by Raine Miller
Winter and James had come together tonight, but she’d told me numerous times they were just good friends. I wasn’t so sure about James’s interpretation of good friends and her interpretation being even remotely on the same page, though. James Blakney wanted Winter Blackstone with a desperation that was clear as day to anyone with two functioning eyeballs. Well, everyone except for Caleb, that is. He didn’t see it, and brushed their relationship off as very close, lifelong friends. I just nodded my head and rolled my eyes at his explanation. It wasn’t our business anyway. Winter and James were the only ones who needed to be concerned about the status of their friendship.
Caleb’s other sister Willow and her fiancé, Roger, were in another corner, conversing with Judge Blakney and his wife—James and Victoria’s father and mother. Everyone was, indeed, connected somehow, just as Caleb had told me. The Blakneys were an odd coupling as well, just as I felt Victoria’s was with Clay Whitcomb. When I’d met the judge and his wife earlier in the evening, I’d been hit with the most powerful sense of déjà vu, making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Something was very wrong there. I knew it down deep in my bones that Judge Blakney was a cruel man, and that Mrs. Blakney was trapped on the receiving end of his cruelty. I knew it—because she looked exactly like me when I’d been with Marcus. I very much wished there was something I could do to help her.
It was déjà vu all over again, as Mr. Yogi Berra had so eloquently coined the phrase.
When Caleb didn’t return with my water, I decided to go search out some on my own. The pounding in my head was only getting worse, and I really needed to take something quickly.
It wasn’t like him to forget about me.
And then I discovered the reason.
Janice Thorndike had arrived.
Although, this Janice Thorndike didn’t resemble the many pictures I’d seen of her. She definitely wasn’t the stunning, svelte, cover-worthy model I knew her to be. Her face was stretched in an ugly sneer, her dark-auburn hair spilling wildly over her thin, pale shoulders. In a word, she looked enraged. Caleb’s stance looked angry from behind, if I had to describe how he appeared as I approached where they argued in a corner alongside the bar. He had his back to me, but Janice didn’t. She trained her eyes on me with all of the poisonous venom of a cobra ready to strike its prey. My only thought was to get Caleb away from her because she looked downright fucking dangerous.
“I know what you did, you scheming bitch. James told me about the fucking condoms you poked holes into,” I heard Caleb say to her. “Do you really think it would matter to me, if she became pregnant as a result of your twisted games, Janice?”
She grinned evilly in my direction, knowing I was watching and listening.
“I’d fucking rejoice if it were true, because I love her, and I’m marrying her.”
“Don’t lie, Caleb. You’re not marrying anybody other than me.”
“Caleb?” I gasped out his name, needing to understand why exactly they were talking about damaged condoms and possibly pregnancy.
A wave of ice-cold fear settled over me instantly.
Again, the reminiscent feeling of déjà vu filled my head.
My body’s recent slew of ailments and pains no longer mystified and confused me. They all made sense to me now. I’d never taken birth control pills before, so I’d chalked my symptoms up to starting on them. A new medication for me, one that essentially produced the same hormones as when a woman was pregnant.
But I have been pregnant before.
I knew what pregnancy felt like. And I understood that my new birth control pills wouldn’t have done a thing for me if I’d already been pregnant when I started on them. If Janice had damaged the condoms Caleb and I used the first few times we were together, then . . . it was possible.
He turned to find me standing behind them, shocked at what I’d overheard most likely. “Brooke,” he said calmly, “this is Janice Thorndike, someone who used to be my friend at one time. Now, I don’t recognize her anymore, because she’s become a complete stranger to me.”
“Fuck you, Caleb,” she screeched. “And fuck your English cunt whore, too.”
“Janice, meet my fiancée, Brooke Casterley,” Caleb said.
I just stood there, gaping at the two of them in utter astonishment. Frozen in place as my emotions collided with the logic of what had happened to us. My hands went protectively to cradle my belly. Caleb and Janice both tracked the movement of my hands with their eyes. It was as if we all comprehended the stark truth in the same few seconds—a brief increment of time that stretched out painfully in slow motion and perfect illumination.
Caleb faced me, then turned a ghostly shade of white. “You are pregnant—”
“Noooooo,” Janice screamed as she grabbed a champagne flute and smashed it against the bar counter.
The sounds of breaking glass and shouting erupted amid the scramble of bodies rushing toward me. I didn’t feel the pain where she slashed at me with the broken glass. I was in automatic defense mode, my goal to protect rather than fight.
Protect my baby at all costs.
I registered the hard floor beneath my back with Caleb hovering over me, his white shirt collar dark with blood as it dripped down from a wound in his neck. Caleb was hurt. I felt the pressure of his hands at my side along with a throbbing dull ache as he shouted, “Call 9-1-1. Call 9-1-1. Call fucking 9-1-1!”
I was wet where his hands were pressing into me.
It was my blood?
My blood . . . probably blending into the color of my gorgeous ball gown almost perfectly.
I tried to speak, but no words would come. I wanted to tell Caleb I loved him and had no regrets about anything.
