His eyes glint. “Think so?”
“I know so.”
He bends suddenly, lifting me into his arms as I wrap my legs around his waist. “What do I get for being so good?”
I grin at him. “I’ll tell you after I get that massage.”
He laughs against my neck. “Well played, woman. Well played.”
Chapter Forty-Three
EMERSON
A week before thanksgiving i receive a phone call from Pasquale Ferrini, my father’s lead attorney. When he introduces himself, my heart thuds with dread, and I have to get up from my office chair and walk to the window before speaking.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Ferrini?”
“I’m calling to tell you that your father has accepted a plea deal,” the lawyer announces. “He won’t be going to trial in January.”
All the air whooshes out of my lungs. “What?”
“He wanted you to know before the news breaks—”
“Why did he cut a deal?” If he’s innocent, I add silently.
“I advised him against it,” Ferrini admits. “But he wanted to spare you the ordeal of having your father on trial. It would have been a media circus, and he didn’t want to put you and your mother through that. He thinks you’ve both suffered enough.”
I suck in a jagged breath and press a hand against my stomach. “How . . . how much time is he getting?”
“Fifteen years. But in light of his terminal illness . . .” When the lawyer’s voice trails off, I mentally fill in the blanks. My father won’t serve a fraction of his sentence because he’ll be dead soon.
I shake my head, staring blindly out the window of my home office. Last month I got promoted to columnist at the Gazette. I was working on a piece about the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team, but after this phone call, my concentration will be blown to smithereens.
“In exchange for the reduced prison sentence,” Ferrini continues, “your father agreed to work with the feds to provide restitution to his investors.”
I sag against the window and close my eyes, whispering a heartfelt prayer of thanks.
“There are boxes at the house. Things he wants you to have.”
“What things?” I croak.
“Family heirlooms, old photo albums, recipes, letters from his parents. He says you speak Italian so you’ll be able to read everything.” Ferrini’s voice softens. “Your father has a lot of regrets, Emerson. He regrets the way he treated you and your mother. And he regrets not sharing more of himself with you. He says your nonna would have loved you. She would have sent for you every summer and fattened you up.”
A lump rises in my throat, choking me as Reyes appears in the doorway.
“He wants you to meet his family someday and get to know them,” Ferrini continues. “He says they’re good people, and they deserve to have you in their lives.”
I try to swallow around the strangling tightness in my throat.
“I can have the boxes delivered to you. If you want them.”
“Yes.” My voice is less than a whisper. “I want them.”
“Good,” Ferrini says quietly. “Your father will be pleased.”
I watch as Reyes walks toward me, his eyes fixed on my face.
The lawyer clears his throat. “Anyway, I think that covers everything. Do you have any questions for me?”
I lick my dry lips. “Did he . . . did he release those pictures of Brigham Malone?”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That makes me snort. “Sure you don’t.”
Ferrini chuckles. “All you need to know is that you won’t ever have to worry about Brigham Malone again.”
“Because my father has more dirt on him?”
“Maybe. Or maybe because he’s scared shitless of your husband. Either way, he won’t ever bother you again.” There’s amusement in the lawyer’s voice. “If you ever need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
“Take care of yourself, Emerson.”
I end the call and lift my eyes to meet Reyes’s concerned gaze.
“Who was that?” he asks.
“My father’s attorney,” I whisper.
“What did he say?”
“He said my father . . . he accepted a plea deal.”
Reyes looks stunned. “Really?”
I nod and relay the conversation. When I finish, Reyes shakes his head slowly and murmurs, “Wow.”
“I know, right? It’s a lot to digest.” I cross the room on unsteady legs to set my phone down on the desk. “The most important thing is that he’s making restitution to his victims.”
“Definitely,” Reyes agrees.
I fork a shaky hand through my hair. “He deserves a longer sentence for what he did to them. But he’s dying, so he won’t even . . .” My voice trails off as suddenly, without warning, I burst into tears.
