“Julia, it’s so nice to see you. And wow is right. You look magnificent,” Jameson said as he gestured for the waitress. “Gregory phoned me yesterday afternoon with an invitation. Once I learned you would be here without an escort, I naturally agreed to join in the festivities.”
What the hell was my father up to? First a bet and now this? We were going to have a long-overdue talk once we were all in Chicago again. “I see. Well, it’s nice you’re here. But I—”
Scot cleared his throat. “I think what Julia is trying to say is that she already has an escort. Me.”
Jameson looked from Scot to me with uncertainty. I was at a loss. Here, sitting across from me, was the perfect-for-me-on-paper man, and next to me the heart-wants-what-the-heart-wants man. I liked them both. I just liked one way more than the other, and on very different levels. And that wasn’t Jameson’s fault.
My father broke the agonizing silence first. “Jameson Parkington, meet Scot Raymond. Jameson is an attorney, and the son of a friend and client. Scot owns a small construction company, and is a . . . friend of Julia’s. We’ve been having quite the illuminating conversation. Maybe you can add some insight, if we bring you up to speed, Jameson.”
God, no. Scot would be double-teamed. I sent my mother a pleading look, hoping she’d understand and take my side. Just this once. Surprisingly, she did.
“Gregory,” she chided. “This is supposed to be a work-free weekend. Can we please eschew all talk of business for the remainder of this meal?”
My father nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t wholly pleased. I was, though. For about thirty seconds flat. Because that was when the posturing started.
Jameson threw the first blow. Oh, not in the physical sense, but he still packed quite a punch. “Julia and I spent a terrific day at the zoo last weekend,” he said. “I hadn’t been there in years, but we had a wonderful time for our first date. Didn’t we, Julia?”
“Yes.” I gulped some coffee, hoping the caffeine would startle my numb brain cells awake. So, you know, I could speak in more than one-word sentences. “Wonderful.”
“Last weekend?” Scot touched my arm. “You canceled our date because you were ill, and then spent the day at the zoo with him? Is this true?”
“Oh, were you ill, Julia?” Jameson’s ridiculously green eyes brightened. “You were the picture of health on Sunday. I’m glad you recovered so quickly.”
“My date with Scot was on Saturday. I . . . um . . . felt a lot better by Sunday.” I reached under the table and put my hand on Scot’s knee. Just so he remembered whom I’d come to Vegas with. “It was the NyQuil. You know, the nighttime—”
Scot’s lips twitched. “Sniffling, sneezing, sore throat, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, so-you-can-rest medicine.” He looked at Jameson. “My hat’s off to you, Jameson. It takes a lot of confidence to plan a first date on a Sunday afternoon. Good for you.”
Jameson’s nose flared the slightest bit, but that was the only sign of his frustration. “Ah, but Julia is an animal lover. The zoo is less crowded on Sundays, which made the day the perfect choice for our first date.”
“It was nice! I also enjoyed our first date, Scot,” I said. “Dinner with your family was very . . . um . . . enjoyable.”
Jameson laughed. “Now, that’s confident! Planning a family dinner for a first date.”
Oh. God. I needed to derail this. Now.
“Mom,” I said loudly. “Tell us about the renewal ceremony. That’s the reason we’re all here. When is it?”
My mother, bless her magically softened heart, understood exactly what I needed and went with it. “The service is right here, in one of Mandalay Bay’s chapels. Do you know they have three? It’s at seven o’clock sharp, so please don’t be late. They have us booked in between two other couples.” Her eyes filled with emotion. I wished I had a camera, because she glowed with beauty. Nothing intangible about that, thank you very much. “And I meant to ask you right off, darling, but with all the excitement forgot. Will you be my maid of honor again? I won’t make you wear anything peach.”
“Oh! Of course, I will.” Tears misted in my eyes, screwing with my vision. “I would love that. Thank you for wanting me.”
“Who else would I want?” Mom said softly. “You’re my only daughter.”
