by Cora Kenborn
Her moves are cat-like, confident and steady, but not without purpose. I’m speechless, staring at the assertive lift of her chin, and the seductive curve of her lips with a desire that’s drowning me by the second.
It’s not until she’s right in front of me that I see it. My hand moves on its own, slicing through the stream of water and tracing the puckered C shape still lining her left cheek.
“Shiloh, your face.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want them back. Shaming her is the last thing I meant to do. I’m just shocked to see her come back the same way she left.
She glances down, her voice soft but assured. “I know. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”
The most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.
My body casts a shadow over hers as I lean down and kiss the top of her scar. “I’ve known that for a while, but why the change of heart?”
She inhales before blowing it out through rounded lips and slowly raising her eyes to meet mine. I expect tears, like so many she cried before she left, but they’re clear. The only thing that reflects in them is the peace she’s searched for her whole life.
“My face is me, Cary. It’s you. It’s Kirkland. It’s my reminder that a mirror isn’t a reflection of who I am. It’s a reflection of where I’ve been.”
“Does this mean you’re not going through with the surgery?”
She inches closer, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “No. I kind of like me the way I am.”
“And the agency is okay with this?”
“Nope. They ripped up my contract.”
Something doesn’t make sense. If the agency ripped up her contract, she should be upset. Why the hell is she acting like she didn’t get a call back for a cashier job at Walmart?
“What’s going on, Shiloh? What are you saying?”
I watch her hand as she lays her palm flat against my heart. I have to fight to control my body’s response, because even though the scalding water burned my skin, it’s nothing compared to the heat from her touch.
“Before I left, you told me that I had it all wrong. About who I was, and where I belonged, and that someday I’d realize that.”
My mother’s words come back to me.
If you love something let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was, and it’s not meant to be.
My heart pounds. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t need to wait for someday. Cary, I realized it the minute I stepped off that airplane. We all fuck up. We all hurt the ones we love. Big deal. The thing is, not everyone is given a second chance, but if we are, then we’ve got to be some kind of assholes to just throw it all away, right?” She blinks up at me, her face completely serious as if she hasn’t just spouted the most amazing shit I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Shiloh West, did you just admit that you love me?”
She smirks, her eyes roaming down my body. “Well, considering I just flew cross country on very little sleep, caught a cab straight here, and am now standing next to a naked man with a semi-hard cock inside a locker room that’s hotter than Satan’s ball sack, then yeah. I guess I did.”
I glance down and raise an eyebrow. “You call that semi-hard?”
“Seriously? That’s what you pick out of this whole thing?”
She squeals as I grab her around the waist and pull her under the spray. The water drenches her hair and dress, causing it to suction against her body even more. Reaching for the knob, a thought enters my mind as I turn it to a normal temperature setting.
“What about the transfer?” I ask, brushing her wet hair away from her face. “Didn’t you already arrange to have your community service redirected to Los Angeles County?”
Shiloh lifts onto her toes and wraps her arms around my neck. “I was on a two-week furlough, remember? I spent the time wrapping up loose ends in California. There’s nothing tying me to the West Coast anymore, Cary. I’m all yours.” Her voice catches. “If you still want me.”
“Are you kidding me?” I growl, jerking her against me so tight she groans. “This is where you belong. Mine.” Running my hand through her hair, I repeat the words I haven’t said to her in seven years. “I love you, Shy.”
She brushes her hand across my cheek. “I love you too.”
After she says the words I’ve waited ten years to hear, I can’t wait any longer. Two weeks without the taste of her lips has driven me insane. Pulling her to me, I crash my mouth against hers. Our tongues tangle in kisses that get harder and more forceful. I want her so fucking bad, but I won’t push her. Not this time.
Groaning, I trail my lips down her throat and kiss the indention at the base of her neck. I can feel the vibration of her chuckle against my mouth as she slides her hands down my ribcage.
“You realize where we are, don’t you?”
“Hmmm?”
“Look around you,” she says, dipping her hand inward toward my hip. “Come on…say it.”
Once I stop licking her neck, and take in our surroundings, I immediately know what she means. I can feel a devious smile spread across my face as I say the words.
“If you’re gonna be in here, Starshine, you’re gonna be naked.”
Gathering the bottom of her dress in her hands, she pulls it up and over her head, tossing it across the room. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Epilogue
Shiloh
Three Years Later
“Mother, stop, it’s fine.” Bianca purses her lips, but wisely keeps her mouth shut as I jerk every diamond encrusted bobby pin she just shoved into my veil and toss them on the desk.
“I was just trying to secure it, darling.”
“No, you were trying to make my head look like a disco ball. I want everything simple. The ceremony is simple, the reception is simple, my dress is simple, and yes, Mother, my veil is simple.”
“Can’t it be your something new?”
I lift my dress and twirl my foot, showing off the ridiculously expensive pair of Christian Louboutins Lena insisted I wear.
She sighs. “Okay, how about something borrowed?”
Lifting my dress higher, I snap my antique garter Cary’s mom gave to me last night at the rehearsal dinner.
