She handed the money to Preston who paid the delivery man. He took the pizza into the kitchen and put two slices on a plate for Iris and did the same for himself.
She looked at Preston inquisitively.
“What’s up, Wildflower?”
“Who’s this?”
Preston’s eyes got big, wide.
“Um… nobody.”
“Nobody? Then why is she in your wallet? Is this Kathy?”
He smiled. “No, that isn’t Kathy. It’s nobody.”
“People don’t carry pictures of nobodies in their wallet, Preston.”
She stared at the picture some more and then reached out to hand it to him. As she did, she saw writing on the back. She snatched it back and read it: Someday I won’t even be a memory.
“What does this mean? This writing on the back?”
“It’s just a note.”
She looked at him warily and handed the picture back to him.
“Next time, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t snoop through my things,” he said scathingly, clearly annoyed that she had found that photo.
What?
“You asked me to get the money out of your wallet.”
“Right. I didn’t ask you to go through the compartments.”
“What compartments? Men don’t have compartments in their wallets.”
“Whatever you say, Iris. Just don’t go through my stuff again.”
She was baffled. She watched him sulk away and slam the bedroom door.
Wow. What was that about?
29
Preston and Iris Roberts’ black sedan pulled into the gravel driveway where a trunk-heavy man assisted arriving guests. He opened the rear passenger door and Iris exited with the support of the portly attendant.
Smoothing her red dress, she waited for Preston, who got out on the other side. She’d worn the red dress because he liked the way she looked in it, and the heels because he loved how her legs looked when she walked in them — that was a no-brainer. Even the perfume she’d chosen had been one he’d bought for her because he said it turned him on. Yet after all this, he managed to look right through her. Hardly a word had been spoken between them since their argument the previous evening. Just more of the same thick-as-butter tension lingering between them.
Tea light lanterns, made of antique bronze, flanked the shallow stairs that led to the front entrance. Two young men held the doors open as they entered the massive marble foyer. The guests flowed in clusters, chatting among themselves in small groups as the combined scent of perfumes, colognes, and appetizers hovered over the open space like an overcast sky. Preston placed his hand on Iris’ back to guide her through the crowded room.
Iris reached for Preston’s hand and gripped it tightly in hers. She moved closer until her arm pressed against his. He didn’t object to her cozy interaction with him. Sighing inwardly with contentment, Iris studied the opulence around her. The event was originally supposed to be an engagement party for Richard and Prudence, but Prudence’s stepmother, Ann, thought it was a good idea that, in lieu of gifts for the couple, guests make a donation to the charity where Ann chaired the board. The idea went over so well and made her look so good among her peers that, soon enough, the engagement celebration had become a fundraiser.
Iris couldn’t deny the value of the fundraiser, but she knew the intentions of the woman behind it were not as pure. Ann, even in her most generous and thoughtful mindset, would never allow the spotlight to shine on Prudence. Her resentment was mostly due to the fact that Prudence planned to marry her late daughter’s husband.
Valerie. Now that was a sad story Iris didn’t want to think about, not on a night such as this, but it was inevitable that Valerie would be on all their minds, now that Richard was marrying her half-sister. But Valerie’s death was no reason for Ann to try to diminish Prudence’s night.
Finally finding Richard, Preston tapped his brother on his shoulder. Richard swung around and, in one sweeping motion, scooped Preston into a hug that lifted him off of his feet.
“Where have you been hiding?”
Preston tilted his head toward Iris, “With her.”
“Iris, you look absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you, Richard,” she said, cutting her eyes at Preston for not noticing.
Richard patted Preston’s shoulder, “There’s John. Let’s go sit down.”
***
“We have two things to celebrate tonight,” John Clark began, holding his champagne flute up to toast the evening.
“To JC Enterprises’ thirty-fifth anniversary. Thirty-five years ago, Ann and I worked our fingers to the bone as we started the beginnings of JCE in my parents’ basement. Our motivation was the most precious gift in our lives, our baby girl, Valerie. She grew into a beautiful woman, a caring wife, and a loving mother. May she rest in peace,” John praised, then paused, clearly emotional.
