For whatever reason, my Frenchman was nervous.
I bit my lip, wanting badly to pester him about it but also deeply intrigued by his uncharacteristic bought of anxiety. This was the man who handled multi-national land deals, who had faced the scrutiny of New York City society without a tremor and survived a childhood in a poor French orphanage.
Sinclair nervous?
I was both giddy and terrified of what that could mean.
When Puerto Los Cabos appeared through the windows and we came to a stop at the familiar marina, I was even more shocked.
“Sinclair?” I asked as we exited the car, somewhat nervous myself.
He took my hand and smiled down at me, a real smile this time but the nerves remained in his eyes. “My siren.”
“We’re going fishing?”
“Not this time.”
I cocked my head in question but he only responded by smiling tightly before he lead us forward down the dock. Instead of going to the left, where all the fishing boats bumped quietly against the wooden partitions, we went right. Huge yachts and sailboats gleamed on either side of us as we walked down the planks. I readjusted my grip on my beach bag and wondered why Sin had asked me to bring a nice change of clothes and my makeup.
“Sin?”
“Oui, mon amour?”
“Why are you being weird? You are making me nervous.”
He stopped, turning to me with his thick brows raised in surprise. I almost laughed because the expression was so foreign on his face.
“I am acting weird?” he echoed, staring over my shoulder for a moment as if looking through memories of the last half an hour to test the validity of my statement. Finally, he looked back at me, threw his head back and laughed loudly. “I am. My apologies, my mind was in a different place.”
I stared at him suspiciously but he seemed genuine enough so my mouth dropped into a pout. “I’m not enough to hold your attention?”
His eyes sparkled so brightly that I blinked against the shine. He took me into his arms in a bear hug and lifted me into the air, laughing. “You are always and, sometimes inconveniently, on my mind.”
I grinned down into his face, placing my palm on the creases his smile made in his cheek. My love for him spilled out of my overfull heart and into my chest, pressing against my lungs almost painfully. I couldn’t breath but I didn’t really care.
“My love for you is greater than the world,” I told him, in English this time.
“Toujours,” he said.
Always.
I smiled, at ease again, as I slipped to the ground and took his hand again, moving forward. He stilled me and when I turned around with a frown, he gestured to a gorgeous yacht just over his shoulder.
“This is our ride.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Ahola, buenos dias, Signor Sinclair,” an older Mexican man appeared from around the side of the vessel. He was dressed in a sharp white uniform and captain’s hat. “Welcome to Cuatro Vientos, I am your captain, Oscar.”
I looked over at Sinclair in mute excitement as Oscar led us onto the deck. He grinned at me as we toured the massive ship, taking in the open concept gallery complete with a small grand piano and a gorgeous lacquered mahogany bar the same rich color as Sinclair’s hair. There was a master bathroom with an ensuite that house a deep Jacuzzi as well as four other rooms for sleeping and three bathrooms. The kitchen was small but beautifully appointed and currently stocked to the brim with fresh produce and copious amounts of alcohol. There were two men already steering the boat out of the harbor from deep leather chairs and they took a moment to explain some of the finer equipment to Sinclair when he leaned forward like an eager boy to examine the many panels of tech.
“This is amazing,” I breathed as we finally emerged into the open air of the top deck.
The ocean spread out before us, an azure blue unblemished by a single white cap. The sun spilled fistfuls of glitter across the glossy surface like a trail for us to follow into the sunset. My heart seized at the sight, at the thought, because it invariably led me to think about my own happily ever after with Sinclair. Was this it?
I turned back to face him with my heart in my eyes, disorientated when I found him on the ground before me.
“Are you okay?” I asked, deeply puzzled.
His smile was dazzling, fully realized across his hard features. It was so beautiful, from the square edges of his white teeth to the pink stretch of his full lips and the manly crease that cut into his cheeks, that I lost my breath.
“I have never been so happy,” he said, echoing my words from earlier that morning. I was distracted by the way the breeze ruffled his overlong hair, how it painted the dark brown with glittering copper and brilliant reds. That was my excuse for not noticing the way his hands cupped a velvet box the way a man might have cradled a baby, with reverence, joy and a considerable amount of worry.
“Giselle, my siren,” he said, drawing my attention back to his face. “Come here to me.”
I breached the few feet between us and stared down into his face, cupping it in my face with one hand because I still wasn’t used to touching him, to the fact that I was not only allowed but encourage to.
“Elle,” Sinclair’s voice was amused as he once again drew my attention back to what he was saying.
“Mmm? I’m sorry, I’m overwhelmed by how beautiful you look.” I blushed and rushed on to explain, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being with you. It’s impossible not to touch you, not to love you like this.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat that was practically a purr. “If you were paying attention to me, you would understand that I’m asking you to spend the rest of your life loving me like this.”
My eyes were drawn down to his hands as they presented me with a deep blue velvet box. I was gasping before it was even flipped open to reveal the most gorgeous ring I had ever seen. The large oval sapphire glowed like a midnight sky filled with lightening, glowing from the facets, and the exact color of Sinclair’s beloved gaze. A thin hallow of diamonds surrounded the gem and encased the slim platinum band. My fingers shook as I reached forward to touch the ring, to test its reality.
