once they began having children of their own. I see mine constantly. If Molly isn’t stopping over to see the girls, I’m dropping by the café to visit with Aunt Gigi. We’re as nontraditional as a family can be, but I’m eternally grateful for the amount of positive influences my girls have, for the strong support system I’ve had throughout all the trials in my life.
“Is Brooklyn coming?” Gigi asks as I make myself useful and slice the loaf of bread she brought from the café.
“She’s supposed to.” I keep my eyes lowered, trying not to reveal anything by the way I can feel my entire body heat from her name alone.
“And Wes?”
I stare at the bread. “She texted this morning to tell me he may be coming.”
“I’ll be sure not to hold my breath, though,” Gigi remarks.
One of the many things I love about my aunt is the way she holds nothing back. She lets you know exactly what she’s thinking. As I’ve learned throughout my life, it’s both a blessing and a curse.
“I can count on one hand the number of times that boy’s shown up here for our family dinner.”
“Brooklyn’s not technically family.” I meet her eyes, bringing the blade back up to the bread, about to slice.
Gigi’s gaze becoming fiery, she points an indignant finger at me. “Just because she doesn’t have the same bloodline as us doesn’t make her any less important. She’s family.” With a dramatic huff, she returns her attention to the sauce. “I’d hoped she’d have our last name one day.”
“Gigi…,” I warn. “You’re worse than Molly.”
“What? I’m just stating what you’re thinking, Andrew. Perhaps if you weren’t as stubborn as your father, you wouldn’t find yourself in this position.”
I place the knife on the cutting board and cross my arms in front of my chest. “And what position is that?”
“About to watch your soul mate marry another man.”
“You’ve been reading too many of Molly’s books,” I retort, brushing off her comments.
She’s in front of me in an instant, forcing my eyes to hers. “You can’t avoid me forever, Andrew Vincenzo Brinks. I kept my mouth shut Friday morning when you and Molly were getting into it. I didn’t want to bring up what happened all those years ago since not many people know.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore. Like you said, it was years ago. Brooklyn’s moved on. So have I. Need I remind you, I got married and have two kids.”
“And now you’re using those kids as an excuse for why you refuse to date anyone. But those girls should be the reason you pursue a serious relationship, not run from it. Don’t you think they deserve to have a mother’s influence?”
“They do. They have yo
u.” I give her a sly smile, winking. “It was good enough for Molly and me. There’s no one better with kids than you, Gigi.”
“Stop buttering me up. I’m too old to be persuaded by your charms. Yes, your father made the best of a bad situation, and I’m so grateful I had the chance to be a mother to you when your own mother refused. But don’t you think your girls deserve something more meaningful than visiting with their crazy aunt? They should learn what love is. Real love. They’ll never know that if you refuse to know it for yourself.” She lowers her voice. “Don’t you think Brooklyn might reconsider if she knew what really happened?”
I briefly close my eyes, repeating the same words I’ve told myself countless times. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything.”
“Andrew, darling. It could change everything.”
“Gigi, please. I can’t just go up to Brooklyn, tell her she’s making a mistake, declare my undying love, and beg her to give me a chance. It’s more complicated than that.”
Suddenly, a loud throat clearing rips through the space and I whirl around, shocked green eyes staring at me. It’s evident by the uncertain expression on Brooklyn’s face she overheard us. I wonder how long she’s been standing there…and if Gigi knew. I look to my right, meeting my aunt’s eyes. She shrugs, neither admitting nor denying my suspicions, which only heightens them.
“Sorry I’m late.” Brooklyn breaks the awkward silence. “Wes hoped to make it, but—”
“Something came up, didn’t it, dear?” Gigi interrupts.
“He sends his regrets. He wanted to be here tonight, but he ran into a few problems with one of his buildings in Florida and had to fly down to see it for himself.”
“It’s quite all right.” Gigi comes around from behind the large kitchen island, placing a kiss on Brooklyn’s cheek. “Drew, why don’t you pour Brooklyn a glass of wine.”
“I can get it,” she insists, starting toward the cabinet where I keep the glasses.
“Allow me.” I jump in front of her, my nerves at being around her after yesterday clear in the slight shakiness in my voice. “Cabernet okay?” I retrieve a glass, then reach for one of the bottles on the counter.
