Completion (The Kane Trilogy Book 4)

by Fantome, Stylo

  It wasn’t funny.

  “What the fuck is this!?” she demanded, skipping back to the middle of the document. Terms like “property division” and “life style” and “mutual assets” leapt out at her. Swam around in her vision.

  “I told you, it’s what we came here for,” he repeated himself. She stared at him.

  “Jameson, this is a goddamn prenup.”

  “I know.”

  “Why do you have a prenup?”

  “Because I’m not fucking stupid.”

  “Yeah, but why are you handing it to me right now!?”

  “Did you wake up stupid? Why are we even having this conversation? Oh, you need a pen. Here, you can sign at the bottom, on the back,” Jameson informed her, walking towards her with a pen in his outstretched hand. She slapped the Mont Blanc away.

  “Are you fucking shitting me!? Who are you marrying? Cause it sure as shit isn’t me,” she snapped. He rolled his eyes.

  “Okay, before you flip out, just let me talk to yo-,”

  “You flew me all the way to Hong Kong so your lawyer could draw up a prenuptial agreement? That’s your idea of marriage!?” Tate demanded. She was breathing so hard, she felt like she was going to hyperventilate.

  “No, that’s my idea of what’s necessary before marriage. A marriage involves other documents, which are in the folder with my will. It also requires a certified officiant and witnesses, so sign the fucking prenup so we can meet up with them and get this bullshit over with,” Jameson growled.

  “Oh my god. This is really your idea of a proposal, isn’t it?” she gasped. “Is this a fucking joke?”

  “You’re certainly turning it into one.”

  “I can’t believe you! Two fucking years, and you just hand me a contract? Sign here, then let’s go sign another piece of paper!? Is this a fucking joke!?” Tate was almost shrieking.

  “Calm the fuck down.”

  “You calm down! Jesus, Jameson, am I just another business deal to you!? A ‘merger’!?” she hissed at him. He glared down the length of his nose at her.

  “More like a hostile takeover,” he corrected her.

  “You did this because you thought I wouldn’t go for it,” she suddenly blurted out.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You thought up the absolute worst way possible to propose, the most dickheadish way possible, so I’d say no, didn’t you!?” she demanded. He laughed.

  “You give me too much credit.”

  “Get fucked.”

  “That’s your job.”

  “You know what, fuck you. You think you can pull some shit like this!?” Tate started shouting, searching around for the pen he’d offered. She spied it on the floor and scooped it up. “I am gonna sign this stupid thing. I’ll sign your fucking contract, complete your fucking merger.”

  “Nobody’s twisting your fucking arm, Tate. Wouldn’t want to put you out,” he said in his scary soft voice.

  “Nope. Too late,” she said in a sing song voice as she placed the prenup on a table and leaned over it, signing it with a flourish. “Can’t take it back now, asshole. A fucking prenup. Not even a ‘good morning’.” She was mostly grumbling to herself as she stomped around the suite.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. She grabbed her sandals, hopped around as she slipped them on.

  “Getting ready,” she growled.

  “Ready to do what?”

  “Shopping.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You want to get mergered? Then one of my contractual stipulations is that I need a fucking expensive white dress,” Tate informed him, struggling to pull on her jacket.

  “Tate, just calm down and talk to me, we need to talk about this,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “Too late for that! You had all this time to talk to me, but apparently making a fucking deal and drawing up a fucking contract was more important. So when is this magical merger going to take place?” she asked, throwing her purse strap over her head.

  “We need to be there at six o’clock,” he told her, glancing at his watch. She gaped at him. He was really serious.

  “Eight hours. You gave me a contract and eight hours,” she said softly. He reached for her.

  “If you’d just let me finish tell-,” he began to say, but she yanked away.

  “And a ring!” she suddenly yelled, heading for the door.

  “What the fuck are you talking about now!?” he called out from behind her as she stepped into the hallway.