“What’s happening?” I breathed, too shocked to be embarrassed.
“I am asking you to be my wife. I am trying to claim you in every conceivable way so that there will never be any doubt in your mind, in mine or anyone else’s that Daniel Sinclair and Giselle Moore were made to be together and that they will remain together for the rest of their lives.” He watched the tears begin to spill down my face and his eyes warmed, his features softened with a vulnerability that only his love for me could produce. “I told you at our first meeting that I was afraid you would change my life and you have. Elle, you have taken everything I ever knew and threw it into brilliant perspective with your generous soul and beauty. I have never felt more like a man, more complete and successful, full of fucking life, as I have with you.”
“But,” a huge rush of air flew past my lips as I struggled to make sense of this, “you don’t believe in marriage.”
His eyes sparkled brighter than the sapphire diamond ring. “I believe in nothing as much as I do our love. I want to be able to call you my wife. I can thing of nothing better than being your husband, except perhaps being the father to your children.”
“Oh God,” I sobbed, so inelegant with emotion, so saturated with love and hope and all those emotions that steal your breath away and set your mind to spinning faster than a top. “I love you so much. Of course, I will be your wife. I’ll be anything you want me to be.”
“Vraiment? Tu seras ma femme?”
“Yes,” I cried, sliding my hand into his hair and the other over his dear, dear face. “Of course, I will be your wife.”
I had never seen anything as wonderful as his face broken open with joy, his eyes so bright and his smile so wide. It almost hurt to know that I was capable of bringing such a man to his knees with elation.
“I love you too.”
He looked up at me with a slight smile. “Do not take offense, but this time I was talking to our baby.”
I laughed, smoothed a hand through his wind tossed hair. “I will never take offense to that.”
He tugged me down to the deck, dragging me into his lap so that I was sitting there, my legs wrapped around his back, my face tucked into his neck and his arms wrapped securely around me. We stayed like that for a long minute, trying to absorb the monumental amount of joy saturating the moment.
“Marry me right now,” he said, finally.
“Sin,” I giggled, pressed a kiss to the pulse in his throat.
His arms tightened. “Marry me right now.”
“Don’t kid.”
“I don’t have time for jokes.”
“I thought it was that you didn’t have time to be friendly?” I teased, leaning back so that I could look into his face.
It was a very serious face, at the moment. “I don’t have time for a lot of things. This is why I want to marry you right now.”
I pursed my lips as I took in his utter sincerity. “Are you asking me to elope?”
The idea wasn’t totally absurd. As it was, most of my family would have a hard time justifying attending our wedding given that Sinclair had been with Elena as little as six months ago. I didn’t even know if I was prepared for the society wedding that Willa Percy would want to throw us and I certainly wasn’t prepared for Mama’s exclusion in the preparations. My heart panged. No, if I were going to marry Sinclair, as I was suddenly so desperate to do even though the thought hadn’t ever really occurred to me, we would have to elope.
“No,” Sin was saying, carefully looking into my eyes. “I’m saying that is why I brought you here.”
“To Mexico?” I asked, surprised yet again.
He shook his head slowly. “No, here to the place where I knew for sure that I had fallen in love with you.”
I frowned as he stood up, offered me his hand so that I could get up as well. He led me to the side of the deck, gesturing dramatically to the scene in front of us.
It was the same beach we had spent the afternoon snorkeling at during our weeklong affair. I immediately recognized the huge outcroppings of red rock that acted like parenthesis for the long curve of sterling white sand and the gracefully arching palm trees and colorful fauna beyond that. But I registered all of that with the periphery of my mind because the sight of the people waiting on the shore, mingling amid white chairs before an arbor wrapped in bright hibiscus flowers, consumed me. I spotted Santiago and Kat Herrera, Cage and Candy and the rest of the original Mexico crew, even Margot and Antonio, the Percys were talking to Eddie and Rossi who had their arms around each other.
“Sin, what have you done?” I breathed.
His chuckle stirred the hair by my ear as he wrapped his arms around me, as if he knew my knees were about to give out and I needed the extra support.
“I’ve tried to make us both happy by giving you a wedding filled with all the people you love, in a place where we fell in love.”
“And how does this make you happy?”
“Mon amour, I would marry you in front of dumpster with sewer rats as witnesses if it meant I could marry you immediately. This seemed like a better option.”
I laughed, turning in his arms so I could link my arms around his neck and press myself flush against him.
“I promise, I’m going to make you so happy,” I murmured reverently.
His hand cupped the back of my head and his sigh was full of contentment when he said, “Nothing else can, but you.”
We embraced for a long moment before someone on shore shouted our name, pulling us apart.
“Save that for the honeymoon!” Cage hollered from the beach. “Sinclair get off that monstrosity so your future bride can get ready.”
“Fuck off, Cage,” Sinclair yelled back, carefree and full of good humor. To me, he said, “There is a surprise waiting for you in the bedroom downstairs. Why don’t you go ready yourself to be my bride and I’ll meet you out on the beach whenever you are prepared?”