“Come here,” Reyes whispers, gathering me in his arms.
I dissolve against him, curling my arms around his midsection and blubbering, “I don’t know why the hell I’m crying. He doesn’t deserve my tears.”
“It’s okay, baby,” Reyes murmurs soothingly, squeezing me against his warm chest. “Let it all out.”
He stands there holding me, rubbing my back and letting the emotional storm wash through me, cleansing my battered soul.
When my sobs finally subside, he lifts my chin with his finger and gently thumbs my tears away, staring into my eyes. “You needed that,” he says quietly. “You needed closure.”
“I know. But I didn’t realize just how much until now.” I can feel a lifetime’s worth of pain and anger draining out of me. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him. But I have to let go of my hatred. Not for his sake. For mine.”
Reyes brushes my hair back and kisses my forehead. “Healing is a process. It won’t happen overnight, so don’t pressure yourself.” His eyes caress my face. “However long you need, just know that I’m with you every single step of the way.”
“I know you are,” I say softly. “I couldn’t have made it this far without you.”
He brushes his lips over mine, kissing me so sweetly and lovingly that I melt inside.
As he lifts his head, I smile into his eyes. “I think I’ll make saltimbocca for dinner tomorrow.”
He strokes my cheekbone. “Saltimbocca?”
“It was one of my grandmother’s specialties. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
His smile is filled with tenderness. “I’m sure I will.”
A week later we celebrate our first Thanksgiving as husband and wife.
We’ve got a full house today. Reyes invited DeVante, Zach, two rookies and the team’s head equipment manager who couldn’t make it home for the holiday.
I invited Haven, a young softball player I’ve mentored for the past year. She reminds me of myself at her age, even down to her red hair. I’ve become good friends with her mom, a single parent with three other children. Helena appreciated not having to cook a big meal this year, and Haven and her siblings wasted no time taking advantage of the horse-drawn hayride that Reyes arranged.
My mother flew in two days earlier with her new boyfriend that she met at morning Mass. Clint is an attractive fiftysomething divorcé with two college-aged kids who are spending the holiday with their mother and stepdad.
Reyes and I hit it off immediately with Clint. He’s a nice guy, and we can tell he’s really into Mom. When we took them out to dinner, they flirted a lot and teased each other, something she and my father never did. She looks happier than I’ve ever seen her, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.
We’ve talked at length about my father and everything that happened in the past. She was horrified when I told her how he forced me to break up with Reyes. She hugged me long and hard and tearfully apologized for not doing more to protect me from his vicious cruelty. I assured her that I don’t blame her
, that she was just as much a victim as I was.
We made a pact not to keep any more secrets from each other, to always be a source of mutual strength and support. Fortunately, we’re both in a good place right now, and the future looks very promising.
On Thanksgiving Day, Zoe and Liam arrive after having an early dinner with his family. They walk through our front door holding hands and looking so lovey-dovey that Reyes can’t help teasing them.
Last month they showed up to Greer’s annual costume party dressed as Prince Harry and Meghan. Halfway through the evening, Zoe got the shock of her life when Liam dropped to one knee and proposed. She was so stunned she nearly hyperventilated. After much squealing and hand flapping, she finally calmed down enough to say yes. They celebrated with a long kiss right there in the middle of the ballroom. It was outrageously romantic, and afterward the two of us hugged and ugly-cried together.
Teagan and Daisy are celebrating Thanksgiving with their families, but they plan to swing by later to enjoy some dessert—and flirt with the football players, of course.
Susanna stayed over last night to help with dinner preparations. She’s not on speaking terms with her father, so she’s spending the holiday with us.
Victoria was incredibly disappointed. Hoping to restore some normalcy to her fractured relations, she’d been looking forward to hosting a big family gathering at the mansion. In the past she would have issued an order demanding that everyone show up. But after spending two weeks in Spain with the Galindos, she’s really been making an effort to curb her autocratic tendencies.