“Something old?”
Running my fingers along the silver chain on my neck, I lift the pendant in the palm of my hand. A diamond encrusted cursive K. “It was Kirkland’s. I got it in the mail a few weeks ago from her mother. All the note said was that she’d want me to have it.”
Bianca just nods, her eyes glistening as she pats the base of her nose with a tissue and forces a smile. “Well, I suppose that’s all then.”
“Not everything. I still needed something blue.”
“Oh no! Shiloh, the ceremony’s about to start. I don’t know where we’re going to find something—”
Laying a hand on hers, I stop her mid-pace. “What’s the one thing you always told me about a woman’s accessories?”
“As long as a woman wears expensive shoes, carries a designer purse, and manicures her nails to perfection, she can conquer the world.”
Lifting my hand, I wiggle my fingers, showing off my light blue manicure, complete with a tiny cursive BW stenciled in the corner of the third nail of my right hand. “You may think I never listened to you, but I did. Something blue and wise.”
She dabs her eyes with a tissue. “I can’t believe my little girl is getting married.”
“Mother, I’m twenty-eight. I’m hardly little.”
“Darling, you could be fifty and you’ll still be my little girl.”
Her words bring up a question I’ve avoided. “Did Alistair get the invitation?”
The warmth in her face cools upon hearing my father’s name. “I assume so. I sent it to the last address I had for him.”
I nod, leaving the rest unspoken. I didn’t really expect my father to show up for my wedding, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t hope he’d come to his senses. It doesn’t matter either way. I don’t n
eed him to walk me down the aisle, and I sure as hell don’t need him sitting in the front row for me to marry the man of my dreams.
The doorknob clicks and Lena sticks her head inside, still wearing the permagrin she’s sported since her plane landed three days ago. “Hey, dollface, consider this your five-minute warning—oh my God, you look so beautiful! Shit, I think I’m going to cry.”
“No!” I yell, pointing a blue-tipped finger at her. “If you cry, then I cry, then all this is ruined.” Turning my finger around, I circle it around the outside of my face.
Lena fans her expensive eyelashes and looks up at the ceiling in an almost comical attempt to control her emotions. “Okay. Okay, I’ve got it. I’m fine.” She shoots me her best camera-ready smile, her chin wobbling as her eyes well up again. “Nope,” she says, shaking her head and backing away. “Nope, I don’t. See you at the altar.”
Bianca cocks her head and stares at the closed door. “She’s an interesting woman.”
I laugh, glancing one last time into the mirror we rigged onto Cary’s desk. “Do I look okay?”
We both gaze at my reflection until Bianca picks up a tube of concealer from the desk and holds it out to me. “You may want to touch up your makeup. Your scars are showing.”
The tube is so small. Most people wouldn’t think of a tube so small as being such a huge mountain to overcome. A crutch. An addiction just as powerful as any drug out there. Most people haven’t lived a thousand lives, stared them in the face, and walked away.
Closing my hand over hers, I wrap her fingers around the concealer and gently push it away. “I know,” I say softly. “They’re my badge of honor.”
A few minutes later, I’m standing outside the door of Cary’s office, shifting from foot to foot, a layer of sweat building between my palm and my bouquet of yellow roses. My gown feels like it weighs a ton, although it’s as simple as it gets. Thin spaghetti straps attach to patterned lace that gradually fades down from mid chest to a straight, sheer skirt. Completely un-Shiloh. Just the way I wanted.
Cary and I both wanted to have our wedding at the Kincaid Center. It just didn’t seem right to have it anywhere else. It’s this place that brought us back together, and holds so many memories for us. It’s the place we’ve run together three years as a team and left to go home to our apartment together as lovers.
“Last chance to back out, Snowflake,” Frankie says, straightening his tie as I link my arm around his. “I got me some wheels now. We can dip outta here right now and never look back.”
I squeeze his arm as the music begins to play. “Not on your life.”
An obscenely huge smile breaks out across his face. Keeping his eyes forward, he stares down the hallway and gives a quick nod. “That’s all I need to hear.”
We leave the safety of the hallway and enter the open area of the of the Elizabeth Kincaid Community Center. As Frankie walks me down the makeshift aisle, I couldn’t tell you who smiles at me. They’re all just blurry faces in a blurry crowd. All I see is him.
Cary is standing at the end of the aisle on a small white wooden platform in between the minister and Will. His normally wild, onyx hair is parted on the side and slicked back with just enough escaping to still look dangerous. Upon my insistence, he left his lip ring in, although we argued last night over how appropriate it was for our wedding. I don’t care. It’s him and I love all of him.
Here’s the thing. I’ve dated models who have graced billboards and the most sought-after magazine cover in the world. I’ve had People Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive blow up my phone, begging for a second date. However, no man has ever taken my breath away like Cary Kincaid.
Even when I refused to see it.
Once we reach the end, Frankie kisses my cheek and whispers something in my ear. I giggle as he takes my hand and helps me onto the platform and to the man I’m about to marry.
Cary entwines our fingers, quirking his lips as he runs the pad of his thumb over my blue nail polish. “What did he say to you?”
