by J. L. Mac
“Yes. I’m fine. Promise. See you in a bit.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I end the call and turn, coming face to face with Zander, who’s watching me with a pensive look in his eyes.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he counters.
“Do we have time for me to stop by my house?” I ask.
Surprise flits across his face. He looks down at his watch and nods. “Yeah. Can’t be too long, though. You have an appointment with Anthony, the staff stylist, in a while. He’s going to come to the hotel to help you get ready for tonight and all that.”
“We have a hotel reservation?”
“Yes. Did you think I was going to sleep without you after the last couple nights?” Lust fills his low voice, making my center churn deliciously.
“Oh. U-um—no,” I stammer, switching my weight from one foot to the other, hoping that the ache at my center will pipe the fuck down so I can think clearly.
“Okay then.” Zander cups my jaw with one big hand and drops a kiss on my cheek, eliciting a shiver from me. “Want me to go with you to your place?”
“Yeah,” I whisper hazily, leaning into his tender touch.
***
As soon as I see my parents’ car parked in my driveway, I tense up, wondering what the hell I’m going to say. How can I possibly explain Zander? How can I explain where I’ll be staying while I’m here? How can I explain that I’ll be going right back to Tybee tomorrow? What would I tell Jacob’s parents if they knew? I know they love me and they’d want me to be happy, but would they be okay with the fact that I’m unofficially “seeing” the man who received Jacob’s heart?
“Just park on the street here,” I explain, pointing to the curb in front of the house. Zander pulls the borrowed Jaguar up to the curb and puts it in park. “If you want to just wait in the car, I understand. My mom can be a bit much sometimes.”
“Do you want me to stay in the car?”
“No. It’s not anything like that. Don’t think that I’m trying to hide you.” I stumble through my words and decide to just shut up. “Come on.” I pat his thigh and reach for my door.
“Ah! Don’t you dare,” he scolds.
I quickly drop my hands to my lap and wait for him to come around for me. Zander opens my door like he always does, extending one hand for me to take. I slip my hand in his and step out just in time to see the gaping expression on my mother’s face.
She’s standing on my porch with a broom in her hands. My father must be puttering somewhere. She always sweeps my porch when she comes over. It’s a thing she does. Another way that she expresses her love. Food and a dirt free porch. My mother is a saint who deserves far more than a piece of shit daughter who doesn’t even return a fraction of the love she gives to me. I love her. I should try harder to understand where she’s coming from, which is a place of love. She pushes and squeezes and corners me because she loves me. I should tattoo it on my forehead so I have no way to forget where I’ve come from, the road I’m travelling, and the stock from which I was born. I’m from stubborn, driven people that have the ability to love bigger and harder than any opposing force.
I glance to Zander and motion toward the house with my head. “Come meet my mom.” I lead the way up to the porch where Mom is openly gawking. She must recognize Atlanta’s very own poster boy for troublemaking.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, giving her a hug. “This is Zander. He—uh—he got Jake’s heart.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Zander drawls in his deep voice, shaking hands with Mom.
“And you. You—you’re Governor McBride’s son,” she says disbelievingly. “You got Jake’s heart,” she whispers the last part. Her eyes go to Zander’s chest.
“Yes, ma’am,” Zander confirms, looking shameful. It’s enough to make my own heart clench in my chest. I hate that he feels so unworthy. If I could say or do any single thing to make it better, I would. Surely he knows how amazing he is? Surely he knows how funny and kind he is?
Without asking permission, Mom steps forward and rests her hand against Zander’s chest. She closes her eyes and a faint smile edges across her lips as her chin quivers a little.
“Sweet boy,” she says softly, in that motherly manner that I’m more grateful for now that I’ve met Zander’s ice queen of a mom. It’s unclear if she’s talking about Jake, or Zander, or perhaps both of them.
Zander lifts his hand and covers Mom’s hand with his own. It’s his way of saying thank you. It’s a poignant moment between a man that feels lonely and unworthy of so much and a mother who has grieved the death of a man who had been a son to her for so many years.