As part of turning over a new leaf, she and Boone reached out to Brooks to apologize for the past and ask for his forgiveness. Their heart-to-heart talk resulted in Brooks returning to Piedmont Bay for the first time in many years.
Reyes and I picked him up from the airport yesterday. He’s staying at our house but plans to spend the day with his parents tomorrow. It remains to be seen whether he and Brigham will ever reconcile.
The only guest missing from our Thanksgiving gathering is Greer. He’s out of the country on business, but he promised he’d be back on Saturday for his tennis rematch with Brooks (poor guy’s still nursing a grudge over his loss to the “old man” in Spain).
Reyes and I decided to start our own Thanksgiving tradition by dining outside on the west lawn. The autumn weather is crisp and sunny, perfect for outdoor feasting. The long dinner table is decorated with beautiful fall floral arrangements and pumpkin spice candles placed down the center on a white tablecloth.
In addition to turkey with all the trimmings, our menu also features a medley of international cuisine. Reyes made Catalan cannelloni stuffed with chicken, Mom prepared an Irish mashed potato dish flavored with cabbage, and I cooked my nonna’s rigatoni with fried eggplant.
The culinary hodgepodge is a big hit with everyone.
“It’s official,” Zach declares, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his full belly. “Reyes and Emerson are hosting Thanksgiving dinner every year from now on.”
A rousing chorus of agreement sweeps around the table.
I laugh warmly. “As much as my husband and I would love to take all the credit, dinner was a team effort. Dad smoked the turkeys, Mom fixed the colcannon, and Susanna made the Gorgonzola macaroni and cheese.”
“You made that?” Zach smiles at Susanna, heart emojis practically floating out of his eyes. “That was the best mac and cheese I’ve ever had.”
“Easy there, tiger,” Reyes growls warningly.
Everyone breaks into laughter.
After dessert, Reyes’s father and teammates head inside to watch football. Haven and her siblings race upstairs to the home theater while their mom and the equipment manager linger at the table, laughing and conversing over flickering candlelight.
Zoe and Liam go for a stroll in the garden while Susanna pours herself another glass of wine and wanders to the terrace to Skype with Mireia.
That leaves me, Reyes, Mom and Clint—the only members of the party who haven’t gone on a hayride.
As the sun sinks in the sky, the four of us head across the lawn to where a wagon pulled by two gorgeous horses stands ready. The wagon is stuffed with hay and can accommodate ten people. But Reyes wants us to have our own private hayride, and I know exactly why.
Throughout dinner he’d held my hand under the table, his thumb tracing my palm and sending thrills up my spine. Every time my pulse managed to stabilize, he’d leaned over and whispered something dirty in my ear—something that involved him lifting my tiered turquoise dress and fucking me with my cowboy boots on.
If the others noticed my constant blush, they were kind enough not to comment.
While waiting for Mom and Clint to return from their hayride, Reyes and I cuddle on a bench under a wisteria-draped pergola. I’m wrapped in his arms, my head tucked beneath his chin as dusk settles over the sky.
“Our first Thanksgiving was a smashing success,” I say with a happy sigh.
“It sure was,” Reyes agrees. “Thanks to my brilliant planning.”
When I poke him in the ribs, he laughs and kisses the top of my head. “Just kidding, babe. You’ve turned out to be a damn fine hostess.” There’s a grin in his voice. “Looks like I won’t have to trade you in for a society wife after all.”
That earns him another jab, this time in the thigh. “You’re skating on thin ice here, bro.”
A rumbling chuckle vibrates from his chest as he stretches out his long legs. We’re both wearing cowboy boots, a nod to Santa Fe where our story began.
“Love is in the air,” I say smilingly. “Zoe and Liam. Mom and Clint. Even Haven’s mother and Jensen seem to be connecting.”
“I noticed,” Reyes drawls, his lips caressing my hair.
