by J. C. Grant
“Yes,” I whispered back, not wanting David to hear for some reason. Maybe because I was selfish and didn't want him to ever stop trying to make me fall in love with him.
“You look happy. You look like you,” she said cryptically, pulling back to look in my eyes. I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but I wasn't willing to start a conversation that would no doubt reveal parts of my past I didn't want David overhearing.
I watched as my mom exchanged pleasantries with David, him properly introducing himself for the first time.
“I'm so happy to meet you, Ms. James.”
“Call me, Evelyn,” my mother insisted.
David was apologetic; I could take a guess what for. With how short notice this whole thing was, I imagined he wasn't the sweetest when he asked her to come out here. After a brief lull in their conversation, David suddenly said, “Ready to go, ladies?”
“What?” I asked.
“Yes.” My mother spoke over me.
I looked at her, then David. He responded first, “She's going to help you find a dress and get something for herself,” he said to me, before looking to my mother. “Right?”
“That's the plan.” Her voice was chipper, as always.
A plan. They made a plan behind my back...
On one hand, I loved it. On the other, I didn't want him getting too close to her. She knew everything about me, things David didn't need to know.
Ever.
“Okay. Let's go then.” My voice gave something away from the way they both looked at me.
I went to grab my bag, mostly to prevent their searching eyes from finding anything. Being with two people who could read me so easily had never happened before. I tried to choke back the anxiety building inside me. I needed to learn how to handle being with both of them—the two people who I couldn't hide anything from. The two people who could pick and probe and dig up extremely painful emotions. I was fine one-on-one, but two-against-one was overwhelming already, and we hadn't even gotten in the car.
Byron opened the front door as I approached, well ahead of David and my mother.
Am I running away already?
Maybe.
“Austin.” David was quickly closing the distance as I approached the waiting car. The driver opened the back door and David's hand closed around my bicep. His voice was hushed as he spoke behind my ear. “Let your mom get in first.”
When she got in, I looked to him.
“Calm down. There's nothing that will change the way I feel about you. You're mine.” His voice was soft but fierce. “We both would do anything for you... If you want me to keep my distance from her for now, I will. Just tell me.”
That made me feel small and pathetic. My fear was irrational. I knew that in my head, but I couldn't shake the feeling.
Just ignore it.
“No, David, I'm okay. It's fine.”
“No, you're not. This is a lot for you—opening up like this. And now me meeting the only person who really knows you. You are not fine with this.” His voice was soft and sweet, making my eyes sting.
“I will be,” I countered quickly.
He studied my face for a brief moment before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Okay, sweetheart.”
*****
“Should I expect celebrity treatment whenever you're around, David?” My mother inquired when the town car pulled over to the curb in front of another seemingly empty store with the shades drawn.
My mother had no filter and wasn't shy in the least bit. That's exactly why I was nervous about her and David being around each other. She didn't know how to keep a secret, and she would tell David anything—since I was marrying him. And David was nosy when it came to me. So the two of them together was basically my worst nightmare.
“You're not like famous, famous. Why are they closing stores for you?” I asked, directing the conversation to him.
“Ummm… he kind of is,” my mother interjected.
“Not really,” I argued, knowing he was.
“A. Rod?” my mom searched for a comparison to David aloud.
“What's he look like?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Too old,” David interjected dismissively, trying to discourage my interest. And surprisingly able to keep up with the unusual way my mother and I held a conversation.
“Mmmm, no. David Beckham famous,” my mom added thoughtfully.
“Really? Beckham famous?” I looked at my mom and David, looking for confirmation.
“And Austin wouldn't like A. Rod. Not her type. At all.” David seemed to enjoy my mother's unfiltered bluntness.
“Really?” David and I asked.
“Baby-faced. Too pretty,” my mom elaborated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Eww,” I instinctively responded.
“All right ladies, let's go in,” David laughed, knocking on the glass, looking genuinely happy. I wasn't sure why. Maybe from a sense of being part of a family, which he missed, or he could be pleased that I wouldn't find A. Rod attractive. It could be either or both. But I couldn't tell.
The driver opened the door and we exited, my mom, David, then me. David helped me out, searching my face for signs of stress.
“David, I'm fine,” I whispered, in what I hoped was a reassuring voice.
He didn't say anything as he pulled me close, leading me to the open door of the boutique where four employees waited, two holding the double doors open as we entered.
“Mr. Taylor. It's a pleasure to meet you,” someone said, but I was too captivated with the elaborate wedding gowns spread out before me.
I pulled away from David, drawn to a display. My mom followed me, knowing exactly which dress I was headed for—the one dress that looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. Layers of tiny silk flowers—ivory of the palest pink and sage green—covered the bodice of the strapless gown, becoming sparser as they trailed down the full, ivory, skirt. It was decadent, with tiny crystals glinting at me here and there and far too elaborate for the private wedding we were having. But I wanted that dress. Really wanted that dress.
“Thanks. You too. Just take care of whatever she needs, please.” I heard David's voice drawing nearer. Then his hands were on my hips and he whispered, “Any idea what you want me to wear?”
