Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  “No, I didn’t, but I do now.”

  “I want to believe you, Jacques, but a pep talk in a bar doesn’t…”

  “It’s not what any of them said, Isabella. It was the fact that they were there.” She was looking into his eyes, searching for his meaning, but he was being about as clear as mud. “Let’s back up for a minute. Do you know when I fell in love with you?”

  “You mean it wasn’t love at first sight?” Isabella was really trying hard to be confident, but he knew her too well and kept on with the story.

  “It was the night of the fundraiser. I was sitting on the bed, listening to the ocean and looking at you. I thought to myself that I could love you, take care of you, and then I thought something else. Maybe you could love me. Maybe you could take care of me.”

  She didn’t react as if he’d made the most profound statement of his life so he tried again. “You know who I am, what I’m like. Hear what I’m saying, Isabella. You could take care of me. I’ve never, not once in my life, allowed myself the freedom that comes with relying on someone other than myself. I control everything, right. The idea of letting go, not a good one for me.

  “So there I was last night, fall-down drunk in a skanky club, music blaring. I felt like I was standing alone at the base of an insurmountable mountain and then it hit me. I realized that there was someone up there who would throw me a rope. Not just one someone, but many. All I had to do is reach up. Because of you, I reached up.

  “I embrace our destiny, Isabella, whatever it turns out to be. I will always take care of you, but as long as you’re there to take care of me, I will be happy being a husband, a father, well, just being.”

  “But just because you recognize that you will have help, doesn’t mean that you want to be a father.”

  He cupped her face between his palms. “I do, I swear it. You gave me the ultimate gift, Isabella, someone to love and take care of, and now you’re doing it a second time. Think about her, Paradis. Our baby. Rosy cheeks, soft skin, wet kisses, little coos. I can’t wait. I honestly can’t wait.”

  Her face lit up so brightly that it burned his aching eyes. “I’ve heard that the worm at the bottom of a tequila bottle could do strange things, but I think it ate my husband.”

  Now the smile was genuine.

  Jacques planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m truly sorry, Isabella. Can you forgive me?”

  “I already have.” Her eyes dropped again and she started rubbing little circles over her belly. “Do you think the baby is a girl?”

  Jacques sat back, momentarily silenced by the sight of Isabella with her hands stroking her belly. He couldn’t believe his reaction to the maternal gesture. Forget someone to take care of him. She would take care of his child. He fell in love with Isabella all over again.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. As long as mother and baby are healthy.”

  “I think he’s a boy. I want to name him Jacques after you.”

  “If she’s a girl, I want to name her Hope.”

  Something crossed Isabella’s eyes.

  “I know that look. Your turn. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Jacques smiled and let it go. Sometimes it’s not about what’s said. It’s about what isn’t. When it came to the future, it was always about what Isabella didn’t say. It was the reason she didn’t tell him about her illness. The reason she didn’t say she loved him for so long. Hell, probably the reason she didn’t tell him about the baby right way. There were plenty of times when he would push her to talk. This wasn’t one of them.

  One incident, his violent outburst in Monaco, was all it took to shake his faith in himself. Months had gone by, but until that light bulb popped on in his mind, nothing could erase his doubt. Isabella had hundreds of incidents to shake her faith.

  The price his angel had paid for her compassion was the lack of hope. The words of Teo’s song said it all. Too much life. Too much pain. Isabella had seen too much and it had stolen her hope. Witnessing the elusive nature of life and death firsthand, then suffering through her own illness, made her terrified of the future. Even her religion couldn’t restore her faith. His promise wouldn’t either.

  But the simple reality of their life together, their long and happy life together, would.

  He took her hand. “You have me, Paradis. Always. I know it’s not much, but…”

  “It’s everything, Jacques. Everything.” The adoring look in her eyes stopped his heart.

  “Te amo, Mami.”

  “Te amo, Papi.”

  “So, you think we can kiss and make up now?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She wrapped her arms around him and laid her lips over his.

