I DO, BUT HERE'S THE CATCH

by Pamela Burford

  Grant sat on the bed. It was too soft; the springs protested his weight. He'd hoped Charli would sit next to him, but instead she turned the dressing-table chair around and parked herself there.

  "I don't believe you," she said. "I don't believe you'd quit the firm."

  "I could go back to the D.A.'s office. It was satisfying work, putting away the bad guys. The money's not so great, but with my savings, and your income, we should be able to keep the house."

  Her gaze sharpened at his mention of her income. When they'd first married, she'd wanted to merge their money, to contribute financially to the marriage. He'd dismissed the idea out of hand. Only during the past three weeks of soul-searching had he realized how offended he would have been if the roles had been reversed and his life partner had acted as if the fruit of his labors meant nothing.

  "Or I could hang out a shingle," Grant said. "Start my own practice. I have to admit, the idea's always intrigued me. Of course, if I did that, we'd be even more strapped for cash. Especially in the beginning."

  She looked skeptical. "What about your goal? The partnership?"

  Grant struggled for the words to express what he felt. She had to see it in his face, his eyes. When he spoke at last, his voice was choked with honest emotion. "Charli, sweetheart … I would do anything, give up anything, to keep you."

  She shook her head, uncomprehending. "Grant, it's the driving force of your life, the need to make partner. It means more to you than anything."

  "Not anymore. It used to mean more to me than anything, back when I thought I knew what I needed to make me happy, to complete my life. You give me—" he spread his hands "—what I never knew I needed. A partnership would be nice, I wouldn't turn it down, but I could live without it. I could get used to a different job, less income, a simpler way of life. I could never get used to not having you in my life."

  Charli wrapped her arms around herself; she dropped her gaze to her lap. "You'd always resent me—if you gave up your dream on account of me." In a small voice she added, "I couldn't live with that, Grant. Seeing it in your eyes, day after day. Don't tell me you wouldn't be bitter." She lifted her stricken face to his. "But I couldn't go back to the way it was for us, either."

  "It'll never be that way again, I swear it, whether or not I stay at the firm." He paused, steeling himself. "I know it's always frustrated you that I wouldn't talk about my past. My childhood, my family. And I know I don't have any right to ask it of you now, after … after everything, but I want to tell you about it, if you'll listen. I've never told anyone. Well, except for Raven, in our hypnotherapy sessions, but even she hasn't heard all of it." Grant's voice was tight; his palms sweated.

  Charli whispered, "Why now?"

  "I need you to know me, the real me…" He swallowed hard. "I need you to know what brought me to this point, before you decide to walk away."

  She gave a little nod, her expression sober.

  Grant took a deep breath. "I'm an only child. I grew up in a small town in rural Pennsylvania. We didn't have much money. It was…" He shook his head. How to describe that which he had yet to come to terms with? How to make Charli understand? "My parents had a volatile marriage. I can't remember one single day when things were calm at home."

  "They fought a lot?"

  "They fought, yes, and it usually got physical. But the next minute they'd be sobbing out their undying love, begging each other not to leave. Every fight ended up in bed, it seemed. Their marriage was the ultimate love-hate relationship."

  "And you were caught in the middle."

  "I never wanted to come home from school. I stayed after whenever I could, doing my homework in the school library, asking for extra assignments. Just so I could delay going home." He smiled wryly. "On the plus side, my grades were terrific."

  "Grant … those scars on your back."

  "Dad slapped Mom around, but he never did any real damage to her. Maybe he was afraid she really would leave him if he did. So he took most of his rage out on me. Especially when I got a little older, eleven or twelve. I started standing up to him then, and I guess he saw that as a threat."

  Charli's features tightened in pain. "What did he do to you?"

  "Dad was a construction worker. He had a lot of stuff he'd pilfered off various jobs, including this length of steel cable."

  "Oh, God…"

  Grant could still picture that thick piece of cable, about eighteen inches long with exposed strands of steel at its frayed ends. "He started taking that thing to my back on a regular basis. Dad was big, a bruiser. He'd lay into me with that cable, tearing up my back, and the worst of it was … Mom did nothing to stop him."