“I’m so happy for all of them.” My smile softens as I toy with the buttons on his shirt. “Do you think your dad will ever remarry?”
He goes still.
I can’t see his face, and maybe that’s a good thing.
He’s quiet for a while. Quiet for so long I wonder if I’ve upset him.
“I don’t know,” he finally murmurs.
I lick my lips, staring at his throat. “I know traveling and running the ranch keep him busy. And I know he has lots of friends, including Tahoma and the other men who work for him. I just . . . I don’t want him to be lonely. I want him to have someone to come home to at the end of a long day.”
Reyes’s chest rises and falls on a deep breath. “Nobody can ever replace my mom—”
“Never in a million years.”
“But . . . I want Dad to be happy, too. No one deserves it more.”
I lift my head and tenderly kiss his jaw. He hugs me close until the horses come clopping up the lane, their harnesses jingling as the driver sits high on a bench seat holding the reins.
When the wagon clatters to a stop in front of us, Clint helps my mother down. They’re both beaming with delight.
“That was wonderful,” Mom gushes. “Your property is so beautiful with all those big, leafy trees. And the palms! I’ve never seen such tall palm trees! And you even have a lake!”
I smile warmly. “Glad you guys enjoyed the hayride. It was Reyes’s idea.”
Mom affectionately pats his cheek and winks. “Brilliant.”
He throws me a smug grin. “Told you.”
When I roll my eyes, Mom and Clint laugh.
“Our turn.” Reyes captures my hand and leads me over to the wagon. We spend a few minutes stroking the horses’ necks, whispering into their twitching ears. Then Reyes helps me up into the wagon and climbs in after me.
We sit on the quilt-covered floor, leaning back against the sweet-smelling hay bales. I’m instantly transported back to our childhood, to autumn hayrides at the local orchard, chasing each other through the pumpkin patch, drinking warm cider and eating sticky caramel apples.
I’m reliving it all, and for the first time ever, it doesn’t feel tainted. For the first time ever, remem
bering the past doesn’t hurt.
“Good memories,” Reyes murmurs.
My eyes meet his, and we have a whole conversation without words before I say softly, “Very good memories.”
He drapes a heavy fleece blanket over our legs and then puts his arm around my shoulders, snuggling me into his side.
“Ready, folks?” the driver asks.
We grin. “Let’s do this.”
Mom and Clint stand smiling and waving at us as we set off down the lane, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves filling the night air.
“Alone at last.” Reyes reaches up and cups my cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over my lips. As heat tightens in my belly, I lick the rough tip and slowly draw it into my mouth.
He groans with pleasure, staring into my eyes as we pass under a canopy of trees with moonlight filtering through the branches.
I bite his thumb and suck it harder, watching his eyes glow with lust before he pulls himself from between my lips, cups the back of my head and crushes his mouth to mine.
I moan softly, soaking up the taste of his lips and his tongue.
Without breaking our kiss, he reaches under my dress and slips his hand inside my panties. My breath hitches, becoming shallower.
When he parts my sensitive folds and runs his finger along my clit, I gasp and arch against his hand.
He lowers me to the quilt and stretches out over me, levering himself up on one arm so his face is directly above mine. I can feel the hard press of his cock against my lower belly, growing thicker and harder as he slowly rubs my slick cleft, a delicious glide of heat and pressure that electrifies every nerve.
Biting my lip to smother a moan, I peek over his shoulder at the driver’s back. He’s wearing AirPods and bobbing his head to loud music that can be heard over the clomping of the horses’ hooves.
Following the direction of my gaze, Reyes lets out a raspy chuckle. “See? He’s not paying attention to us. But just to put your mind at ease . . .” He pulls the blanket over our bodies, creating a warm cocoon as he grins down at me. “Better?”
“Better,” I breathe.
With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he peels my panties down my legs and over my cowboy boots.
Get Over You (Dare Me Book 1) Page 42