“Which brings me to the second reason for our celebration tonight,” he continued. “That’s the engagement of my other daughter, Prudence, to Richard. She’s not only my beautiful daughter, but she’s also my brilliant Chief Operating Officer.
“I suppose no father believes there is any man in the world who is worthy of his daughter. But I can say that I can’t think of anyone I would rather welcome, once again, as my son-in-law than Richard Mayweather. I was pleased to call Richard my son-in-law when he married Valerie, and I’m just as honored to do so now. To Richard and Pru.” John raised his glass in the air.
The guests did the same. “Richard and Pru,” they echoed simultaneously.
***
Iris watched as Peter finished his sixth glass of wine, on top of the shots of Scotch he had earlier. Preston had his fair share of drinks as well, but he was in far better shape than Peter, who was becoming quite inebriated. What did she care? Peter wasn’t her problem anymore. Peter and Preston were, however, exchanging nasty looks with each other. Iris was seated between them. Whoever made the seating arrangements must not have known the history between the two brothers. They should’ve been at opposite ends of the table.
Iris wiped her mouth with a napkin and dropped it on her plate. Preston winked at her, fully knowing that Peter was watching. His hand moved towards her. Surprised, she sat silently as he rubbed his hand along the length of her thigh, feeling its softness, squeezing near her knee, pulling slightly to separate her legs. He eased his hand slowly up her inner thigh, circling his finger over the meatiest part until she gently grabbed his hand and tugged at his suit jacket to pull him closer.
“Let’s go. You’ve had too much to drink,” she whispered in his ear, somewhat shocked he had made a move on her. Not here, not now, especially in front of Peter.
Preston pushed away from the table and stood. Still holding Iris’ hand, he assisted her out of her chair. Richard observed his brother from across the table, but was engaged in conversation and didn’t have the freedom to inquire where they were going. Iris heard Prudence ask if they were leaving, but she didn’t answer. Peter’s attention had shifted to the woman sitting next to him. He didn’t notice they’d gotten up. Iris followed her husband out of the massive room and into the hallway while she called for their driver to pick them up.
“Where are we going? The door is that way,” she pointed behind them.
Preston placed his hand against the back of her neck, fingering her brooch necklace as he guided her away from the main entrance. The necklace was like a choker around her neck, very prominent. When he opened the door to the study at the end of the hallway, the necklace drew his attention down to her cleavage, which rose in unsteady breaths. His touch was inviting and ever since their fight last night, Iris craved it, but she wasn’t certain of the motivation behind their sudden rekindling. It bewildered her as much as it exhilarated her.
Closing the door, Preston felt for the lock, but there wasn’t one. Iris didn’t think it mattered. What were the chances of anyone walking in on them? Nearly zero. People were drinking, eating,
dancing. Allowing herself to be escorted to the back of the room, his hands pressed into the wall behind her, and he leaned all of his weight into them, causing his cheek to brush against hers as he whispered, “You look sexy in that dress.” He took her clutch from her hand and tossed it onto the bookcase beside them.
Iris held her breath, not realizing she was doing so until she managed to inhale, more like a gasp, when he pulled her body into his. His hands roamed from her neck, down her shoulders, around the small of her back, and rested on her behind, squeezing, pulling her body closer to his. His erection pressed against her – full, hard, throbbing. His cologne, woody and masculine.
Her body was normally toned and strong, but in this moment it went loose and weak, succumbing to Preston. Her knees threatened to buckle. She feared they would. Even though she knew nothing had changed — him being angry at her — she allowed herself to give in a little, then a little more. She could have easily pushed him away, especially since he was somewhere between tipsy and drunk. But she didn’t. She liked the way he toyed with kissing her, lingering near her lips but not actually touching them.