  "Could she have?"

  "I don't know. She could've tried. I didn't want the old man to see me cry, and I fought the tears as long as I could. But he refused to stop until he'd broken me down. Then he'd sneer and call me a wimp and tell me I'd never be the man he was."

  "I should hope to God not." Charli shuddered. "How long did it go on?"

  "Until I ran away at sixteen."

  "Where did you go?"

  "To Philadelphia first. I lived on the streets. I'd heard I had relatives on Long Island, so eventually I made my way here, hitchhiking. But my cousins didn't want anything to do with me—they just threatened to send for my old man—so I ended up fending for myself, taking whatever odd jobs I could get, crashing anywhere someone was willing to lend me a little floor space."

  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his thighs, letting his hands dangle between his knees. He studied the pattern on the worn braided rug as he said, "I lived for a while with this girl. A few years older than me. She worked checkout at a supermarket where I bagged groceries. I wasn't in love with her or anything, but it was a real bed for the first time in months, so I let her think I was."

  He glanced up at Charli. If she was repelled by these revelations, she gave no clue.

  "At some point," she said, "you must've gone back to school."

  "Eventually I was able to finish high school. I kept working while I was attending Queens College, and later, NYU Law School. I was a good student, so I got a couple of scholarships, but mostly I got by with student loans. Passed the bar on my first try and accepted a position with the Manhattan district attorney's office."

  Charli was studying him intently. "I can't imagine the perseverance that must've taken. The sheer grit and belief in yourself. To go from, well, from an abused child to where you are now, all by yourself with no one else's help."

  "I made a promise to myself, Charli. Shortly after I ran away from home, when I was living on the streets. I vowed to get as far from my past as possible. Nowadays they call it 'reinventing yourself.' I called it survival. My ultimate goal was the affluence and respectability I could never have achieved back home." He didn't state the obvious, that that was where a partnership in Farman, Van Cleave and Holm came in.

  She asked, "Did you ever go back to see your parents?"

  He shook his head. "They never looked for me, either, as far as I can tell. They could've found me easily enough, through my social security number. I never changed my name or tried to hide."

  Charli's expression told him she had trouble understanding how parents could be so irreparably estranged from their son. She'd grown up in a big, loving family. The Rossis weren't much better off, financially, than his family had been, but they were immeasurably richer in so many ways.

  "I understand now," Charli said slowly. "I understand why you were so intent on attaining the goal you set for yourself. Thank you for sharing this with me."

  He drew in an unsteady breath. "You're my wife. I should never have kept it from you."

  Moisture sprang to her eyes; she blinked it away. "Our marriage was different. It wasn't expected that we'd share ourselves that way."

  "I didn't expect it, you mean." He searched her face, willing her to recognize the depth of his sincerity. "I love you, Charli."

  Her eyes squeezed shut and a tear rolled dow
n her cheek.

  "I want ours to be a real marriage," he continued, "the kind with sex and kids and disagreements and the fun of making up afterward. And fidelity—I can't imagine ever wanting another woman. What I feel for you … sweetheart, it's so right. So special. Our marriage could never descend into the kind of twisted relationship my folks had. I know that now."

  Grant rose. He walked over to Charli and pulled her off the chair and into his arms. "You were right when you said you deserve better. But if you're willing to give me another chance, I promise I won't disappoint you. I need you, Charli. I love you to distraction. I only hope it's not too late to start over."

  He kissed her, a deep, feverish mating of mouths. She clung to him, pressed her body close, as fresh tears spilled. She tasted of salt and the wonder of new beginnings.

  "Marry me," he murmured. "A real wedding this time, in a church in front of God and everyone we know. A fresh start. Say yes."

  Charli pulled back, breathless, her dark eyes shining. "You don't have to quit the firm—not to prove something to me. Why don't we wait and see if you make partner this year?"

  "Whatever. Marry me."

  "I love you, Grant."