Being loved by him was the best thing to ever happen to me.
I could hear him speaking to me even after everything grew dark.
“I love you, and you’re going to be okay.” He cried the same thing over and over again in a chanting prayer.
My Caleb cried out his love for me so I could hear him. So I’d never forget.
Caleb
I wouldn’t let anyone touch my neck until Brooke was wheeled into surgery.
At which time they had to force me to leave her side.
I shuddered to recount the last hour of terrifying agony. My brother’s presence was the only thing keeping me from losing my motherfucking shit in the middle of the ER at Mass General. I barely comprehended what the doctor had said about Brooke’s injury assessment. My only focus was on her, so thank God for Lucas being here to relay the details to me after the doctor had left.
“She’s going to be okay, bro. The surgery is minor, doc said. They’re going in as a precaution because a small piece of glass showed up on the ultrasound, and they want a pristine wound before they stitch her up.”
“She’s pregnant. I heard him say around seven weeks give or take.” I couldn’t believe it, but it was confirmed before they wheeled her away. One of the first questions they asked me in the ambulance was the possibility of pregnancy. I had to tell them yes. The look on Brooke’s face when she overheard me with Janice—she hadn’t known she was pregnant, either. This was a complete surprise for all of us.
“Yeah. You’re going to be a father, big brother.” He slapped a hand down on my thigh. “Your turn to get stitched up. The nurses need to do their job now.”
I let them sew up the gash in my neck and was never so afraid in all my life. What if Brooke didn’t want to marry me now? What if she wanted to leave me or wanted an abortion? I didn’t know the answers to those questions yet, but I knew she wasn’t ready to get married right now. Or be pregnant again.
I’d done the same thing that Patten had done to her.
If you try to force her into a corner, she will run from you as far and as fast as she can, and she won’t look back, either. Fuck. Her grandmother’s words hit me brutally hard right at that moment.
Would she be able to forgive me? Would she see this as the same entrapment she
’d gotten from Patten? Could she even still love me after this fucking nightmare was behind us? Would it ever be behind us?
Question after question played in my head like a song on repeat. And I knew no fucking answers to any of them.
I asked them to point me in the direction of the hospital’s chapel. It had been a long time for me since I’d set foot inside a sanctuary of worship. Didn’t matter, though, because it all came back to me. Catholic roots spread deep.
I fell to my knees and prayed.
And the fear of losing the most important person in my life and even our innocent child before I’d have the chance to know him or her absolutely slayed me down to the most humble soul on earth to ever plead for mercy.
SOFT fingers worked their way through my hair. I knew those fingers, and I recognized their familiar pattern of rubbing and gently tugging on sections at a time. My girl had told me before how much she liked having her hands buried in my hair . . .
“Caaa-leb?”
My eyelids snapped open. “Baby! Oh, my God, how are you?” I jolted awake instantly and feasted my eyes on her. She looked terrible lying in that hospital bed. Pale and weak and worried—and so perfectly beautiful to me, I knew nothing would ever compare for as long as I lived.
“Am I pregnant? I m-mean, was I? Am I st-still?” Her face twisted into a mask of fear as she began to cry.
“Oh, God. Yes, you are. The doc guessed you’re about seven weeks along.”
She let out a moaning wail and cried even harder. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t be when I w-w-woke u-up.”
Pure, unadulterated, blessed relief rolled through my body as I leaned over her and held her the best I could in the circumstances. She wants our baby.
“Shh, don’t worry. Our baby is fine, because its mother is so brave. You protected our child from being hurt. It was your right side where she cut you . . .” I lost it. I just lost my ability to hold it together for a second longer, and sobbed like a bitch. “I l-love you so m-much. I’m so f-fuckin’ sorry for everything that’s happened to you because of me. I—I am s-s-so s-sorry, Brooke.”
It took me a while to come up for air from my emotional breakdown. It was her hands in my hair that grounded me enough to resurface. That she was comforting me at a time like this when she was the one who’d been hurt meant more to me than any words could ever express.
“Caleb?”
“Yes?”
“Do something for me?” she asked in a low voice.
“Anything. Whatever you want, baby. What can I do for you?” I pulled back so we could see each other.
“I need you . . . to tell me . . . your greatest wish. If you could have whatever you wish for right now, what would it be?” She lifted her hand with the IV still stuck in her vein and cupped my cheek. “Be truthful and tell me what you want most in the world.”
And the surprises just keep on coming.
Not at all what I expected her to say. I understood clearly that this was not the time to fuck around by hedging or lying. Brooke was dead serious about me giving her the straight-up truth right now. She asked me to tell her what I wanted . . . and so I did.
“I want to marry you the minute you are well enough to do it. I want you to have my name and my ring on your finger, with the legal documentation to back it up. Then I want to take you away to a place that’s beautiful and warm and private for about a month. I want it to be somewhere very special, where we do nothing but make love, eat, sleep, talk about our future, plan for the birth of our precious baby, and any other fuckin’ thing we want to do.”