  “I’m going to buy a white fucking dress, and a big goddamn diamond ring, you asshole!” she shrieked at him before slamming the door shut.

  A contract. Two years. A contract. A fucking contract. Two fucking years.

  Tate stormed down the hall, took a turn, then stopped in front of another door. She knocked on it till the occupant opened up.

  “Is everything alright?” Sanders asked, looking startled.

  “C’mon, let’s go!” she yelled, walking back down the hall.

  “Excuse me?” he replied. She heard the door shut, then he was right beside her.

  “You knew, didn’t you!?” she demanded, hitting the down button once they got to the elevator.

  “Knew what? What’s happened?” Sanders sounded flabbergasted. The doors slid open and they went inside.

  “Knew what he was doing,” she said.

  “What was he doing?” Sanders continued, looking bewildered.

  “His lawyer! Those stupid contracts he went on about! ‘Mergers’! How could you not tell me!?” Tate asked, turning on him as the elevator started its descent. Sanders winced.

  “I’m terribly sorry, he asked me not to,” was his answer. She let out a frustrated shriek, making a choking gesture at his throat.

  “Are you kidding me!? How many times have I told you, told both of you, that I fucking hate that shit!?” Tate yelled at him.

  “You have mentioned, several times, that you -,”

  “Shut up. Just shut up. Talk about a bad fucking idea. A contract!? Did he think I’d say no, is that why he did it? Well, fuck that noise, he wants to pull some bullshit like that, I will marry him, just to piss him off,” Tate threatened, striding out into the lobby when the elevator opened up.

  “Um, okay,” was Sanders’ only response.

  Valet brought the car around. Tate sat in the backseat, wanting to keep distance between herself and Sanders. She still had the urge to strangle him. She instructed him to take her to the nearest, nicest, shopping center.

  They shopped around for quite a while. Tate didn’t buy just one wedding dress – she bought three. She also bought a diamond encrusted necklace and a tiara. A tiara. She forced Sanders to sit in a lingerie shop while she picked out corsets and bustiers and stockings and garters.

  “Are you having several weddings?” he asked. She glared at him.

  “I wouldn’t know, would I? No one asked my opinion,” she snapped back, then spent even more money.

  “Where to now?” Sanders sighed, loading her purchases into the trunk of the car.

  “I want you to find the most expensive jewelry store in all of Hong Kong,” she ordered him.

  “Of course.”

  They drove for a while. Tate stewed in the back seat, glaring out the window. Fucking Sanders. Fucking Jameson. She just couldn’t get over it. When she’d been a little girl and had imagined getting married, had imagined a man proposing to her, it certainly hadn’t been like how Jameson had done it. She pictured someone proposing with a ring, not a with a prenup. Proposing down on one knee, not by dropping a contract on her. Proposing with poetic prose, not legal jargon. Proposing with …,

  Jameson proposed to me. It was fucked up and all kinds of wrong. But he proposed. Jameson Kane just proposed to me. Jameson Kane wants to marry me. Jameson Kane wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Jameson Kane just proposed to me.

  “Sanders, pull over,” she breathed.

  “E
xcuse me?” he asked.

  “Pull over,” she said it louder.

  “Tatum, we are on a freeway, I can’t just -,”

  “Pull over, or I’m gonna puke in this back seat.”

  Sanders pulled over, putting on the hazard lights as he sidled the car into an emergency lane. Tate scooted across the seat to the passenger side and rolled down the window, stuck her head outside. She kept her mouth wide open and took deep breaths, her eyes squeezed tightly closed.

  “Are you alright?” Sanders called out. She waved a hand at him and slowly sat back down.

  “I will be,” she panted, rolling up the window.

  “Are you car sick?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “May I ask what the problem is?”

  Tate opened her eyes. Stared at the roof of the car. Blinked back tears.

  “Did he really propose to me?” she whispered.

  “Yes. Yes, he did,” Sanders assured her.