  "Say yes, sweetheart. Marry me again."

  "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

  He stumbled backward and fell with her onto the bed, to the squealing accompaniment of rusty springs. The mattress bounced a few times before sagging in the middle, wedging them together, maddening Grant with the intimate press of Charli's body as the two of them yanked at clothing, struggled with buttons and zippers.

  They were naked within seconds, slippery with sweat in the sultry little room under the eaves. They writhed in a tangle on the small bed, touching and stroking and rediscovering each other. Charli was flushed with arousal, her nipples tightly pebbled, her lips dark and swollen from his kisses.

  "I love you," Grant whispered as he rolled her beneath him on the swaybacked mattress. "Let's make a baby." Her body opened to him, stretched slick and tight around him as he pressed slowly into her. Charli tensed, but only for a moment, then she was moving with him, lifting to meet him, their mingled sweat a lubricant between their surging bodies.

  The bed springs squeaked in time to their frenzied movements, louder, faster, until they stopped, shaking with muffled laughter, certain the racket carried through the open window into the backyard. Grant heaved himself off the bed, landing on his back on the braided rug with Charli sprawled on top of him. He guided her hips, and within moments they'd found their rhythm once more.

  Charli's hair was a wild, dark mass, tickling his chest as she rode him. Her mouth was parted, panting, prompting Grant to reach up and stroke her lip, to slide his finger into her mouth and touch her tongue. She sucked his finger and he groaned deep in his throat, feeling himself grow even harder, if that was possible.

  Her breasts swayed provocatively with her movements, drawing his hands. He cupped the heavy, satiny flesh, teased the stiff tips. She responded with sharp little sighs of pleasure, which turned into one long, feral whimper as her eyes fluttered shut and her hips hitched hard and fast against him. Her sweet, shuddering climax cascaded over him, through him, inviting him to spill himself in a blinding torrent of sensation.

  Charli collapsed on Grant in a boneless heap. He stroked her back, her bottom, their galloping hearts pressed close together. Outside, the sounds of conversation had increased; more relatives must have arrived. The aromas of grilled chicken and hot dogs filled the small room.

  Charli leaned up groggily. She smiled down at him. He reached up to flick away a damp tendril of hair stuck to her eyelid. She said, "I guess it's Sunny's turn now."

  "Uh … if you say so. Just give me a few minutes to recover."

  She smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "As if I'd share you! I like Sunny, but not that much."

  "It's her turn for what?"

  Charli gave him a beatific smile. "Let me tell you about the Wedding Ring."

  * * *

  Epilogue

  «^

  The tuxedo-clad emcee brought the mike to his mouth. "At this time I'm going to ask all the single ladies to come out on the dance floor!"

  He didn't have to ask twice. Sunny Bleecker was out of her seat like a shot, jockeying for position among the throng of unmarried women congregating on the dance floor. She watched Charli find her spot some distance in front of them, clutching her ball-shaped bouquet of cream and pink roses.

  Charli was a picture-perfect bride in her exquisite, white satin gown. The fitted, sleeveless bodice, with its squared-off scoop neckline, was enhanced with delicate white satin floral appliqués. Columns of seed pearls had been sewn into an hourglass pattern of tucks on the front of the bodice, which ended in a V above the unadorned full skirt. Charli's hair was pulled back into a chignon surrounded by a circlet of cream rosebuds. During the ceremony a long, sheer veil edged in white satin had hung from the circlet.

  Charli looked jubilant, and very much in love. Her bridegroom—and husband of two and a half months—stood on the fringes of the crowd, wearing a look of such besotted devotion that Sunny just knew their marriage would be a long and lively one. It had been a double-ring ceremony, at Grant's insistence. His wedding band, a barrel of plain brushed platinum, looked dramatic against his long, suntanned fingers.

  Now it was Sunny's turn for happily ever after, and she was determined to give herself every edge. Charli presented her back, preparing to toss the bouquet over her shoulder toward her single female friends and relatives, some of whom were making disdainful noises about not even wanting to get married.