He grabbed her hands and raised her arms above her head, gently pinning them against the taupe wall with the weight of his lean. He kissed her neck, taking a moment to linger there, clearly enjoying her floral fragrance, and worked his way down to her heaving cleavage. She tried not to enjoy it and fought against her feelings as much as her body would allow, but she relished every minute of it. From his warm breath to his soft lips to his mildly chapped hands caressing her — it was all an erotic and sensational thrill. And she completely submitted.
Although it had only been a day since Preston had touched her like this, it seemed like a lifetime. She was usually in a perpetual state of wanting to rip her clothes off, throw him to the floor, and ride him like a cowgirl on crack. But she always resisted and let him take her for the ride. She liked when he dominated.
Why did he have to be so damn sexy? What was it about Preston that made her lose composure? She needed to corral her libido. He had accused her of doing something she’d never do — snoop through his things when, in fact, he’d asked her to go into his wallet. He blamed her and was unapologetic about it. Now he wanted to make love to her?
He raised her dress to her waist and dropped to his knees kissing her stomach down to her navel… then stopped, looking up at her for consent to go further. “Yes?” he confirmed.
No. No. No. That’s what her mind kept saying. But her body, her burning hot body, said yes, yes, yes.
“Mm hmm,” she said while nodding, flustered, and turned on.
He rose to his feet and stepped back, allowing his hands to drop from her waist and rest at his side. Her breathing was once more heavy and rapid. Her pulse, racing. She wanted more. Why had he stopped?
Preston continued to step backward until he reached the chair in the corner of the room. Lowering his pants to his ankles, he sat in the chair. His erection was large, full, protruding through the flap of his boxers. He grabbed his rigid stalk with one hand, rubbing gently at first, gaining momentum as his eyes rolled back in his head. Squeezing tighter, grinding his teeth, his hunger for her seemed insurmountable.
Iris slipped her dress over her head and tossed it across the room. Preston opened his eyes and stared at her standing there in her black silk panties, rubbing her breasts, toying with her nipples at first then roaming down to the band of her silkies. Her gaze connected with his. She couldn’t contain her raw desire. From the time she met him, it had always been difficult to say no to him. Sometimes it was the way he looked at her, other times it was the way he touched her that made ‘no’ an impossible word. She stepped out of her panties and tossed them on top of her dress.
He motioned for her to come to him. She complied. He pulled her so close she had to straddle his lap, hovering over his hardness. She wanted to sit on it, work it in with smooth thrusts of her hips. But, she liked when he was in control – she wanted him to dominate.
He wrapped his hand around the root of his erection, sliding his hand up the length of it to its head, slowly, grinding, thrusting his hips, penetrating her deeply. Iris followed his rhythm, sometimes swerving in a manner that slowed him down, plunging him deeper. She felt hot sensations rush through her. His feral eyes focused on her. He bit his bottom lip and groaned intensely, almost like a growl.
They were so lost in each other, they didn’t hear the door creak open behind them or the noise from the party spill into the room.
“What the hell is going on here?” Ann asked — no, she yelled.
Iris popped up quickly.
“What the hell are you doing, screwing around in my husband’s study?” Ann shouted as she stared at Preston’s erection, wide-eyed, red-faced, and discomfited.
Peter walked in behind Ann, taking in the same scene she saw — Iris naked and Preston exposed.
Preston pulled up his pants, trying to adjust himself since he wasn’t quite flaccid, while Iris shuffled around gathering her clothes. She prayed she could get out of there unscathed. When she finally collected the last of her belongings, she ducked into the adjoining bathroom to get dressed, listening as Peter and Preston argued, loudly.
“Iris…” Preston shouted, trying to get her to hurry.
Peter stood in the doorway with clenched fists. He’d never hit Preston. Because of who Preston was, there was no way Peter would put his hands on him.
“Why are you so pissed, Peter? She’s not your wife anymore. She’s my wife now?”
“What? You married her?”