Mom swipes a rogue tear from her cheek and wraps her arms around Zander in a hug that only mothers know how to hand out—warm and safe and perfect. It’s something that I would bet Zander has been starved of all his life.
His eyes go a little wild over Mom’s head, looking to me with an unsure expression. I smile, encouraging him. His eyebrows knit together then relax again. I’m not entirely sure that Zander knows how to give love. I think he does. I want to believe that he does. One thing I’m certain of is that Zander doesn’t know how to receive love. It’s so painfully obvious that he has been given very little true affection in his 29 years.
He spoke fondly of his grandfather, so surely he’s someone that showed Zander love and support in the way that families are supposed to. I make a note to myself to ask him more about his grandfather when the opportunity presents itself.
“Let’s go in. Daddy’s in the garage messing with the mower. Darn thing won’t start. Y’all thirsty?” Mom spouts off in her normal way.
“I don’t have anything to drink, Mom,” I comment, reminding her whose house this is.
“Sure you do. I made a pitcher of sweet tea since Daddy came to do yard work.”
“Course you did,” I mumble, following Mom into my house. I can feel Zander at my back. I peek back at him to see his eyes perusing my modest little house.
“Get him a glass of tea, Sade,” she orders. “I’m gonna tell Daddy that y’all are here. He’s not gonna believe this.” She mutters the last bit, giving us her back as she scurries towards the door that leads to the garage.
We’re left alone in the kitchen and I get to the cabinet to get out glasses. “Sorry—about my mom. She can be pushy and bossy and way too—too mom-ish sometimes,” I explain rather inarticulately.
“Don’t be. I like her. You’re lucky.”
I turn to face him. “I know. I really am.” I concede the truth. It’s an easy concession to make now that I know Zander and the family that he got stuck with.
Chapter Twenty
Special
Sadie
“Sade,” Mom says softly into my ear, her arms around me, “now, I don’t know what you have goin’ on here, but I can see that you have two doors open. You close one before you try walking through the other. You understand me?”
“I know.”
“I hope so, baby girl. I sure hope so.”
Mom releases me and we look to where Dad and Zander are shaking hands by the Jaguar. I stroll beside her back towards the car, thinking about what it means to close that one door. It’s a scary thought that I can’t dissect. Not right now. I have enough to deal with for one weekend.
“Thanks for taking care of the grass, Dad.”
“You know it’s not a problem, Sade.”
“I’ll give y’all a call tomorrow.”
“Nice meeting you, Zander,” Dad says, patting Zander on the shoulder.
Zander nods. “Same here.”
He lets me into the car and I wave to my parents as they make their way to their own car. Zander rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. He takes a deep breath, pulling the seatbelt over his shoulder.
“Well, that was the scariest thing I’ve ever done,” he confesses as the engine comes to life.
“What?!” I screech disbelievingly. “Why in the world would that be the scariest thing
you’ve ever done?”
“I want them to like me.” He shrugs. “I’ve never met the parents of a woman that I fully intend on seeing again. A lot. As much as I can. As much as she’ll let me.”
“They like you. A lot. I’m sure they do.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I like you a lot too.”
Zander’s hand finds its way to my thigh and he rests it right above my knee in a possessive sort of way. A trill of excitement rolls through me as he expertly maneuvers the Jaguar toward whatever hotel he has reserved for us.
***
I laugh as Zander slides the plastic key card into the door and it blinks that stupid red light at him. He groans and tries it again; this time he’s greeted with the green flashing light. He holds the door open for me and I walk in. The weighted door shuts heavily.
“Anthony and his assistant will be here shortly. I’m going to order us lunch. What do you want?” he asks, fishing his phone out of his pocket.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I shrug, knowing it will be the less tasty stuff on the menu but choosing to eat what he has to eat is important to me. It’s my small way of letting him know that he isn’t alone. Not like he thinks he is.
