Marriage, Bravo Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  “Me, too.” He caught her fingers, pressed his warm, soft lips to the back of her hand.

  She trembled at the caress, at the feel of his breath against her skin. “I do want us to…work it out.”

  “I love you, Elena.”

  Just like that, so simply, he had said the words. The words that meant so much.

  The words that meant everything to her.

  She could hardly believe she had actually heard them. “Rogan. You’re, um, serious?”

  He pressed her hand to the crisp front of his new shirt, slipping his thumb beneath her fingers, guiding them to open, so she could feel his warm, solid chest. And the steady, strong beating of his heart.

  She kept picturing him tiptoeing around the dim hospital room, trying not to wake her as he tied the balloons to the bed and set the beautiful flower arrangement just so on the bedside table, where she would see it when she woke up.

  He held her gaze so intently. And he said those magic words again. “I love you. I want you. Always. That will never change. And I’m glad for Michael, that we have Michael. But I’m here for you, too. For you, first and foremost.”

  Her throat clutched. She swallowed to loosen it. Could he have said it more perfectly? It didn’t seem possible that he could have.

  How could he have known just the right words to say?

  This man loves me. He wants to make a life with me….

  Within her, something went soft and pliant. A carefully erected barrier dissolved. She felt herself open to him.

  Like a flower spreading its petals to welcome the sun.

  He said it again. “I love you. I want to be with you. I want our family. That’s how it should be. You, me and Michael. Together.”

  She could hold back no longer. “I…I love you, too, Rogan.” There. She had said it. She had confessed the truth. To herself, as much as to him. “I love you so much.”

  He raised his free hand, turned it over, opened it.

  She gasped at what waited, glittering, in the heart of his palm: a diamond ring and matching wedding band.

  So beautiful. So perfect. A set she might have chosen for herself. Vintage style, with a pure, large central stone, two slightly smaller diamonds flanking it and pavé diamonds cut into the bands of both the wedding band and the engagement ring.

  She tried to find words. “Wh…where did you find them?”

  He named a jeweler. “They were open. I went in. I saw this engagement ring and decided it was the one.”

  “Tonight? You did this tonight?”

  His smile was wry and tender. “It was the first chance I’ve had.”

  “And the flowers. The balloons. It’s like a dream, you know?”

  “Let me say this again, okay?”

  “Oh, Rogan…”

  “Marry me, Elena. I love you more than words can possibly say. Marry me and make me the happiest man alive.”

  She wanted to say yes, right then. To grab that ring and put it on and never, ever let it off her finger for as long as she lived. And yet…

  “Rogan, there are so many things we probably should talk about.”

  A frown creased his brow—and then quickly vanished. “You’re right, of course. And we will. We’ll work together, to make a life that’s good for both of us. I’ve been thinking…”

  “Uh, you have?”

  “Oh, yeah. Maybe you don’t want to live in Dallas. I can understand that. With your family, everyone you care about here, in San Antonio, this might be a better place for us.”

  “You would do that?” She asked the question prayerfully. “You would move here?”

  He nodded. “I can move my headquarters here, to the branch I bought from your dad. It would take time, though.”

  She dared to reach out, to touch the side of his face. Smooth. He must have shaved, too. All this preparation, to make everything just right. For her. For this moment, when he asked her again to be his wife. Asked her in such a way that she could hardly remember why she’d said no the first time.

  “I would be willing to be patient,” she said.

  “You would?” He looked so hopeful.

  She nodded, eagerly. “And, well, Dallas isn’t that far away. I’m the most able to move now. So I would move there, with you. And then we could take our time, think it over, plan out the long-term goals.”

  “It’s all workable. You’re so right.”

  She had so many things she wanted to tell him now. A thousand things. “I haven’t really had a chance to tell you, but I quit my teaching job. I’ve been working for Gabe—you remember Gabe, the family lawyer? Gabe’s a great boss. And I’ve found I’m interested in the law. And eventually, when Michael’s a little older, I want to go to law school. I was thinking Austin. But I could go to St. Mary’s here. Or even Texas Wesleyan in Fort Worth. There are lots of options—I mean, as long as we were both flexible. As long as we were communicating, working together, you know?”

  “I do, Elena. I know.” He drew her hand to his lips again, kissed it so tenderly. “Marry me.”

  All her doubts seem to have melted away. He loved her. She loved him.

  What else was there to say? “Yes. I will, Rogan. I would be proud to be your wife.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  In Texas, there was a seventy-two hour waiting period before a couple could marry after acquiring a license.

  They got the license Monday when the courthouse opened.

  And they married Thursday afternoon. Yes, they were both Catholics and would have preferred a wedding in the church. But that would take months. They would have to sign up for a date well in advance and go through counseling beforehand.

  They didn’t want to wait. They were both anxious to begin their lives together, as a family. Their marriage, they agreed, was forever. Whether they shared their vows before a priest on consecrated ground.

  Or not.

  The minister from Davis and Aleta’s church agreed to officiate. And they said their vows in the front living room at Bravo Ridge. It was raining that day, the sky a leaden gray. The wind was wild outside. The rain made splattering sounds as it beat against the room’s distinctive high, arched windows. It ran down the panes in tiny jeweled rivers.

