Stirred

by Nancy S Thompson

  As it was, I felt pressed for time, but I managed to shower, shampoo, and shine with more than an hour to spare before my pre-arranged sit-down with Ian, which was a good thing since it took over thirty minutes to lose the last of the paparazzi following me. But at least I had and was able to talk to my son in private and at length.

  It wasn’t an easy conversation. I had to navigate a very precarious path, delicately sharing things about his father that had or likely would make the news, while being cautious not to alienate him or adversely affect Ian’s memories of his dad. There were tears and confusion, anger and shame, but there was also love and forgiveness. And in the end, Ian handled Declan’s frailties with remarkable maturity.

  My decision to marry Sean, however, not so much. Upon my news, he seemed to revert to a possessive little boy, selfishly hoarding his mother’s attention. But when I explained what a good man Sean was, how important he’d become to me, and the protection he was offering in the wake of the police department’s witch hunt, Ian came to accept, if not entirely welcome, Sean as the person I wanted to spend my life with. Much like Sean, Ian said I deserved a second chance. And I felt immense relief when, after three long hours, he ultimately offered me his blessing. With promises I’d return to see him before and after the wedding, I held him in my arms and tried my best to comfort this sensitive young man whose world had been blown to smithereens.

  With my heart still aching, I decided to tackle one more chore before heading over to meet Sean. I called my mom and sister. They’d each called and texted me at least a dozen times over the last week, but, with all the stress, I’d had little patience for their unending questions and supplied them with only what had already been reported on the news. Not my finest hour, but elaborating would’ve only brought on endless rounds of tears and even more questions and revelations I wasn’t prepared to expand upon. I still wasn’t, but I needed to tell them about Sean, in case the media managed to find out and report it. I warned them up front not to quiz me on things I wasn’t ready to divulge quite yet, and they reluctantly complied, but I did promise to fill them in as soon as everything was finalized.

  Our goodbyes said and tears washed away, I made it to the courthouse at exactly one, disappointed when I didn’t see Sean’s car parked in the small front lot. That quickly turned to relief once I passed through security’s metal detector and into the lobby, and there was Sean, in all his magnificent glory, standing near the Recorder’s office. He still looked tired, but happy to see me.

  After a hug and a kiss, we stepped up to the window and asked for the proper application to obtain a marriage license. We filled it out, returned it, paid our fee, and were granted the license on the spot. Easy peasy—except for the three-day wait. But we’d deal with it, because we knew it was worth it. Before we left the courthouse, Sean handed me a slip of paper.

  “I had it messengered over this morning. It’s your husba— I mean, Declan’s death certificate.”

  I stared at the paper and felt a lump well up in my throat. Declan might not have been a good guy, but he deserved better than this, and I sniffled back a sob at the finality of it all.

  Breaking the moment, Sean said, “You’re officially free to marry me now, Ms. MacLaird.”

  With a deep sigh, I looked up and nodded. “Name the time and place, and I am so there, Mr. Bennett.”

  He was all smiles. “Friday afternoon. King County Superior Court. Judge Woodall’s office. Room E-760. Be ready at four-thirty sharp.”

  I returned the exact same grin and answered, “With bells on!”

  Every young girl has dreams growing up—especially about her wedding. Though that dream varies from girl to girl and changes as she grows older, in the end, most women want the same thing—to stand in front of their family in a dazzling, white gown, face-to-face with their dream-mate, vowing love and fidelity until death.

  I certainly had that dream, and I was lucky enough to see it come true, in opulent style, no less. Declan’s parents wanted a grand affair worthy of their name—and fortune. So, naturally, they stepped in for my mother, who couldn’t afford much of anything, let alone something even remotely close to what Declan’s folks thought their only child deserved.

  Nearly five-hundred guests attended the ceremony at St. James Cathedral in Seattle, with even more at the reception held at Sand Point Country Club, right on the shores of Lake Washington. It was a day fit for royalty, and no dream I ever had even came close to the grandeur settled upon us. But, as awe-inspiring as the event turned out to be, our marriage was paradoxically unsuccessful, and, with the exception of Ian, any dream I had afterwards fizzled into nothingness. Henceforth, I learned not to dream, to have no expectations at all.