  Isabella was his destiny. He didn’t need angels or gypsies to make him believe. When he kissed her, he knew. Once he found his destiny in that beautiful feminine gaze, it was easy to believe he would live in her paradise forever. It wasn’t easy for Isabella. It may take him time to make her believe, but soon enough, she would. Until then, he had enough hope for the both of them.

  *****

  Isabella stood alone at the back of a Gothic cathedral filled with every person who’d ever touched her life and few hundred more courtesy of her tycoon for a husband. The day she'd dreamed about since she was a little girl had finally arrived.

  The church looked like something straight out of a fairytale, done up with typical Jacques Meszaros panache. They must have imported the flowers. Spain simply didn’t have that many. The orchestra included a small selection of players courtesy of the London Philharmonic. Marble greyed by centuries was white. Every piece of glass, wood and metal sparkled. Even the sun was perfect, shining through the rose window overhead at the precise angle to cast a stream of blazing color over her the moment she stepped onto the white carpet.

  The final strains before her wedding march echoed from the organ loft.

  This is it.

  The magic moment she’d anticipated for her entire life. Sparkles were supposed to fill her eyes. Songbirds were supposed to appear while she floated into her prince’s arms to be swept into the happily-ever-after on his white steed.

  So where is the magic?

  Where are the sparkles?

  Where are the songbirds?

  She didn’t actually believe there would be songbirds. Well, not really.

  Her red satin-clad feet stood frozen on the threshold as the reality of the moment replaced every little girl dream. She sagged under the weight of her doubts. Fantasies weren’t real. This was real life and real life wasn’t full of magic and sparkles, song birds and white steeds. Real life was full of challenges and heartbreaks and fears. And the happily-ever-after? Maybe, or maybe not. There was no guarantee. No promise that couldn’t be broken. No love that couldn’t be shattered. No life that couldn’t end in the blink of an eye.

  The song ended. That's my cue.

  But her feet wouldn’t move. Her hands pressed on the puffy skirt of her wedding dress. Isabella glared at down at the cold, make that rock-solid-frozen buggers, willing them to get going.

  They refused.

  What if she stepped down that aisle and made a vow that she couldn’t keep? She would never willingly leave Jacques, but life wasn’t something people control. The rollercoaster of the past year certainly proved that.

  What if she wasn’t Jacques’s destiny? If she left him, he wouldn’t search for his true destiny and find the happiness he deserved.

  What if she was his destiny, but fatherhood wasn’t?

  What if?

  What if?

  What if?

  As the first chords of the next song played, Isabella's brow furrowed. That wasn’t the organ. And that wasn’t her wedding march. She looked up to find Teo standing alone at the altar playing his twelve-string acoustic guitar.

  Nothing was as it was supposed to be.

  Isabella wanted to cry. Instead, she scanned the sea of black tuxedos along the Communion rail s
earching for the one man who could garner her strength. He wasn't there. Her eyes moved faster, back and forth, up and down the aisle, as the fear that made all the others pale whispered through her mind.

  What if Jacques changed his mind?

  Her heart rate picked up as panic overcame her senses. All of her doubts. All of her waffling. All of the uncertainty about the future. The baby.

  Madre de Misericordia, reality isn’t fantasy. My prince isn’t waiting for me at the altar.

  The hopeless heart in her chest broke.

  Isabella swayed on her heels as the scene beyond her veil was lost a blur of tears. Blackness crept at the corners of her vision. Her body tipped to the side.

  Strong arms clutched her waist, supporting her weight. She inhaled deeply, trying to stay conscious, and recognized the delicious scent of…

  “Jacques.”

  She opened her eyes to find him, once again, holding her up, his copper eyes ablaze with worry.

  In her confusion, she muttered, “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I was marrying you.” There was no humor in his voice. “What’s going on, Paradis?”

  “I, I…you didn’t change your mind,” she stammered.

  “Never. Talk to me, Isabella. What’s wrong?”