I nodded but felt a tearing sensation at my heart as he moved away from me and began to step down to the lower level. Sensing my yearning or maybe succumbing to his own, he paused and turned back to smile at me.
“Don’t take too long, my siren. Thirty minutes tops, d’accord?”
I tipped my chin into the air with faux airs. “You cannot rush a woman on her wedding day, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Thirty minutes, Mrs. Sinclair, or I’ll carry you to the alter over my shoulder.”
The witty reply I had prepared withered on my tongue as I gasped at the shock of hearing myself called Mrs. Sinclair. I drifted downstairs in a fog of fantasy and joy, pinching myself a few times to ensure that I wasn’t dreaming.
Was it possible for the villain in a story to have a happy ending? Maybe authors just ended the book before they had to explore the potential for the antagonist’s growth into someone worthy of such a thing.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I said out loud as I moved into the master suite, hoping that saying it out loud would make everything more real.
“Well, you better believe it, bambina.”
I spun around, unable to believe that Cosima could be standing there.
But she was.
My sister looked absolutely stunning, her skin a deep olive brown and aglow with health, her curves fully recovered from the emaciated shape she had been in over a month ago when I have last seen her. Her long black hair rippled over her shoulders all the way to her waist and her smile was easy, absolutely gorgeous.
“Cosima,” I said, because if she was a mirage induced by my happy delirium then I needed to know.
“Giselle,” she said, planting her hands on her slight hips and narrowing her eyes at me. “I hope you didn’t think that you could get married without me.”
“How?”
Her smile was gentle with compassion as she moved forward to plant a fragrant kiss against my cheek. She still smelled spicy and sweet like only she could.
“Sinclair reached out to Dante who knew how to get in touch with me.”
“Why did you leave?” I had to know. How could she have disappeared after such a terrible accident and left us all to wonder?
Her lips twisted. “I’m so sorry, bambina. I wanted to explain things to you but they are so complicated and now, well, it is not the time to share my long-winded, frankly horrifying story with you. Now is the time to ready my beloved sister for her wedding day.”
I bit my lip as I digested her words. I wanted to press until she broke open under the pressure, spilling all those terrible secrets that had haunted her since she was too young to harbor them but I also knew that she would never taint my day with her horrors and it would be wrong of me to ruin the surprise of her presence with grim realities.
“Okay,” I said, smiling.
“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Candy commented from her spot lounging on the bed. “If I ever disappear, I hope you’re harder on me, girl.”
I laughed as I launched myself at the bed, smothering Candy in kisses. She grunted under the assault even as her hands pulled me closer.
“Darlin’ there will be plenty of time to be kissing later, and the person you’ll be kissing is a damn sight easier on the eyes than Candy Kay,” Brenna drawled as she emerged from the bathroom. “No offense, Candy.”
“None taken, Sinclair is a serious hottie.”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening,” I said, my hands pressed to my flaming cheeks. “This is a dream.”
“No, bambina, this is real and I hope you are sure about it.”
I froze, afraid to look over at the bathroom and acknowledge the woman who stepped out from behind Brenna. I hadn’t spoken
to her in weeks. The possibility of bursting into tears was pretty high if I turned to face her without steeling myself. So, I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I had survived motherless for four years in Paris and the only family I needed was Sinclair.
It was mostly bullshit, but it made me feel better nonetheless.
Caprice Lombardi was a beautiful woman who looked nothing like me and everything like the twins, the long black waves and deeply olive skin, even the expression of intensity that seemed to arrest their features at all times. We shared the same curves though, the figure eight shape that I’d once been so self-conscious of, and a similar smile, the way our cheeks dimpled slightly and our lips stretched.
She was smiling at me now and those soft arms were outstretched. “Come and give your Mama a hug.”
A sob rose in my throat. I didn’t care that I was already crying by the time I folded myself in her semolina and lemon scented embrace. Apparently, it was a day for tears.
She hushed me as one hand stroked down my hair, soothing me the way she had when I was a baby, pressing my head to her bosom so that I could take comfort from her heartbeat.
“Mama,” I murmured, over and over in a small broken voice.
“Si, mia bambina, tua madra.”
“I’m so happy that you’re here. I didn’t think… I mean, I never hoped you would be at my wedding.”
It was Mama’s turn to cry. “Oh no, no, I could never miss this. You are my child. You are my life.”
I sniffed. “You were so disappointed in me.” When her face crumpled, I hastened to say, “No, Mama, I understood why you were. It was fair. It just hurt.” I didn’t explain how her apathy had crippled me; how my heart had skipped random beats, shuddering and clenching in my chest whenever I thought about her, which was often.
There is nothing like a mother’s censure to paralyze the spirit.
“I did not like the way you came together, yes? The hurt you brought Elena, it was terrible and great. She deserved someone’s loyalty and I knew this, that she would not get that from the twins. They understand too much about the messiness of love and they have always loved you almost like a parent. They would give you and forgive you anything. Elena needed someone, capisci?”
The Consequence Page 26