  This time around, though, it was different. Simple. Private. Intimate. There were no bridesmaids in dusky-rose Dupioni silk gowns, or groomsman in full morning-grey tails and white gloves. The only flowers were a single bouquet of three roses—one red, one white, one yellow—that Sean presented to me when we finally met outside Judge Kemper Woodall’s private chambers. I stared at them, mesmerized by the meaning behind each—white for honesty and undying fidelity, yellow for trust and respect, and red for an intense romantic love, both strong and powerful—and I knew that Sean understood how important each were to me, and that he had chosen them with those specifically in mind.

  The uncomplicated bouquet, its smooth stems braided together with a pearly satin ribbon, was the perfect complement to my dress, a simple, above-the-knee, ivory sheath, the only adornment a modest matching lace overlay. I wore tiny seed pearls in each ear, and on my feet, unembellished alabaster pumps with four-inch heels, but only because I wanted to stand taller and be closer to Sean’s strikingly handsome face.

  At six-foot-two, Sean was an imposing figure in his reserved, black wool suit over a brilliantly white linen dress shirt, all certainly bespoke considering the extraordinary breadth of his lean, well-muscled shoulders and chest. His look was finished with a coordinating black and grey silk tie, perfectly knotted around his long, graceful neck. Together, I imagine we appeared elegantly understated. Truth was, we hadn’t dressed to make any statement at all, but rather to give respectful homage to each other and the journey we were beginning, however perilous the mitigating circumstances.

  With our eyes locked on each other, and a stranger—at least to me—standing on either side of us, my old college friend, Kemper Woodall, cited the obligatory civil ceremony vows, which Sean and I each repeated in earnest solemnity.

  Before these witnesses, as we slipped simple platinum bands on each other’s fingers, we promised to take each other as our lawfully wedded spouse, to love and care for each other as long as we both lived, to take each other with all our faults and strengths, and to turn to each other when we each needed help, that, in doing so, we were choosing each other to spend our lives with.

  Judge Woodall noted, just as two very different threads woven in opposite directions could form a beautiful tapestry, so could our two lives merge to form a loving and lasting marriage. But that to make it work would take love, that it should be the core of our marriage and the very reason we were there. He said it would take trust, to know in our hearts that we want what’s best for each other, and that it would require dedication, to stay open to one another, to learn and grow together, even when it’s not always easy to do. He spoke of faith and a willingness to go forward each day, never really knowing what tomorrow will bring, and that it will take commitment to hold true to our journey. Then, finally, by agreeing to live for each other by these vows, Judge Woodall declared us husband and wife.

  Sean and I stood there like two lovesick teenagers, staring at each other with sappy yearning glowing in our eyes.

  “Well?” Kemper said as he leaned in.

  We each broke hold on the other and turned to look at Kemper with puzzled expressions.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss your bride, Mr. Bennett?” Kemper finished.

  We both chuckled and turned back
to each other. Sean moved in as close as he could and slipped a hand on each side of my face, cupping beneath my jaw. His thumbs stroked my cheeks as his gaze bored into me. He gently held me in place and lowered his mouth to mine, where it lingered for a moment, undemanding, just a tender proclamation of his love and commitment. But in the next, he angled his head and took possession, his lips opening, and his tongue sliding inside as I responded in kind. My arms snaked around his trim waist, and my whole body leaned into his as he claimed me for all eternity.

  We should have been embarrassed when Kemper cleared his throat, and the witnesses—two male colleagues of Sean’s—chuckled with their heads bowed. But even after ending that kiss-to-end-all-kisses, we remained locked in each other’s embrace. I’d never felt so safe, so protected, so loved—just as our vows had proclaimed—as I did at that moment. Even with all the turmoil waiting for us outside these walls, I felt at peace and looked toward the future with hope and longing. But it was that hope and longing that also made me fearful.