  Then get your butt out of here and make room for those of us who do! Sunny wanted to shout. Catching the bridal bouquet might be baseless superstition, but at this point she was willing to try anything.

  The band played some sort of bouquet-tossing music, complete with a drumroll, and Charli pitched the thing over her shoulder, putting a little spin on it. Sunny lifted the hem of her vintage chiffon dress and barreled through the crowd of women like an NFL linebacker, never taking her eyes off the bouquet. She tracked its progress as it arced up and to the right, making note of its speed and probable point of touchdown.

  In the corner of her vision she spied one of Charli's Detroit cousins, the tall one in the hot pink tube dress, moving in for the kill. Fortunately, the cousin was hampered by three-inch heels. Ha! Sunny had slipped off her shoes at the table!

  As the floral arrangement entered its final approach, Sunny watched the cousin easily reach over the heads of her neighbors, her heavily mascaraed eyes sparking with triumph. Sunny took a flying leap and cut off the cousin in midcatch, knocking her back and snagging the prize!

  Sunny belted out a howl of triumph, holding the bouquet aloft while the cousin made some sneering comment to her pals and yanked up the top of that sausage casing she called a dress.

  "I didn't even try," Amanda said, coming up beside Sunny. "I wasn't willing to risk getting a few teeth knocked out."

  "You didn't try because you don't want to be the next to get married," Sunny said, breathing hard, swiping a long strand of auburn hair off her cheek. Amanda had never even set down her glass of champagne! "I wouldn't mind tossing my own bouquet—the sooner, the better."

  Amanda shrugged. "Be my guest. I only hope you find marital bliss a more blissful experience than I did."

  Charli and Raven joined them, offering congratulations and teasing Sunny about her cutthroat tactics.

  "I've never seen so many women trying to catch the bouquet," Amanda said. "Although I shouldn't be surprised—there must be three hundred people here."

  "Three hundred twenty," Charli said. "Our first wedding, back in April, was, well, you know it was a private civil ceremony at home. This time Grant insisted on a huge church wedding—and this lavish reception. Not that I'm complaining. This is the kind of wedding I've always dreamed of—I still can't believe we pulled it off with only a few weeks notice. And the best part is—" she glance
d around to check who was within earshot "—my sisters are sick with envy!"

  "When are you going on your honeymoon?" Raven asked.

  "Tomorrow morning." Charli's expression turned rapturous. "Italy and Greece! I can't wait. I've never been out of the country."

  Sunny said, "Amanda told me that Grant named his new boat the Carlotta. Is that true?"

  Blushing, Charli nodded. Sunny didn't mention what else Amanda had told her—that he'd named the sloop after her "christening," in honor of his wife and the first night they spent together on it.

  Grant and Hunter joined them. Hunter came up behind Raven and slid his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him. "Did you tell them our news?" he murmured.

  "Not yet." Raven grinned. "We're going to have a baby."

  The women squealed in delight. "The first Wedding Ring baby!" Sunny said. "How far along are you?"

  "Six weeks." Hunter beamed proudly. "We just found out."

  "Congratulations." Grant gave Hunter a hearty handshake and kissed Raven on the cheek. "Charli and I are going to have to work hard to catch up."

  "Oh, well, if it's work…" Charli teased.

  Something behind Sunny snagged Amanda's attention. Amanda tossed a meaningful look to Charli, who elbowed Raven, all of them now pretending not to look. Even the men cast furtive glances over Sunny's shoulder.

  "What?" Sunny started to turn toward the entrance to the ballroom.

  Amanda grabbed her and spun her back around. "I don't believe I've wished you a happy birthday yet." She gave her a big hug.

  "Happy thirtieth birthday, Sunny," Charli said. "What would you like for a birthday present?"

  "I'd like to know what's behind me." Amanda and Raven had positioned themselves on either side of Sunny, refusing to let her budge an inch.

  "Let me put it this way." Raven squeezed her arm reassuringly. "What do you want more than anything? What have you always wanted more than anything?"