“He told me to not let you carry me over the threshold tonight.”
“Why the hell not?”
I rock onto my toes, then back onto my heels, biting my lip to keep from laughing. “He said to always walk on my own two feet, otherwise I’ll always end up on my knees.”
His eyes cut to the front row where Frankie sits with a shit-eating grin. “Oh, he did, huh?”
We’re in our own little world until the minister clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but may we begin?”
There’s a rumble of laughter throughout the crowd, and I nod, handing my bouquet to Lena as I take Cary’s hands. We stare into each other’s eyes and repeat the words the minister recites for us. Lena whined when I told her we weren’t writing our own vows, but Cary and I had no desire to declare our love for each other in front of a bunch of people in personal words that aren’t meant for them to hear. Those are words we’ll say to each other tonight and know they’re promises we’ll keep. Because we earned every damn one of them.
With rings in place, vows spoken, and prayers said, the minister’s face lights up. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss—”
Cary doesn’t wait for him to finish his declaration before scooping me up into his arms and devastating me with a kiss that probably has Bianca fanning herself in horror.
I’m breathless by the time he slides his mouth from my lips to my ear and whispers in a wicked tone, “I’m carrying you out of here, so you should probably get those knees ready, Starshine.”
When my mouth drops open, Cary laughs and kisses my forehead. Just as he swings me around to face the crowd, the minister loudly announces above cheers and whistles, “I now present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Carrick Kincaid.”
Just as he promised, Cary carries me all the way down the aisle and doesn’t put me down until I’m on my knees.
* * *
The clock reads four o’clock in the morning, but time doesn’t matter much to me. I’ve been wide awake for the past few hours, watching my husband sleep, memorizing his breathing patterns, and loving the way he reaches for me if I shift to far to the edge of the mattress.
There’s a full moon tonight, and the brightness of it shines through our bedroom window, highlighting my wedding dress. When we first came home, Cary tore it off and tossed it onto the floor. Not that I minded. The dress was the last thing on my mind.
It’s crazy how women spend so much time, money, and effort picking out one dress that they’ll wear for an hour, then hang in a storage bag for the rest of their lives. It seems crazy when you think about it. It’s not like they’ll ever wear it again. What a waste.
The thought rolls over and over in my head, until I eventually pull the covers back and pick up the dress, running my hands over the silk until I find myself carrying it into the bathroom. I click on the light and before I know what I’m doing, I step into it.
As I stare at my reflection in the mirror, flashes of a grayish-purple dress, complete with a floor-length tulle skirt and a bodice covered in Australian crystals stares back at me. Tilting my head, I run my fingers across the simple lace neckline, and my beautiful, modest wedding gown comes back into focus, showing me how truly far I’ve come.
I’m not that girl anymore.
I’m still stubborn. Still prideful and quick tempered in my own way. But shallow? Not a chance.
Shallow is a term reserved for people who use others’ insecurities to force their own agenda of self-worth. It’s simple smoke and mirrors. If I’m anything, it’s a shadow.
I don’t need the limelight to feel important or the blaze of adoration to tell me who I am inside. I’m perfectly content to live in the shadow of a man who never deserved to be forced to bask in mine. A man who has always been the brighter shining star to my fizzling nova.
Shade is a funny thing. People are content to throw it until they know what it feels like to stand in the middle of it. But as long as I’m bathed in Cary Kincaid’s shade—no
one else’s opinion matters to me. I’ll stand in his darkness for eternity. It’s where I belong. It’s where I’ve always belonged.
I’m Shiloh West Kincaid—a woman who understands that being loved for being beautiful isn’t real. That kind of adoration settles on the surface and fades away when the beauty does. Real love doesn’t care about the wrapping on the outside of the package—it peels away the layers and accepts everything that’s inside—the attractive and the ugly.
Cary tells me I’m beautiful every day, and I believe him. His type of beauty is the one that lasts forever. The kind I spent the majority of my life chasing? That’s only skin deep.
And that is shallow.
Acknowledgments
I’ll start off with an apology to my family. I’m sorry for the weeks of me in the same pajamas, serving cereal for dinner, my office looking like an episode of Hoarders, and for writing for so long I forgot what the sun looked like. However, thank you for loving me despite all of it.
Thank you, KA, for reading the early drafts of this book and reminding me the world needs female heroines who make you feel hate and love for them. But mostly, thanks for being there when I had questions at 3 a.m. (because I’m time zone challenged), and for all you do.
Thanks to J.L. Leslie and Christina Kaye who graciously answered my frantic Facebook pleas for help with my legal questions for this book.
Crystal, we are one year down and now you’re stuck with me. Thank you for not only being a phenomenal PA, but for being my therapist, research assistant, mediator, and part-time charity event fact checker. Mostly, thank you for believing in this book before anyone else did.
Mom, thank you for putting up with my constant banking/financial questions. I know you’re retired, and you blocked that stuff out for a reason. However, I’m your daughter, so you’re kind of obligated to go down the rabbit hole with me.