  She pulled her veil up, so she could see his face clearly. “I’m scared, Jacques.”

  “That makes two of us,” he said with a shrug.

  “¡Los cojones!” The words came out a bit too loud for comfort and she winced, lowering her voice. “Bullshit, you’re scared.”

  He answered as he righted her. “Why not? You are.” The barest hint of a smile skimmed the corners of his lips.

  Well, she was. But she was her and he was him and, and…cue the complete meltdown. Speaking like a petulant child, she blurted out the jumble rattling around in her head. “But you’re Jacques Meszaros. You control things. Everything. People. Money. More money than God. Total control. You can’t be scared. You’re never scared.”

  The words were spilling out of her mouth, but not making any sense. Somewhere in her logical mind she didn’t even believe what she was saying. Not one word of it. Yet she was babbling at Jacques like a crazed idiot.

  “The only one in control here is over there.” Jacques tilted his chin toward the Christ figure hanging over the altar.

  “Maldita sea, Jacques. You’re not even religious.”

  Jacques rubbed his jaw as if he was embarrassed, “Will you stop cursing, my fiery angel? You’re going to piss Him off and if we have any chance at all, we’re going to need Him on our side.”

  “What?” Isabella couldn’t process what was happening.

  Jacques put both hands on her cheeks. “I love you, Isabella. I’m putting my faith in that. I know I can’t control the future any more than you can, but I am standing here, humbly asking you take this leap of faith with me."

  “I love you, Jacques,” she said and held his stare, trying to borrow a little bit of his faith.

  Those eyes. It was all in Jacques's eyes - the force of his personality, his intensity, his intelligence, his passion, his fathomless love for her - those eyes burned like copper fire. Ah, sí. Fuego.

  Isabella cupped Jacques’s face and planted a passionate kiss on his mouth, forgetting the people sitting in the pews with craning necks to see what the bride and groom were doing at the back of the church. Before things could get too heavy, Jacques pulled away. She could feel his reluctance to break the kiss, but he did. She shot to her toes to kiss him again and he rolled those hypnotizing eyes up the aisle.

  “Joder,” she muttered as she remembered where she was.

  Hundreds of smiling eyes seemed to meet hers at once. Isabella put her hand over her mouth and turned back to find the two most magnificent eyes in the world smiling down at her.

  “Oh, fuck,” Jacques repeated and began to laugh.

  Her cheeks flamed.

  “So, you think you’re ready to take this leap of faith with me, potty mouth, or are we going to keep making out in front of all of our family and friends.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Never let go, Jacques. Don’t ever let go.”

  “Never, Paradis. I swear it. Fifty years of a happy life.” He extended a bent arm. “Perfect together?”

  She tucked her arm over his. "Sí. Perfectos juntos.”

  They turned, arm in arm, and began to walk down the aisle. With each step, Isabella looked into the faces of her family, her friends, all the people who loved her and would support her in her life with Jacques.

  Teo began to sing.

  Jacques leaned in and whispered, “He’s singing this song for you. Listen to the words. He wrote them about you.”

  Her brother’s soulful voice filled her ears and as always, tears came to her eyes at the sound, but this time, it was more than the voice. Teo’s love rang through the cathedral in the words of a song he’d written about her.

  Words of completion.

  Words of love.

  Words of commitment.

  Conquering words.

  Triumphant words.

  Hopeful words.

  When they reached the altar, Jacques turned, taking both her hands into his, and whispered, “Did you find your prince, Paradis?”

  Something foreign flickered through her mind as Jacques asked the question.

  Something warm.

  And wonderful.

  And peaceful.

  Hello, Magic Moment.

  “Yes, Jacques. I found my prince and I found something else too.” Isabella looked at the man standing in front of her as sparkles filled her eyes. “I found hope.”

  One word changes everything.

  And that word is hope.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Paradise. I hope you enjoyed the romance! If you did, please take a moment to leave a review at your favorite retailer. A few kind words can work wonders and I am forever grateful for yours. Jillian

  Want to know what's coming next for the Masters of The Order? Sign up for my mailing list by clicking this link: Join Now. No worries. The list will remain private.