  Whereas before, with Declan, I always feared losing what I had—my child, my home, my school and reputation, not to mention my possessions—now I feared losing Sean. It was terrifying to acknowledge how important he’d become to me, because there was a very good chance one of us would be taken away by the authorities. But, while any impending criminal suit might’ve been the instigator in our hasty wedding, it was not the only reason.

  After looking deep into Sean’s eyes, into his very soul, as he stated his vows, I saw that he truly meant the words he’d spoken. It was those words that were transformed into hope and filled me up, and while fear stood stoically beside it, that hope, and my love, would provide the scaffolding that would see me through whatever darkness remained ahead of us.

  Sean and I reluctantly parted and turned back to our officiator. Kemper and Sean exchanged thanks and congratulations with a firm handshake that evolved into a manly hug, complete with sharp slaps to the back of their shoulders. When they disengaged, they shared a silent moment, one of pride on Kemper’s part, and great esteem on Sean’s. They both seemed to hold each other in high regard.

  When it was my turn, Kemper kissed me on both cheeks before pulling me in for a companionable embrace.

  “You’ve chosen a good man this time around, Eden,” he whispered into my ear. “I care for you both and will assist in any way I can in the coming days. Don’t hesitate to ask. Okay?” With a final squeeze, he eased me back at arm’s length. “You’re a very lucky man, Sean.”

  “That I am, sir,” Sean answered.

  “Well, then, don’t you forget it. Eden deserves a man who’ll put her first.”

  “That’s my plan,” Sean replied with a twinkle in his eye.

  Kemper glanced from me to Sean with his palms turned out. “So, where to now?” he asked. “Any plans to get away from the media circus outside?”

  I looked to Sean. We hadn’t discussed anything further than this moment.

  Sean’s attention focused on me. “Well, I was thinking, or hoping rather, to take her to a place very special to us both. Snoqualmie Falls. The Salish Lodge to be exact, if only for a night, though I’ve booked two. I know you’ll wanna see Ian and be at school on Monday, but we have the weekend, if you’ll have me, Mrs. Bennett.”

  A deep flush crept over every inch of my flesh, accompanied by a knowing grin, and I nodded.

  “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Bennett.”

  To that, Sean leaned over my shoulder and whispered, “My plan exactly.”

  Though I knew Kemper couldn’t have heard Sean, my cheeks flamed what I was sure was an unholy shade of red, and my entire body felt ready to combust.

  Kemper had the grace to look embarrassed, but he cleared his throat and asked, “So, how’re you kids going to escape the paparazzi?”

  Sean sighed. “Guess we’ll have to do what we’ve been doing the last few days. Take separate cars to throw them off. Lead them on a slow chase. Hope to lose them in traffic. It takes a while but…it’s doable.”

  Kemper snorted and shook his head, his brow drawn low in reproach. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”

  “No,” Sean agreed. “But it is what it is.”

  “Perhaps,” Kemper acknowledged. “But if you would allow me the honor, as a gift to you both, I’d like to offer you the use of my car service. I’ve a Town Car waiting nearby. I can call it curbside at one of the service entrances, and you two can sneak away, with the media none the wiser.”

  Sean and I both smiled in gratitude.

  “Are you sure, Kemper?” I asked. “I don’t want to get you involved in our drama.”

  Kemper tapped me on the elbow. “Too late for that. I’ve been involved since day one.”

  Sean nodded solemnly and opened his mouth to respond, but Kemper held up his hand. “No thanks or apologies needed, from either of you. This, all of it, it’s been my pleasure.”

  With that, Sean held his hand out to his boss. “Can’t tell you how much we appreciate it. And yes, we’d love to take you up on your offer.”

  With a firm handshake, Kemper clapped Sean on the back. “Perfect. You know your way out the back, Mr. Bennett. The car will be waiting and at your disposal.”

  Sean held his hand out to me. “Give me your car keys,” he said, and I complied.