  To Elena, the day was like a dream.

  Everyone was smiling and kind, so happy for her and Rogan. She wore a new dress she’d bought the day before, tea length, chiffon and lace, with cap sleeves and a scoop neck. She had a short veil, too, and lacy wrist-length white gloves. She carried a bouquet of gardenias and freesias.

  Her dad walked her down the makeshift aisle between five rows of chairs set up for the ceremony. So many family members had managed to get away for the day to be there. That pleased her so much. She felt so happy and a little bit stunned—and she tried not to worry that her milk might leak and stain her pretty new dress.

  It all seemed to be happening so fast. Tomorrow, she and Rogan would fly to Dallas. She would start a whole new life.

  But it was right, she knew it.

  She and Rogan had agreed that they wanted their baby to be with them as they said their vows. And now, as she walked slowly toward him, Rogan waited by the minister, wearing a beautiful chalk stripe blue suit, holding Michael in his arms. She looked at her groom and only at him as she slowly went to meet him.

  Javier stepped aside. She gave her bouquet to Mercy, her one attendant. And she held out her hands for the bundle in blue.

  Rogan gave Michael to her. She gathered her son close and glanced down at his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful, so content at that moment. As if he knew that all was right in his world.

  The minister began to speak. “We are gathered here together…”

  After the ceremony, there was champagne. Luz took the baby and Elena accepted a glass and even dared to treat herself to a couple of sips. It seemed everyone had a toast to offer.

  Before the big dinner in the formal dining room, Caleb pulled her aside, into one of the unoccupied rooms along the hallway betw
een the kitchen and the game room. “I just need to know that you’re happy, that’s all.”

  She hugged him. “I am. So happy.” She stood back, turned in a circle. “Can’t you tell?”

  He took her by the shoulders and gazed at her, a funny half smile curving his lips. “You make a gorgeous bride, you know that?”

  She thought he looked a little…sheepish, maybe. “Thank you. And have you done something you shouldn’t have?”

  He chuckled. That slightly guilty look was gone. Maybe she’d only imagined it. “Me? Never. As soon as you’re settled in, we’re coming to visit.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “I mean it. Be happy.”

  “I promise I will.”

  Elena hugged him again and then had to hurry off to feed Michael before they all sat down to eat.

  After the meal, there was more champagne. And a little later, Elena and Rogan cut the cake. Elena’s half sister Zoe was a really talented amateur photographer. She let her husband, Dax, take care of their nine-month-old, Zachary, and took a lot of pictures that day. Zoe must have snapped twenty or thirty just of them cutting that pretty white three-tiered cake, with Rogan slightly behind Elena, his hand over hers on the sterling silver knife. They laughed as they fed each other pieces much too big to fit into their mouths.

  And then he kissed her. “Sweetest kiss I ever had,” he said.

  And he was right, too. She had cake and frosting smeared all over her face.

  She threw the bouquet from the spiral staircase in the foyer. Brenda, Rogan’s sister, caught it. A good thing, too, given that she was the only single woman there.

  Brenda had blue eyes and light brown hair cut short and spiky. The cute, funky style suited her personality. She’d flown in from New York City the night before to be there for her brother’s wedding, and she was going back tomorrow morning in order not to miss school. Cormac and Niall had made it, too. Elena was pleased they’d been able to come—and grateful to Davis, who’d insisted they all three would stay at the ranch.

  By nine that evening, Elena was starting to droop a little. It was a week since she’d delivered Michael and she still tired easily. Plus, her nights were no longer her own. She was up and down constantly, for feedings and diaper changes. Rogan was a sweetheart and helped her out as much as he could. Still, she slept in fits and starts, waking whenever her baby cried.

  She was in the living room, holding Michael, chatting with Brenda when Rogan’s strong arms came around her. “I’m thinking it’s about time I carried you out of here.” He brushed a kiss against her temple.

  She leaned back into his embrace with a sigh. “Good idea. Before I fall over from total exhaustion.”

  Brenda set down her champagne glass. “Let me hold my nephew. You guys can go and tell them all goodbye.”

  Everyone piled out onto the front veranda to watch them drive away, trailing the ridiculous tin cans someone had snuck out and tied to the bumper. She waved and they all waved back, laughing, calling out random bits of silly advice.

  “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do—or if you do, take pictures!”

  “Rogan, keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the road!”

  “Elena, go to bed when you get home—and to sleep!”

  She chuckled at that one. They weren’t doing much but sleeping when they went to bed. It would be weeks before they could have a real wedding night.

  If Michael ever gave them an hour or two to themselves.

  Cans clanging, they rolled around the circular drive and headed off toward the highway. Destination: her condo, where they were spending their last night in San Antonio.

  When they got there, he made her stand out on the landing while he carried Michael in and put him in his bassinet. He was back in no time, sweeping her up into his strong arms, carrying her over the threshold.

  She laughed, “Are you going to do this again, when we get to your house in Dallas?”