Jameson leaned across the table and grasped my hand. Scot’s leg jerked beneath my other hand. “Gregory asked me to stand as his best man, and I was honored to say yes. We’ll stand together for your parents, Julia.”
I looked at my father in shock. “W-Why?”
“Well, Julia, when your mother shared that she was going to ask you to stand for her, I felt it appropriate to ask Jameson to stand for me. We’ve grown quite close recently. Besides, with you two kids dating—”
“What? No . . . that’s—”
Scot placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed. I stopped, breathed, and remembered that this was about my parents. Not about Jameson and me. Or Scot and me. Just my parents. If Dad wanted Jameson as his best man, for whatever reason, then who was I to create an issue over it? “Isn’t that nice,” I said as sweetly as I could.
Somehow, I managed to keep the peace through the rest of the meal. This was easier once we were served food and Jameson and Scot were busier chewing than posturing. Mom and Dad, believe it or not, did their best to fill in the gaps with discussion about their upcoming vagabond lifestyle.
After we finished eating, Mom pulled out my gift from her handbag. You know, the gag gift. The maid-only-lasted-three-weeks gift. Not—and I repeat with great emphasis, not—a wedding gift.
“Tonight after the ceremony, your father and I have special plans. For just the two of us.” She pushed her plate aside and set the wrapped present in front of her. “Do you mind if I open this now, darling?”
“Maybe you should wait and open it in private,” I suggested firmly. “I bought that before I knew you guys were doing this. It isn’t meant as a wedding gift, Mom.”
I shouldn’t have bothered. She was already ripping into the wrapping paper with all the glee of a kid on her birthday. I bit my bottom lip. This wasn’t going to be pretty. Well, pretty embarrassing, maybe.
A zillion apologies gathered on my tongue, waiting to be said the second she realized what the presents were. Maybe, in private, she’d see the humor in them. But here in public, I didn’t think so. Crumpling the wrapping paper into a ball, she set it aside and then pried off the tape that held the plain white box closed.
“Remember what you said, Mom . . . about how my presents show my terrific sense of humor.” My cheeks heated. “Just something to keep in mind.”
I tried to console myself with the very gratifying fact that I hadn’t purchased her the edible underwear or body chocolate I’d considered. I mean, yeah, those would have been hilarious choices, but not under these circumstances.
My dad, Jameson, and Scot watched with polite interest, because that’s what you do when someone is opening a present. The lid came off, and Mom unfolded the tissue paper I’d wrapped around the items. I held my breath.
Her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head to the side. It took her a minute to figure out what she was looking at. But when she did, she gasped in surprise. “Tattoo hosiery? When would I ever wear such a thing, Julia?” she asked in her coolly modulated tone. “And where?”
Yep, there she was: the mother I knew and loved.
I swallowed. “They’re sexy, Mom! They have a seam up the back, and black butterflies swirling around the calf. I thought you might find them . . . um . . . fun.”
My dad fished his glasses out of his pocket. “Let me see those, Susanna.”
She removed the offending package of tights and passed them to my father. Her gaze returned to the box and she inhaled a sharp-sounding breath. Yep, she’d seen gift number two. “Handcuffs! You bought me handcuffs . . .”
Fuzzy pink handcuffs, to be exact. And they were a steal at their sale price of ten dollars. “I . . . uh . . . tho
ught they went well with the tights,” I offered. And then, because I was trying so hard to find a way of making these gifts acceptable, when they were only meant to be jokes, I burst out with, “You can role-play! You and Dad. He can be the cop and you can be . . . um . . . a . . . a dancer.”
Jameson looked at me as if he’d never seen me before, and Scot gave a sort of gasp/chuckle. Out of humor or shock, I couldn’t say, but I hoped for the former.
Mom arched an eyebrow. “Role-playing? You mean . . . Oh! My goodness, what a thought.” Now her cheeks turned pink.
“Actually, Susanna, these—” Dad turned the package over in his hands and looked at the woman modeling the tights on the back. He cleared his throat with a little cough. “Julia’s right, cupcake, they are sexy. And you have great legs. I can’t wait to see you in them.”
My breakfast climbed up my throat a little.