  Speaking of what's next…

  Do you think Sabin is hot? Want to know if the Order's sexy cowboy finds love?

  Turn the page to read an excerpt from Godsend, the third novel in The Masters of The Order Series by Jillian Verne.

  Welcome back to The Order.

  Hotter than the hinges on the gates of hell…

  Sabin Timonen is a sexy cocktail of southern grace, Texas cowboy and good old fashioned honor. He's out to save the planet and nearly every lost soul on it. Somebody has to fight the good fight. Somebody has to stand up. And his mama raised him to be one of those somebodies. But behind the swagger lies a solitary man who lusts for revenge.

  Alessandra Girardi is a hellcat. A tough girl from South Philadelphia, a hot shot NYC attorney and repressed with a capital “R.” That combination spells “challenge” for our playboy, but when Alessandra gets caught in the crossfire with Sabin’s nemesis, Sabin’s intentions turn deathly serious.

  Sabin lost his soul years ago. Someone took Alessandra's. Sabin wants to save Alessandra, become her godsend, but will the headstrong Alessandra let him? Will Sabin’s powerful enemies take them both down or will the man who fashions himself everybody’s savior let Alessandra save him?

  Excerpt from Godsend

  1. The Clash of the Titans

  The Blue Danube Waltz. Can anyone else hear that?

  Da, da, da, da, da.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  Da, da, da, da, da.

  Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

  Da, da, da, da, thump.

  Da, da, thump.

  Da, da, thump. Da, thump. Da, thump.

  Da, da, thump!

  The headboard hit the wall in perfect time.

  Strauss would be proud.

  Alessandra supposed that’s the way it went in the lives of two Wall Street attorneys. Sex every Tuesday a
nd Saturday, unless the firm needed one of them to work. Then there would be a negotiated reschedule. Wouldn’t want to neglect the relationship, now would we?

  But seriously, is it too much to ask for a little Trent Reznor every once in a while?

  “Doll, you’re incredible,” Kellan said and flopped onto his back.

  Suppose so.

  Once, after way too much wine, she suggested that a little D/s play might be a turn on and this is what she got: the pet name “Doll.” As if she meant she wanted to be treated like an object.

  Boy, did Kellan miss the mark on that one. “You too, hon.”

  After just the right amount of time to come down from another fake orgasm, Alessandra rolled to the bed table and grabbed her laptop. At least her career was going well.

  Kellen stood and grabbed his robe. “So, tomorrow’s the big day. First case as the lead associate. Nervous, counselor?”

  Her fingers started clicking away.

  If by nervous you mean do I feel like a bowl of Jell-O? - watch it wiggle, see it jiggle - then yes. “No.”

  Two thick arms boxed her against the headboard and Kellan leaned right into her space. “Liar.”

  Okay, that’s kind of sexy.

  “Talk to me, Alex.”

  She gave him a shrug and a half-answer. “Usually I’m not, you know. I always feel like I’ve got it, but something about tomorrow is throwing me off my game.”

  Like she didn’t know what that something, or someone, was.

  So not sharing that with the boyfriend.

  “You’ve worked really hard, Alex. You’re ready. Don’t let a bunch of machismo Texans intimidate you. You’re a great litigator. They don’t stand a chance.”

  Kellan flashed his signature smile. The one that said, Trust me, I’m the good guy.

  A really good guy. Good friend, good lawyer, good neighbor, good everything.

  And so completely boring.

  Oh hell. Now she felt guilty, an altogether way-too-common feeling for her Italian Catholic psyche. Most women would die for chance with a guy like Kellan even if he didn’t tear it up between the sheets. Intelligent, dedicated, hardworking. Very hardworking. Couldn’t be anything but to have graduated top of the class from Harvard Law, law review assistant editor to boot, than land a position at BB&D, the law firm in New York City. Even she didn’t get a job offer from them.