  “Is it real? Are we really supposed to get married today?” she kept on with the questions.

  “Yes. In three hours, actually,” he told her, glancing at his watch.

  Tate started to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Sanders sighed and started to crawl over the front seat. She actually started laughing – she’d never seen him do something so awkward. But by the time he was sitting next to her, the laughter had died away.

  “Do you not want to get married?” he asked, taking her hand when she held it out to him.

  “No. I mean, I do, I do want to get married. I just didn’t know it was happening today. I had no idea he wanted to get married,” she sniffled, turning in her seat and swinging her legs up, covering his lap with them.

  “You’ve been together for quite a long time, surely it had to be somewhere in the back of your mind that this might happen,” he pointed out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and scooting her closer

  “Well, yeah, in my mind. Jameson’s mind is a little different. I thought I would have to propose,” she explained, chuckling a little.

  “He would never allow that,” Sanders told her. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “I just …, can’t believe it. All these years, Sandy, and I still can’t believe he’d want to be with someone like me,” she said, pressing her forehead against his neck.

  “That’s silly, if you’ll pardon me saying. Most people would ask how you are able to stay with him,” he pointed out. She shook her head.

  “I don’t know if I can handle this. It’s too much, Sanders. He’s just so much,” she whispered.

  They were silent for a while. She clenched and unclenched her fingers around his, praying for him to say the right thing. To say something that would calm her down. To say something she needed to hear.

  He didn’t disappoint.

  “You know what I think?” Sanders finally spoke.

  “What?”

  “Maybe … maybe being in love is like staring at the sun. Exactly where you want to be and too much, all at once,” he said in a soft voice.

  Like staring at the sun. Jameson Kane, just the center of my universe, that’s all.

  “You’re always right, Sanders,” she breathed. He chuckled.

  “Time doesn’t change some things.”

  Tate laughed as well, then lifted her head and kissed him.

  She and Sanders had a very different kind of relationship. They had never been romantically involved, had never been in love, yet they had been very intimate and were close in ways she had never been with anyone else. She never knew how to explain it. Sanders said they were soulmates, and it made sense to her.

  So when she kissed him, it wasn’t a sexual act. At least not to them. It was very natural. And he kissed her back, his hand squeezing her own. She smiled against his lips and pulled away a little.

  “Do you think he’ll still let us do that, after he marries me?” she asked, rubbing her nose.

  “Well, what Jameson doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” Sanders suggested. Tate burst out laughing.

  “Why, Mr. Dashkevich, you have become very naughty in your old age,” she teased.

  “Forgive me, Ms. O’Shea, but if I am ‘naughty’, then it is because you made me this way.”

  “Flirt.”

  Sanders eventually crawled back into the front seat. Tate took some more deep breaths, wiping at her eyes. Okay. Jameson had proposed. A lot of things made sense now – that must be the reason for bringing in Ang. He would be her maid of honor, so-to-speak. That’s why the night before, Ang had kissed her like it would be the last chance he got to do so. That’s why Jameson had arranged dinner with her parents. That’s why Nick had wanted to talk to her. Everyone but Tate had known what Jameson was planning. He had organized everything very carefully, very secretively.

  “Where to now?” Sanders asked, looking at her in the rear view mirror. Tate let out a sigh, ran her hands through her hair.

  “To the mall. Let’s go back to a mall,” she said.

  “You need more stuff?” he questioned. She smiled.

  “Just a couple things.”

  12

  Jameson Kane was nervous. Very, very, nervous.

  It was six-thirty, and no Tate.

  He had known he was taking a risk. When Jameson had called his lawyer about drawing up the prenuptial agreement, he had figured on giving it to Tate in Boston. She could just come down to the office and the lawyer could explain everything. A conversation could actually take place.

  But then it turned out Jameson’s lawyer was dealing with another client in Singapore. Once Jameson got his mind set on something, though, it was hard to turn it off. He didn’t want to go to Singapore, but he was willing to go to Hong Kong. His lawyer agreed to start on the paperwork, then they could go over it together when it was finished.