  “Our house,” he corrected. “And the answer is yes.”

  And then he kissed her, a beautiful, long deep kiss—a kiss that almost made up for the wedding night they weren’t going to have.

  “Mrs. Murdoch,” he whispered, sounding very satisfied with the sound of that, as he slowly let her feet slide back to the floor in the middle of all of their luggage, packed and ready for the trip tomorrow. Eventually, she would come back down to SA, pack up the rest of her things and put the condo on the market. “Elena Murdoch. I like the sound of that.”

  They stood in the open doorway, hardly caring that the night air was brisk and chilly after the rain.

  “I like it, too,” she told him.

  “We are going to be so happy,” he said.

  She agreed, “Oh, yes we are.” She reached over and shoved the door shut.

  He kissed her again as he scooped her high once more and carried her down the hall.

  And for the most part, in the weeks that followed, they were happy.

  The day after the wedding, they drove to Dallas in her car. On the way up through the Hill Country, he told her that if she didn’t like the house, they could choose another one together. Or he would build them one.

  Laughing, she leaned across the console for a quick kiss. “How about if I get a look at it first before you start worrying I’m not going to like it?”

  She loved the house on sight. It was a two-story four-bedroom in Highland Park, an upscale Dallas neighborhood. Instead of building it himself, he’d remodeled a traditional two-story house built in 1938. The kitchen was roomy and modern and there were big windows everywhere, with beautiful views of the multileveled backyard and the wide sweep of lawn in front.

  When he carried her over the threshold, he said, “Welcome home, Mrs. Murdoch.” And he kissed her.

  She looked in his eyes and knew she was exactly where she was meant to be. She whispered, “I love you, Rogan.”

  And he kissed her again as he eased her back down onto her own two feet.

  That was the moment, she thought later. The exact moment when she began to suspect that all was not as she imagined it to be.

  It was the first time she noticed that he hadn’t said he loved her, too.

  No, it wasn’t a big deal. He was good to her, very much there for her, there with her when they were together. He was truly loving to her. And that was what mattered.

  But was there some significance to his not actually saying the words?

  When she looked back, she couldn’t remember him saying those words since the night he proposed.

  He hadn’t said them on their wedding day, except during the vows, when he promised to love, honor and cherish her. He hadn’t said them at any time in the hectic, exhausting three days before their wedding day, either. She was sure of it.

  He hadn’t said “I love you” once since that magical night in the hospital, when they’d argued and he’d walked out on her because she wouldn’t agree to marry him—and then reappeared hours later with balloon hearts and the most beautiful bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen.

  Reappeared a changed man. One who said all the right things, all the most romantic, beautiful things. A man who eased all her fears about the idea of a life with him, about whether it was really the right choice for them. A man who declared his love openly, beautifully—and frequently.

  Looking back, she realized he must have said he loved her ten times that wonderful night.

  And not once since. Was that a little strange? It seemed strange to her.

  She thought about just asking him, By the way, Rogan. Do you love me?

  Or maybe…

  Ahem. Rogan. I’ve noticed you haven’t said you love me since the night you proposed.

  But that seemed…a little pushy, didn’t it? A little bit needy. Was she that insecure, that she had to ask her husband if he loved her?

  As one day became the next and she was busy with Michael and with building a new life in a new town, she did wonder. If there might be something going on with h
im that she didn’t get, didn’t understand. She wondered if it maybe had to do with his freedom issues—and yes. That was how she was coming to think of them.

  As his freedom issues.

  He seemed happy. He really did. But sometimes she just had the feeling that he still clung to that longing, deep down. That he still yearned for the single life he’d enjoyed so briefly.

  That maybe he felt cheated. Just a little.

  She joined a breast-feeding group and quickly made new friends. They had Cormac over often. Sometimes he brought a date. Sometimes he just showed up alone. But she enjoyed hanging around with him and she was happy to have extended family right there in town. She also got to know Victor Lukovic, whom Irina Bravo considered a brother, and who had gone to UT with Rogan and Caleb.

  Elena and Maddy Liz, Victor’s wife, became good friends right away. Maddy was a Dallas deb, born and bred. She was gorgeous, smart and fun to be around. She knew everyone. And she was only too eager to introduce Elena to all her Junior League friends.

  Life was good. Life was excellent.

  She kept telling herself that she was just being paranoid, to worry simply because her husband didn’t say those three little words. He was affectionate with her and he came home for dinner every night. He adored his son. No, they hadn’t made love yet. She didn’t have her new doctor’s go-ahead on that.

  But sometimes, in the evening after dinner, while Michael was napping, they would start to watch a movie—and end up all over each other. She had no doubt that he wanted her, maybe as much as she wanted him.

  It was on one of those nights, after they’d been making out on the sofa until their lips almost fell off, that she whispered, “I love you.”

  And he did what he always did when she said that—nothing. Except to pull her close and kiss her some more.

  Eventually, Michael started fussing and she went to get him. She sat in the rocker in the family room to nurse him. Rogan turned off the movie. They’d been smooching through so much of it, neither of them had followed what was happening on the screen anyway.