I stilled. I hadn't given his clothing a single thought. “Give me a minute?”
Looking at this dress, I didn't know what would make sense for him to wear next to its grandeur.
“Take as long as you need,” he said, using his sex voice—gravel over velvet. His lips brushing my ear, his possessive hands on my hips. After a moment, he whispered, “I love it. It'll be perfect on you.”
“I would be happy to get your size in this particular dress if you like, Miss James. Marie will be waiting to help you put it on,” someone else said from behind me. “And for you, Mr. Taylor?”
“Whatever my girl wants me to wear,” was his only response.
This was one situation I could really use his take control-ness. Someone needed to figure out what he should wear, and I didn't want the fact I hadn't given his attire a first thought, much less a second, to come to light.
I stared at the dress almost hypnotized by its beauty.
“Austin, come on. David's waiting for you to decide. You have to pick yours before he can pick his,” my mother spurred me into gear.
“Yeah,” I responded to her, then patted David's claiming hands and tried to pull away. “I'll be back soon.”
“I'm sure there's somewhere for me to sit back there.” David's voice was part pleading, part coaxing as his breath warmed my neck.
Before I could respond, I felt my phone buzzing in his pocket pressed against my ass. I looked at him over my shoulder as he dug it out, watching his face as he checked it.
“Who is it?” I questioned.
He glanced up from the screen to me but didn't answer.
“David?”
He let out a deep sigh before he answered, “Mathew.”<
br />
“Here.” I held my hand out, still looking at him over my shoulder. “Let me answer it.”
“Just text him later. You need to try on dresses.” His hand on my hip tightened.
“I forgot about lunch. I'm not going to let him sit there and wait on me, David,” I explained, not feeling like I should have to.
He looked at me for a second, and I swore I saw his eyes roll as he placed it in my hand.
“Hello? Mathew?” I answered as David pressed in behind me.
“Hey. Where are you?” Mathew asked distractedly on the other end.
“I'm so sorry. I'm out of town. It was a last-minute thing.”
“What do you mean you're ‘out of town’?” He made no attempt to hide his irritation. His treatment of me had been increasingly possessive and it was getting on my nerves.
“We got on a plane late last night and flew out—I'm with David and my mom right now,” I explained to someone I shouldn't have to explain myself to.
“Oh. Okay. Hope everything is okay.” He sounded relaxed suddenly. He seemed to have a different attitude with the knowledge of my mother being with us.
Seriously, if he thought there was something wrong, wouldn't he at least ask? Wasn't that what friends did? Seemed he was only concerned about me being alone with David. Or David taking his pre-scheduled allotted time. The more I thought about it, the more upset I got.
What if it was serious? What if someone died?
He didn't care about me. He cared about getting what he wanted from me.
“When will you be back?” Mathew asked, quickly getting to the point.
I gritted my teeth, holding back a nasty remark.
“Monday. Tell him Monday,” David whispered in my ear. I knew he was close enough to hear the entire conversation—still pressed behind me. And obviously he was listening. Intently, no doubt.
“Monday,” I repeated.
“Ah, okay. Call me as soon as you get back,” he insisted, escalating my irritation.
“Sure. Talk to you later.” I tried to keep my voice light, but failed. Ending the call before Mathew could respond, I blindly handed the phone over my shoulder.
I felt David's eyes on me, watching me closely as he pushed the phone back into his front pocket. Reluctantly, he let me pull away, seeming aware of my mood shift.
David trailed close behind as I made my way to the dressing rooms.
“Is this dressing room okay, Miss James?” the woman standing in the dressing area asked. I guessed she was Marie.
“Uh, yeah,” I finally responded. Abruptly, I said, “I want to try on other dresses first.”
Marie, my mother, and David all looked at me like I’d just spoken a foreign language. I watched as David's expression shifted, hardening, but the panic was clear in his eyes.
“You don't like it now?” my mother asked, her voice giving away her suspicions that something else—not at all dress related—was wrong.
“No, I like it. I just don't want to pick the first dress I try on. I'll wonder if something else would've been better. Could I just try on others first?” I finished, my frustration showing.
“Yes, of course. If you'll follow me, Miss James.” Marie walked back out to the main room.
David and my mother stayed behind, which at the moment was perfect.
David
Sitting heavily in one of the chairs, I watched as Austin walked out, her back rigid and tense. When Mathew called, she'd started using her camo voice—that's how I thought of it. It belonged to someone younger, with a lot less life experience. It made her seem innocent and shy. It was camouflage. She was trying to hide her stress which was quickly turning into anger. I took deep breath and looked to Evelyn, who was already sitting in the other chair watching me.
“I'll talk to her. It's probably just Mathew.”
“It's fine. Whatever it is, I'll deal with it,” I assured her, wanting her to know I could take care of her daughter.
Evelyn looked at me out of the corner of her eye grinning. “I'm surprised she is doing this. I didn't think she'd ever get married, not after the previous bailed engagements.”
