Sweet Dreams
Page 18
She recoiled as if she’d been struck across the face. It was the first time Preston had ever raised his voice to her. Not even her father had raised his voice when speaking to her.
“No, you didn’t yell at me.”
Preston tightened his hold on Chandra’s shoulders when she narrowed her eyes at him. She looked like a cat ready to come at him with fangs and claws.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’d cut off my right arm rather than yell at you.”
“Start cutting, because you did,” she spat out.
“Chandra, baby, please let me say something.” He felt her shoulders relax. Gathering her to his chest, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I was going to tell you once the play was sent to the Library of Congress for a copyright.” He released her, walked over to the desk and returned with a single sheet of paper and handed it to her.
Chandra felt her knees buckle as she inched over to sit on the chaise. She read what he’d typed three times before the realization hit her: A Play in Three Acts written by C. E. and P. J. Tucker. He’d included her as the coauthor of Death’s Kiss.
“Why did you put my name first?” she whispered.
Going to a knee, Preston cradled the back of her head. “Don’t you know you come first in my life? I love you, baby. I’d love you even if I never read a word in your journal.”
“But you did read it and didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you, Chandra, because you’d have to explain if you’d slept with the man in your dreams or if he was an imaginary person you’d conjured up to assuage your sexual frustration.”
Chandra demurely lowered her eyes. “It was the latter.”
“All I can say is you have a helluva imagination.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “What you read is tame. I have three other volumes and most of them are X-rated.”
“What I read was X-rated.”
“Then double and triple X-rated.”
“Dam-n-n. Don’t tell me I’m marrying a freak!”
Chandra swatted at him, but missed his head when he ducked. “I’ll freak you.”
Easing her off the chaise, Preston pressed her down to the floor. “I just happen to like freaks. The freakier the better.”
She smiled up at the man she didn’t want to trust, and the one with whom she’d fallen inexorably in love. “I’m kind of partial to freaks, too. What do you say we get our freak on before we fly down to Isle of Palms tomorrow.”
Chandra would stay in the villa with eighteen other Eatons and Rices. Preston would live in another villa a thousand feet away with his close friends and relatives. A third villa would accommodate an overflow of friends and family.
She and Preston would remain on the island until Sunday afternoon when they’d fly down to St. Barts for a two-week honeymoon before returning to Philadelphia.
“I’m game if you are,” Preston agreed, “but only if you’re on top.”
“Let’s do it, P.J.”
Pushing to his feet, Preston swept Chandra off the floor, carried her out of the office and up the staircase to the master bedroom. He took his time undressing her, then himself. There was no need to rush because they had the rest of their lives to live out their sweet dreams.
The weather on Isle of Palms was perfect for an outdoor wedding. A cooling breeze off the river offset the heat of the sun on the bared skin of those who’d come as couples and in groups all week to the sea island to relax and take in the history of the low country.
Pumpkins, stalks of corn and decorative sweetgrass baskets lined the beach as bridesmaids and groomsmen lined the double staircase leading to the two story villa flanked by palmetto trees.
Preston Tucker stood at the foot of the staircases. He was waiting for Dr. Dwight Eaton to escort his daughter through the open French doors. The familiar strains of the “Wedding March” caught everyone’s attention, and those sitting under the tent stood up. A lump formed in his throat, he finding it difficult to swallow.
Carrying a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums, orange blossoms, yellow and orange sunflowers, Chandra carefully navigated the orange runner, the toes of her white satin ballet-type slippers peeking from under the hem of her gown. A light breeze lifted the chapel veil attached to the crown of her head with a jeweled comb.
A minister stood ready to begin officiating. “Who gives this woman in this most sacred rite of matrimony?”
Dwight Eaton appeared to have grown an inch when he pulled back his shoulders. “I do.”
It was the second time within four months that he would give away a daughter in marriage, and the third in which he’d witnessed the wedding of his children. All of his surviving children were married, and he and Roberta were looking forward to many more grandchildren.
Chandra smiled at her father. “I love you, Daddy.”
He winked at her. “Be happy, baby girl.”
She nodded. “I will.”
The wedding party descended the staircases to stand opposite one another alongside the carpet when Dwight placed Chandra’s hand on Preston’s outstretched one.
Chandra focused on the orange blossom boutonniere rather than his face because she didn’t want to cry and ruin her makeup. Earlier that morning he’d sent Clifford Jessup to give her a gift. When she’d unwrapped the small package it was to find a pair Cartier South Sea pearls with yellow oval diamonds. The attached card read:
To be worn on special occasions—weddings, births and award ceremonies. Love always, Pascual.
She glanced up through her lashes to see him staring at her lobes. She’d worn the earrings. A smile trembled over her lips. “I will love you forever.”
Preston lowered his head, lightly touching her mouth with his. “Thank you, darling.”
The minister cleared his throat as a ripple of laughter came from the assembled. “The groom usually kisses his bride after I pronounce them husband and wife.”
“Sorry about that.”
The minister straightened his tie under his black robe. “Let’s get started, so you can get to kiss your wife instead of your bride.”
“I’m ready,” Preston said softly.
And he was ready to love and live out all the sweet dreams his wife recorded in her journals.
An exchange of vows, followed by an exchange of rings and they were now husband and wife.
When Chandra Eaton came home she’d planned to stay. What she hadn’t planned on was becoming Mrs. Chandra Eaton-Tucker, wife of celebrated playwright Preston Tucker.
Life was not only good.
It was sweet.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5012-7
SWEET DREAMS
Copyright © 2010 by Rochelle Alers
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