  Jameson didn’t know what Tate expected from him. Did she honestly think he would get down on one knee? Sing her a song or something? Fuck that noise. It hadn’t even occurred to him.

  The only thing that had been going through Jameson’s head was that this was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and he wanted that to start as soon as possible. Immediately. So if that meant flying them halfway around the world, then so be it. Whatever it took.

  Apparently Tatum didn’t feel the same way.

  “Don’t worry, man,” Ang mumbled, then Jameson felt his hand on his shoulder. “She’ll be here.”

  “This isn’t exactly how I pictured this all going. You’re supposed to be here for her, not me,” Jameson sighed.

  “Consider it a bonding opportunity,” Ang suggested.

  “Don’t make me ill.”

  In all honesty, Jameson was grateful for Ang’s presence. The younger man had an upbeat, jovial personality. Somewhat of a glass-half-full kind of outlook. So while Jameson felt like he was slowly drowning, waiting to see if she would show up, waiting for some sort of text or phone call, at least from Sanders, it was nice having Ang there, trying to cheer him up.

  Though “trying” was the keyword.

  “Maybe they got caught in traffic?” Ang offered.

  “Please stop talking now,” Jameson groaned, then looked at his watch again. Six-forty-five.

  “I do have another engagement,” the minister Jameson had hired piped up.

  “Just give it some time,” Jameson snapped.

  But fifteen minutes later, there was still no sign of them. The sun had almost set and a strong breeze was rolling in off the ocean. A beach wedding had seemed like a romantic idea. Now it was just depressing.

  Maybe she and Sanders ran away together. Would fucking figure.

  “I’m very sorry,” the minister apologized. Jameson sighed and turned towards him.

  “No, I’m sorry for wasting your time. Thank you for waiting,” he said, shaking the man’s hand.

  “Of course. And please, don’t worry. I’m sure there’s -,”

  “We’re here! We’re he
re!”

  Jameson turned around. Tate was running down the beach, Sanders jogging somewhat behind her. She was waving something in the air, trying to signal them. He took a deep breath, let his eyes fall shut.

  “Thank god,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to return a bunch of stuff, and we lost track of time, and then traffic was a bitch, and I’m just so sorry,” she sounded out of breath as she reached them.

  Jameson opened his eyes and looked down at Tate. Her dress was simple – a short, strapless, cream colored number. She didn’t have any shoes on, or any accessories, except for a random batch of white flowers that she was clutching in her right hand. They looked liked they had been plucked from a garden. Her hair was up in a high, messy ponytail. Her eye makeup was dark and smudgy, and she wore pale pink lip gloss.

  She looked exactly like the woman he had first met, catering that party so many years ago.

  I am so fucking in love with this girl …

  “I thought you were standing me up,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

  “Please. I had Sanders stop by the hotel, I saw your will – very generous, Mr. Kane. I’m not going anywhere,” she teased him.

  “God, I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up.”

  “I’m sorry,” the minister interrupted, “would you still like to do this?”

  It was short and simple, just how Jameson had been hoping. Sanders and Ang acted as witnesses. Tate said “I do”, which was like a weight off. No going back, now. When it came time to exchange rings, she tried to wave the man away.

  “We don’t have those, it’s okay,” she told him. Jameson held up his hand.

  “Maybe you don’t, but I do,” he said, digging in his pocket.

  “You got me a ring?” she asked.

  “I already had a ring,” he corrected her.

  “You had a ring, and instead of giving me that, you gave me that prenup!?” she snapped, putting her hands on her hips.

  “I was going to give it to you after you looked at the prenup, but you were too busy having a fucking fit. Now shut up and hold out your hand,” he ordered. She did as she was told and he slid the large diamond onto her ring finger, happy that it fit well. He’d had it sized based on one of her other rings.