***
When there’s a rhythmic knock at the door, Zander gets up from the small table where we just ate our lunch of grilled chicken veggie wraps. He strides to the door and I take the opportunity to ogle his backside. He peers through to peephole and opens the door.
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead when I see a man flaunting a huge smile and strawberry blonde hair and…purple slacks that taper at the ankle like skinny jeans. He has a navy blue vest covering his light blue button up shirt. The whole getup is complete with a bowtie. A fucking bowtie. A snort escapes before I have a chance to catch it. He has one hand on his hip while the other hand twirls his sunglasses between his index finger and thumb. I think this person may be the only human being on the face of the planet who could make his ensemble actually look good.
Another man, who’s dressed rather plainly compared to the first guy, pushes a rolling clothing rack into our room. White plastic wardrobe bags are concealing whatever is hanging from it. There’s a shelf on the bottom portion of the rack with silver hard-sided boxes.
Dresses and makeup.
“You must be Sadie!” The flashy man smiles wide and hurries towards me so that we can shake hands.
“You must be Anthony,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Yes, doll, and let me just tell you that I am so relieved that you’re already gorgeous!” he gushes, clutching one hand to his chest, his eyes rolling dramatically. “You are going to be a dream to fix up for tonight’s gala!” he exclaims, shoving his sunglasses up into his neatly styled strawberry blonde hair.
“Well, thank you,” I say a little nervously, looking to Zander and wondering if we really have to go tonight.
“Okay!” Anthony claps his hands then puts them both on his hips. “First thing’s first. You,” he points to Zander, “need to go.”
“Bullshit,” Zander replies with a stern look on his face. His chiseled arms are crossed over his chest. He’s not going anywhere.
Anthony scoffs errantly. “You can’t seriously be here while she’s getting ready!” he cries. “Where’s the surprise in that?”
“I’ll watch TV.”
“Oh fine. Whatever. Men.” Anthony groans under his breath, waving his assistant further into the room.
***
I’ve tried on what feels like a million dresses and Anthony has given some type of negative look or noise in response to every one thus far. I think all of them looked nice. Some were a little sexy, some were elegant, but all of them were fine. He could choose blindly and I’d be fine with it.
I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door, preparing for another disapproving look from Mr. Purple Pants. I step out wearing the light gray chiffon A-line dress. It has silver beaded straps and a V-neckline. I feel beautiful in it.
“My, oh my,” Anthony croons, his index finger tapping his chin. “You, my darling, were designed to wear this dress,” he says, rushing to me to pick and fidget at the flowing chiffon material.
“Holy shit. Does that mean I don’t have to try on any more dresses?” Hearing Anthony’s approval causes a little zip of relief to rocket through me.
“Nope. This is it. Definitely the one.”
“I agree,” Zander rumbles from where he’s standing by the suite’s panoramic window. Goosebumps spread like fire over my skin.
“Well, go ahead then. Give us a turn,” Anthony orders.
I straighten my shoulders and sashay in a small circle for the three men in the room. It feels amazing.
“Perfect,” Anthony chirps, clearly proud of himself.
I stare at Zander as he stares at me. We lock eyes for a long moment, neither one of us wanting to look away first.
“Enough already,” Anthony interrupts. “Go take it off so we can get your hair and makeup done. Wear the robe, please.”
Reluctantly, I turn away from Zander’s profoundly intimate, appraising stare and get back into the bathroom to change into the terry cloth robe like Mr. Purple Pants ordered.
***
Anthony tinkers with my hair a little more, then dabs another coat of lipstick onto my lips and sighs his approval. I’d be flattered, but he isn’t necessarily complimenting me. He’s complimenting himself and his hard work.
It took him a while with my hair and I’ll hand it to him, I look as glamorous as any star on the red carpet. He took his time trimming the ends before washing, blow drying then finally styling it.