Mom batted her eyelashes at Dad. “Really, Gregory?”
He coughed again. “Tonight is our honeymoon.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened to scalding red. “Well. Yes, it is, isn’t it. No promises, but I’ll think about it.” Facing me again, she said, “You have such unique tastes in gifts, Julia. I never know what to expect. But thank you, darling, for the . . . thought.”
Finally, breakfast came to an end. Mom and Dad left for a day of pampering at the hotel spa, leaving me with two not very happy men. Disappointment churned that I wouldn’t be alone with Scot, but I couldn’t ignore that Jameson was here.
“So, how should we spend the day?” I asked, glancing at Scot. His jaw was set in that hard line. The egg-cracking one. “We can gamble or check out the strip or see if there’s a show this afternoon or . . .”
“I have a full day of work to deal with before seven,” Jameson said in a tight voice. “I’ll have to pass on any excursions for now. But I’ll see you tonight at the ceremony.” He nodded at Scot. “It was a . . . pleasure to meet you.”
Scot nodded back. “You too. Sorry you have to work. It can’t wait until Monday?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Jameson stood and came around to my side of the table. He gave me a quick smooch on my cheek before whispering, “We’ll talk later, Julia. But you should know that I’m keeping my hat in the ring.”
Of course he was. He’d sort of made that clear. Crystal.
With that, he strode away with the sure steps of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
I exhaled a long and noisy sigh. “I’m so sorry, Scot. I had no idea he’d be here.”
“I noticed.” Scot twisted in his seat toward me. “Does Jameson know that you two aren’t committed?”
“Yes. Well, he should. But my parents—”
“Would like it if you were,” he filled in. “I get it. Families have a way of thinking they know what’s best for us. Even if they don’t.”
“Exactly.” I sighed again. “Anyway, I totally understand if this is too much for you to deal with. You don’t have to come tonight, Scot. I know this is weird.”
“Quit trying to dissuade me from family events. I like your parents, and I’d like to be there. If you still want me there.”
“I do! I just don’t know how Jameson is going to act. Or my parents, for that matter. The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable.” Well, I didn’t really want Jameson to feel uncomfortable, either. Dang my father!
“This is an odd circumstance, but we’re all adults. It will be fine.” Scot winked. “Besides, if I don’t show, Jameson will think he’s won. I can’t have that.”
A swirl of warmth began at my toes and drifted upward. I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Okay. That’s settled.”
We left the restaurant and headed outside, deciding to walk off breakfast by checking out the strip. For the most part, we laughed and talked easily. We talked about everything. It was nice, getting to know more about Scot and sharing pieces of my life with him. But every now and then a mask of distance slipped over his features and he would grow silent.
I didn’t know what he was thinking about during these times. Probably, it was better that way. But they, along with Jameson’s unexpected appearance, put a damper on what should have been an incredible day. It made me wish that I had the power to turn back time. If I did, I’d return to this morning, to the minute when I first woke, lying in bed naked with Scot’s arms wrapped around me. When everything felt natural and right.
Yeah. That was a moment to remember.
Chapter Sixteen
A thick ball of emotion gathered in my throat as I watched my parents exchange their vows. Susanna Marie Kaiser-Collins was dressed in a simple, antique white, vintage-style gown that skimmed just below her knees. She held a small, brightly colored, cascading bouquet of yellow dahlias, white orchids, and orangey-red mini calla lilies. Her grandmother’s pearls adorned her neck, and tiny diamonds glittered in her ears. She exuded beauty and grace.
My austere father stood tall and proud beside her in a black suit and yellow bow tie. He had a mini calla lily pinned to his suit jacket, and he radiated old-world charm and elegance. The pride and love on his face when my mother stepped into the aisle had taken my breath away.
Jameson stood to the right of my father, I stood to the left of Mom, and Scot sat behind us as the only guest. I hated that. But he swore he was fine.
The standard wedding vows, altered slightly due to this being a renewal ceremony, were used, but my parents spoke the words with such tenderness, such depth, that it seemed as if I had never truly heard or understood them before. This, too, took my breath away.