  To his two colleagues, he described both our vehicles and where they were parked, and, handing each a hundred dollar bill, then writing down each of our addresses, Sean asked them to return our cars home and take a cab from there. They both agreed, then proceeded to argue over who got to drive Sean’s sweet ride, while Sean and I said our final goodbyes to Kemper and slipped out and down the service elevator to the sleek, black Lincoln waiting to whisk us away.

  The drive out to Snoqualmie went smoothly, without any harassment from the media. With the privacy screen up and our fingers entwined, Eden and I filled our first alone-time as husband and wife with long gazes and even longer kisses, but we were patient enough—at least she was—to wait for the solitude of our hotel room before consummating our union.

  Our driver pulled the Town Car into the brick-cobbled roundabout and up to the portico entrance at The Salish Lodge, where a valet opened Eden’s door and offered her a hand out. I jumped out the other side and joined my wife, each of us waving the driver off with gratitude. Hand-in-hand, Eden and I entered the lodge and made our way to the reception desk.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sean Bennett,” I proclaimed to the young receptionist, flirting like I always did, just a little, to ensure we received good service. While the girl most certainly knew Eden was my wife, she blushed in return, as most women seemed inclined. That blush was accompanied by a knowing grin once she’d brought up our reservation.

  With a nod, she picked up the phone and dialed, then said, “The Bennetts have arrived,” to whomever was on the other end. When she hung up, the young woman looked at me, and only me. “The Romance Concierge will be right out,” she announced.

  Eden tugged on my arm and raised a brow when I turned to her.

  “Romance Concierge?” she asked with an eager smile. “Aren’t you prepared,” she added, a statement, not a question.

  I wagged my brow up and down like a villain and would’ve twirled the end of my long, waxed moustache if I’d had one. Eden giggled in return, not at all embarrassed by our exchange. Then a woman around thirty or so and dressed in business attire joined us with a warm smile and gracious handshake.

  “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, and welcome to The Salish Lodge. I’m Annabelle Kincaid, here to make sure your visit is a pleasurable one.”

  She handed a key card to a young attendant and directed him to take our bags up to our room. From there, she took us on a brief tour of the facilities before showing us up to the room I’d specifically requested. It was a suite, actually, with polished hardwood floors throughout, plus a large flat-screen TV and a Bose surround system in the parlor and dining area. There was a separate bedroom with a king-size
bed topped with a half-dozen feather pillows and a plush down comforter. Ms. Kincaid showed us how to use the gas fireplace, then pointed out the oversized jetted tub for two, the mini fridge and bar, as well as the corner balcony and its stunning view of the Snoqualmie River and canyon below the falls.

  “And for your enjoyment, strawberries and champagne, compliments of The Lodge,” she directed, pointing to the dining table. “And here,” she added as she handed Eden a leather-bound portfolio. “Menus for both the restaurants and the spa. Just call the front desk should you need anything at all.” With that and a polite bow, Ms. Kincaid showed herself out.

  I locked the door behind her and turned to Eden with an expectant smile, relieved to finally be alone with my new wife. Though she beamed right back, Eden looked a bit overwhelmed. I figured it was more about the circumstances of our expeditious marriage than the romantic opulence surrounding us. To help her settle, I walked over to the dining table and opened the chilled bottle of fine French champagne, pouring two glasses and handing her one of the delicate crystal flutes.

  “Hold up,” I requested with a raised finger, then offered her one of the large, ripe berries.

  She leaned in and took a bite of the lush fruit, dribbling juice over her lips. With no napkin at hand, I swiped my thumb over the thin ribbon cascading down her chin then pressed my lips to hers, kissing the sweet nectar into my mouth, as well as the stained, plump flesh of her bottom lip. I pulled away with reluctance, and we stared into each other’s eyes as we both took sips of the delicious sparkling wine. The effervescence tickled Eden’s nose and made her giggle, and she seemed to relax a little, a small sigh escaping as she leaned her head onto my shoulder.