I’m not even really too sure how he did it, but he curled my hair into tight ringlets in some places and big, loose waves in others, then used hairpins to organize the mass of hair into a sort of perfectly sloppy, loose, soft bun low in the back. Random tendrils of hair hang down almost sloppily, but I think that’s what I like best. It isn’t some slicked back, shiny, styled up-do. It looks like my hair is like this all the time and I just shoved a few hairpins into it. No one is that goddamn lucky to have hair this great, but Anthony has made it appear that I do. With a generous amount of hair spray holding the style in place, he moved right along to my makeup.
My brown eyes have never shown so bright and warm. Hues of gray and vague traces of dark purple are expertly brushed onto my eyes, creating a smoky look that I could probably never achieve on my own. My eyelashes are full and long. My lips are a deep, natural shade of pink.
“Shoes,” Anthony orders and his assistant, Liam, crouches down to slide the strappy silver heels onto my feet.
I feel like a Greek goddess. The dress, the hair, the makeup, the heels, all of it screams goddess and I feel special for the first time in a long time.
“Where did Zander go?” I ask, noticing that I can’t see him anywhere.
“He’s getting dressed.” Anthony answers, leaning back to inspect his hard work.
I look up to see a tuxedo-clad Zander come into view. I’m not sure if I gasped aloud or not. I’m not even sure if I’m still breathing.
He’s stunning. If I could see him in a tux every single day, I would. He’s one of those men that really wears a tuxedo. The black pants hug perfectly to his long, lean legs and his firm ass. His chest and shoulders fill out the jacket like it was made for him. His hair is combed just enough to look orderly but still distinctly Zander McBride, unbridled. I love it.
“My work here is done,” Anthony announces and curtsies with a proud smile on his face. A laugh rips through me at his antics. “Come on, Liam,” he orders. “Let’s get packed up.”
Anthony and Liam busy themselves with loading everything back onto the rolling rack while I make my way across the room to Zander.
“I’ve never witnessed anything so beautiful in my life,” Zander says softly, causing my stomach to flutter with nerves.
“Thank you. Anthony did a great job, huh?” I blush.
“Yes, he did, but that wasn’t what I was talking about.”
“What?” I shake my head from side to side, feeling confused.
“Your laugh,” he says simply. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. Really laugh. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh,” I breathe, stepping close to him and sighing as his arms wrap around me, his palms going to my mostly bare back and pulling me to him. “You look incredible, Zander.”
“Only because you’re my date.”
He presses his full lips to mine. I smile against his mouth at the sound of Anthony muttering his disapproval of me ruining my lipstick. Zander smiles too.
I love that smile.
Chapter Twenty-One
My True Garment
Sadie
I’m less than the other women in this room. They’re far more glamorous and worldly but…I feel like the most gorgeous woman in the room. He makes me feel like the most gorgeous woman. Wearing Zander’s adoration as my only true garment makes me feel so much more secure about myself. It’s not a piece of fabric that I can slip in and out of. It didn’t come from some high end designer boutique. It didn’t cost me much and yet it has proven to be invaluable. Zander named his price without even knowing it and all it required from me was the courage to take a small step forward out of the little cave I call grief and guilt. I’ve called that cave my home for two years and the hopeful part of me wants out. Zander has been the best choice I’ve made in recent history, which isn’t saying much, but it is saying something. It says that I’m willing to invest in Alexander McBride. It says that without even really trying, he has drawn me out of a sad, lonely place. I’m eternally indebted. I have a long road ahead of me, but Zander gives me something to hope for.
My ardent prayer, my silent mantra, my budding sense of hope?
Zander is it.
The security at the venue is tight. Men in suits with earpieces are scattered throughout the hordes of formally-dressed Atlanta high society. People mill about in every direction and congregate in small groups to chat. The women gather in little cliques of no more than three or so, but the men are in groups of four, five, or six, some more than that. They all clap each other on the back and shake hands vigorously with wide smiles, but they all have agendas. Every single one of them.