My eyes darted to the floor, trying to cover my discomfort. That statement didn't hurt nearly as much as before, but it still stung. When I glanced back up, Evelyn looked as if she was recalling a bad memory, one I thought I could guess.
“Actually, her bailing didn't surprise me at all. Her going through with it does.” She paused and I realized why Austin didn't want me around her mother—she was an open book. Straightforward and unable to hide her emotions. “But a really happy surprise. She didn't have an easy childhood,” she hedged.
“Her abuse.” The words escaped my mouth in a breath, words that I hadn't intended to say to her mother the first time I met her, and certainly not on my wedding day.
Evelyn went still. Then she hesitantly asked, her voice somewhere between shocked and horrified, “She told you about that? About what those two did to her?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I knew already. Not the specifics of course. She's strong, but everything she carries... I could see it. My father abused me—physically and emotionally,” I tried to explain. “I don't know... I could just tell.”
A look crossed her face, as if she was just realizing something. “That makes so much sense now. She wasn't big on hanging out with people, having friends, but the few she did have over the years, all had very traumatic childhoods. I never thought too much about it when she was younger. But looking back, it was like they were drawn to each other. Like maybe they could recognize it in each other. Was it like that? Like you could recognize it?”
“Yeah, it was instinctive. Knowing.”
“It makes perfect sense for her to be willing to marry you.” She grinned like she had a secret. “So was it an instant connection? She just told you everything?”
“For me, yes. For her, no. I asked. I pushed. I needed her to tell me, open up to me, give me some of her burden... I'll take all of it. Just gotta get her to give it up.”
“I know,” she said, sounding exhausted by the knowledge. “I took her to therapy for years. She never cracked. Never cried. I did all the crying. She just retold the story over and over. No emotion. Like she was describing a movie... They said she has PTSD,” she continued, going through a mental check list, “emotional dissociative defense mechanism disorder, sleeping disorder, emotional behavior disorder, and the flashbacks on top of all that.” She took a deep breath. “Has she been having nightmares since you met?”
“No.” Then I realized what she was asking. “She still has flashbacks?”
“Yeah, that's why she's never let anyone spend the night or stayed with anyone—along with her trust issues. She doesn't trust anyone.” She looked at me pointedly before saying, “She acts like she does. She'll pretend like she does, but she doesn't. I don't think she completely trusts me. I can't blame her. When I think about those two holding her down, taking turns raping my little girl,” she whispered thickly.
My stomach dropped. Then a strong, violent urge rose up. I focused on taking slow deep breaths.
It wasn't a surprise she didn't tell me everything.
She didn't want to talk about it or deal with anything that reminded her of the traumatic event itself. I couldn't blame her. I had never spoken to anyone about my abuse. I kept my “friends” at arm’s length. I couldn't really understand them and they certainly didn't understand me. No one did.
Until Austin.
I'd felt connected to her instantly. I couldn't explain it really. I just knew I never wanted anyone until I saw her. She made everything make sense for me. Why I was damaged... So I can take care of her. Understand her. Be with her.
I understood her better than I even think she understood herself. I wouldn't let her push me away. Or run away. That's why I watched her carefully, to make sure I wasn't pushing too hard, pushing her away instead of forward. That's all I was doing, forcing her out of her comfort zone and into mine. F
orward into a relationship. Into emotions she didn't want to deal with. Feelings she didn't want to have. Making her fall in love with me.
Or at least just love me for now.
“She's never healed—that's what he told me six months ago.” Evelyn's soft voice broke me from my thoughts. “Her psychiatrist in Denver is a good friend of mine, he said she still hasn't healed, and wouldn't because of the emotional avoidance disorder.” Evelyn looked at me, at a loss for what to do. Eventually she said, “I just want her to be happy.”
“I'll make her happy. I'll do anything to make her happy,” I promised. “Even if it means making her unhappy first.”
Evelyn nodded and, from her expression, I could tell she understood exactly what I was referring too. Austin was going to have to face some things before she could be really happy.
“What happened to those two guys?”
After a long moment, she responded, “Austin doesn't know, but her grandfather—he owned a ranch—sent a few ranch hands after them. They broke both their legs. Broke one's throwing arm. They both had football scholarships.”
“Why didn't you have them arrested?”
“At the time, I just wanted them dead. And...they washed her”—Her voice was barely a whisper.—“messing with her more while they thoroughly cleaned her... There was no DNA evidence left.”
I felt sick remembering how thoroughly I cleaned her, on more than one occasion.
Fuck, I did it today.
“You haven't really met her yet. She can be so cold.” She shook her head. “And she has a nasty temper, David. You're getting the public appropriate version of her. Do you think you can handle the unfiltered her?”
“I can handle whatever she throws at me.”
The look Evelyn gave me clearly said I had no idea what I was in store for.
Voices approaching, stopped me from commenting, knowing it had to be Austin and the sales woman. Or women, I realized as three women entered carrying two dresses each.
“Mom, I found a couple of dresses for you to try on,” Austin said to Evelyn then looked at me. “You have to leave.”
“Really? You're serious? I'm looking at the dresses right now. I've already seen 'em.”