Mom passed me her bouquet, and my parents clasped hands.
My mother’s soft voice filled the chapel. “Gregory, I have always loved you. I will always love you. You are the best part of me, and I can’t express how joyful I am to be standing here with you today. Together, we have laughed and cried. We have celebrated and mourned. My life is better with you in it. I am stronger with you beside me.” Her voice caught. When she spoke again, I heard her tears. “I don’t know what the future will bring us, but I am positive that with my hand in yours, the best is yet to come.”
I clamped my lips shut to stop myself from sobbing.
“Ah, Susanna,” my father said, his voice shaky and thick. “You have always been the master of words in our marriage. I tried to write my feelings down for today. I tried to find the words to express exactly what you mean to me. But it seems I am still the tongue-tied man you married thirty-four years ago.”
With a little cough, he pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket. “So please forgive me, but I am using another man’s words today. This verse comes from the poem ‘Beauty That Is Never Old,’ written by James Weldon Johnson. And this is what I would write for you if I could. ‘The world for me, and all the world can hold is circled in your arms; for me there lies, within the lights and shadows of your eyes, the only beauty that is never old.’” He coughed again and returned the paper to his pocket. “I love you, my darling.”
“Oh, Gregory,” my mother whispered. “I love you, too.”
My parents kissed, and the tears I’d been fighting to contain came free, silently spilling down my cheeks. How had I never seen the love my parents shared? How could I ever have believed that their marriage was simply a “good match”? This couldn’t be false, couldn’t be from the journal, from my spell. Their feelings were too vibrant, too alive, to be anything but true.
But how could I have remained so blind for so long? What had happened to change them from the young couple who’d believed so vehemently in their love that they defied everyone in order to be together to the parents I’d grown up knowing?
A thousand little moments crashed into my awareness, startling me with their vividness. The way my parents always stayed near each other, no matter the event or who was in attendance. I’d always believed they did this to show a united front, but now . . . now I saw how my father’s eyes followed my mother, even when he was embroiled in business talk, and how she would
look up, catch his gaze, and smile.
A united front, yes. But also a loving union.
I remembered how my dad had always phoned her every night when he was away on business, and how Mom would steal away to another room to talk. My mother’s tireless focus in helping him in anyway she could, from planning those god-awful dinner parties with clients she despised, to befriending wives of those same clients, to insisting on downtime to get him—them—away from the stress of his job and their never-ending social calendar. Not just them, I realized, but us. Our family. They never left me at home with a nanny or a babysitter. I was always a part of the quick weekend trips and the longer yearly vacations.
Years upon years of small, barely seen smiles, soft touches, and words of encouragement floated into my memory. No, we were not a sentimental, sappy family. They always expected the best from each other and from me. And yes, they pushed hard. Sometimes, perhaps, too hard. But now . . . now I saw what brought them together, what propelled their actions, and yes, what kept them together: love. True, romantic, heart-pounding, starry-eyed love. It was real. And it could last for a lifetime.
My heart and brain, so often at odds with each other, connected in a blaze of comprehension. I nearly staggered under the weight, the power of this understanding. The last bit of stony resolve melted away, and a burden I’d been carrying around evaporated. Maybe my spell had allowed my parents to show the world their love for each other, but it hadn’t created that love. It hadn’t fed that love. They had done that. Even if I hadn’t seen it until today.
I still had questions about their metamorphosis. Questions I intended to ask at some point, but one answer was clear to me: I wanted what my parents had. I wanted to fall head over heels. I wanted to love a man as deeply as my mother loved my father, and I wanted a man who loved me the way my father loved my mother. I wanted the fairy tale.
My gaze found Jameson, and almost without thought, I shook my head in a silent admission that he was not the man for me. He sort of reeled back, but he nodded, as if he could read my thoughts. A tiny smile of defeat passed over his features. He bent down at the knees, as if he were picking something up from the ground, brushed imaginary dust off of the imaginary something, and placed it on his head.
By Magic Alone Page 24