Just then, Peter shoved Preston into the wall. With one hand around Preston’s neck, Peter pinned him to the wall. Peter’s fury subdued Preston, who relented. Ann ran out of the study to get help.
Iris emerged fully dressed, looking fresh and refined, as if nothing at all had happened. Had it not been Ann who caught them, she would have been more humiliated. But knowing how nasty the woman could be, she was a little amused with the turn of events. And having Peter walk in was the icing on the cake. She felt vindicated. Until she saw Peter choking Preston.
She ran behind Peter and jumped on his back, trying to pull him off of Preston. In his fury, Peter accidentally knocked Iris down. When he realized what he had done, he let Preston go and rushed to aid Iris, making sure she was okay.
“Don’t touch me, Pea,” she shouted.
Preston helped her up and checked her like a parent checked a child to make sure she was okay and hadn’t been harmed. Richard, Dad, Mom, Prudence, John Clark, Jess, Audra Payne and Idris rushed into the study, all trying to find out what was going on.
“Tell them what you did, Baby,” Peter demanded.
“I did nothing,” Preston said.
“Baby married my wife,” he shouted.
“I’m not your wife anymore, Peter.”
“This is a family matter that should be taken care of in private. We have a room full of guests. Is this really the appropriate time to deal with this?” John said, assuming the voice of reason. Audra caressed John’s shoulder, then snatched her hand away when she realized what she had done. Ann noticed and gave Audra a scathing glare.
Pru nudged Richard, and he put his arm around Peter and led him back into the dining area. Dad shook his head, ashamed of his sons’ behavior. He apologized to John and Ann, explaining that he’d raised them better than that. Discipline. Pride. Honor. Those were words the Mayweathers used in their household. But ever since the Amanda incident, Peter and Preston had been arch enemies.
“Thank you, I appreciate your courtesy,” Dad said to John and Ann as he grabbed his wife’s hand and left the study.
30
“I think you’re being unreasonable, Peter. Why can’t you just let it go? Is it really that hard to forgive Baby?” Richard asked.
Peter bent down and pulled up his pants leg. He unlatched his prosthesis from below the knee, raised it up high then slammed it onto the table with his shoe still attached, jarring the contents
of the table upon impact. John and Jess gasped loudly, appearing astonished at the revelation that Peter wore a prosthesis. Not too many things surprised Idris — he was only startled by the loud noise the slam created. Everybody else knew Peter had a prosthesis. They were alarmed only because he had taken it off and put it on display — he had always been self-conscious about it.
Peter stared across the table at Richard, then at Preston. He looked at Iris and then turned his attention back to Richard.
“This is why,” Peter exclaimed. “Every morning when I put this on,” he shook the leg in the air, “I’m reminded of it. And every evening,” he pointed the leg at Preston, “when I take it off, I am reminded.” He looked at Iris who sat still, wide-eyed, nearly in tears. “Every time I made love to my wife, I was reminded.” He sat the leg on the table again. “So, no, Richie, it’s not that easy to just put it all behind me.”
“Take your leg off the table, boy,” Dad said.
Peter snatched his prosthetic limb from the table and bent over to reattach it. He felt Iris’ hand caress his back consolingly. He wanted to pull away from her touch, but he couldn’t. It was comforting in a way that he hadn’t expected.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” Preston offered. “I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry before you’ll forgive me.”
“I’ll never forgive you.”
“Do you think I enjoy seeing you hurt? Do you think I get some sort of joy out of watching you mourn Amanda anytime you think of me?”
Richard interjected to respond to Peter’s earlier comment. “It wasn’t her… his fault, Peter.”
“You’re right, Richie. It’s not his fault. He didn’t know I’d risk my life to save Amanda — to save him, only to wind up losing Amanda after all. Who could’ve known that I’d lose my leg for nothing? I might’ve been able to accept wearing a fake leg for the rest of my life if Amanda would’ve at least tried to be happy with herself. But, that wasn’t what happened, was it Baby?”
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