“Then let’s do that,” she said softly.
Brooke
December
We married in Stone Church, one week later on the second of December. Only Nan and Herman were there to witness our moment. Herman, in fact, married us. As mayor, he had obtained the proper credentials years ago and on occasion officiated the joining of two people together in matrimony.
After the nightmare events that played out at the ball, Caleb and I were both in agreement that our wedding should be exactly what we wanted . . . and what we needed it to be.
A private ceremony at dusk in the little stone chapel set along the bay with the blazing sunset hovering over everything was indeed what we needed.
I chose a blush silk batiste gown with long sleeves in French lace and no veil. Instead, I had four peonies woven into my hair, which I wore down because Caleb liked it best that way.
Caleb dressed in a black Brioni with a silver patterned tie and a vintage silk pocket handkerchief from his father. He looked so handsome it made my eyes hurt a little to look at him.
The old wooden floorboards inside were strewn with white rose petals perfuming the air to mix with the vanilla-scented candlelight, which was the only lighting.
After signing our names to the proper documents, Herman read us our vows, which we repeated to each other with nothing but love and promises forged into every word. We exchanged platinum wedding bands we had chosen together and would wear forever. Everything was just as it should be.
Caleb and Brooke pledging themselves to one another until death . . . becoming Mr. and Mrs. Blackstone.
AFTER the vows we celebrated with cupcakes and champagne.
Just one sip of the champagne for me, but I sure enjoyed the sugary goodness of that cupcake. Nan took pictures for us using Caleb’s phone, and then it was time for us to say good-bye.
“I love you, my darling Brooke. I was given the greatest gift when you came to me. Nothing could make me happier than I am right now, seeing you and Caleb so in love and so happy together.” And about to make you a great-grandmother. Nan didn’t bother holding back her tears and neither did I. Nothing more needed to be said, because we both knew.
“I love you, Nan.”
“I know you do, my darling. Now off you go to start living your beautiful life together,” she said to both of us before the final hugs and kisses were exchanged.
Caleb drove us to the Blackstone Island Airport in the new Range Rover Autobiography he’d bought for island use as he referred to it. I’d never part with Woody, but I did love driving the new Rover, which delivered an exceptionally smooth ride over the bouncy lanes. It was a short trip to the airport.
A chartered Gulfstream was lit up, waiting to take us to Hawaii for our honeymoon, our bags and everything we needed already stowed.
The only thing left for us to do was board the plane.
“Please wait for me, Mrs. Blackstone,” he said. “Stay right where you are.”
“Yes, darling.” I mocked him a little, but only because I knew it wound him up when I teased him. In only the sexiest way, he’d once told me.
Caleb came around to my side of the Rover, and opened my door. Then he helped me to step down while bunching the skirt of my dress in one hand, so I didn’t ruin it.
Still in our wedding clothes, we both needed to change into something more comfortable for our eleven-hour flight to Hawaii. The Gulfstream had a private master bedroom, so I imagined we’d make good use of it. Eleven hours was an awfully long stint to be up in the air, and we should fill our time effectively. Fill being the operative word.
“This is what I wanted to do,” he said as he swept me up into his arms. “Carry my bride over the threshold—in this case it’s the threshold of a jet plane, but it’ll work.”
“My husband is very strong to lug me around so effortlessly,” I said, looking up at him as he carried me onto the plane.
“My wife is a feather when it comes to me having to lug her around,” he quipped before planting a decadent kiss on my lips.
At the top of the stairs, we were greeted by the flight staff and the pilots who offered their congratulations on our marriage. Caleb didn’t set me down until we’d made our way to the back of the plane and into the master suite. He shut us inside and locked the door, a wicked smirk lighting up his handsome face as he worked.
“You’re not even breathing heavily after carrying me all that d
istance.”
He pushed up against me and stared down. “You’ll be witness to my heavy breathing in a bit, Mrs. Blackstone, but first we need to take care of a few things.”
“What sorts of things?” I asked innocently.
“Well, we need to choose a wedding photo to share with the world, for one thing,” he answered.
“Yes, that’s true.” I nodded.
“We should probably send a text to our close family and friends first, though. They’ll have their feelings hurt if they find out our news from the paparazzi before we can tell them.”
“You are so smart, Caleb. You have thought of everything.” I sat down on the bed and pulled him down to sit beside me. We scrolled through the many photos Nan had taken, until we decided on the one we wanted to share. Caleb sent it off to Victoria with instructions to forward it to the head of PR at Blackstone Global for release to the press with the simple message:
Caleb Blackstone and Brooke Casterley were married this evening in a private ceremony at Stone Church chapel on south Blackstone Island.
The picture was of us in the doorway of the church, the interior backlit with the candle glow, and the scattered rose petals clearly visible upon the floor. Caleb’s lips were pressed to the back of my hand as I smiled up at him with love.
To our close friends and family, we sent a different message:
We took the advice of a very wise man, and decided to hold on to our happiness, and each other, starting tonight. With much love, Caleb & Brooke Blackstone xoxo
