The Littlest Marine & The Oldest Living Married Virgin

by Maureen Child

  Then his mouth covered her, and all of her thoughts dissolved into a hazy mist of delicious sensations.

  At 10:00 p.m. the night before the wedding, Elizabeth sat at her kitchen table, listening to her mother and Terry as she decorated the cake.

  “I just don’t understand why the bachelor party has to be held the night before the wedding.”

  “Tradition,” Sally Stone told her younger daughter for the third time.

  Terry stuck her index finger into the small, stainless steel bowl containing lilac-tinted frosting and winced when Elizabeth smacked her hand.

  “Hey, I just wanted a taste.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, filled the pastry bag with the lilac confection and prepared to create rosettes. “Taste it tomorrow.”

  “Your sister’s right,” Sally said.

  “Naturally.” Terry gave her mother a sly grin. “Lizzie was always your favorite.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  “Let’s not start that again,” their mom said and stood up. “Anyone like a cup of tea before I send Terry to bed to get some sleep?”

  The woman in question frowned. “The men are out drinking beer, and I get hot tea and an early bedtime?”

  “I think we can do better than that,” Elizabeth told her sister. She nodded toward the slate blue side-by-side refrigerator in the corner. “There’s wine in the fridge.”

  Terry smiled and jumped to her feet. “How about it, Mom? Feel like giving me a grand send-off?”

  The older woman looked at first one daughter, then the other. Eyes twinkling, she said, “Sure. We’ll have a toast. But then, the bride goes to bed. I don’t want my beautiful daughter posing for her wedding pictures with bags under her eyes.”

  “Okay, okay,” Terry agreed, and reached into the refrigerator. She grabbed a bottle of white Zinfandel, set it on the table and crossed the wide, well-appointed kitchen. “Glasses in the same place?”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth kept her eyes on her job. She still had two layers to pipe rosettes on, before she could add the final flourishes to what she hoped would be a masterpiece. Naturally the job would go a lot faster if she was working as she preferred to work. Alone, with Beethoven on the CD player. But with her parents spending the weekend at her condo and Terry opting to join them for one last night of family togetherness, that wasn’t an option.

  “Okay, Lizzie,” Terry said as she filled the third glass, “take a break. That’s an order.”

  “Hey, if you don’t want a cake at the wedding,” she teased, “just say so. It’s all right with me.”

  “One minute, master chef. One minute to give your baby sister a toast.”

  Elizabeth sighed, set the pastry bag down onto the table and picked up her glass. Standing, she looked at the other women, each in turn. Terry looked wonderful, eager and happy. Their mother was still beautiful, even though there was more gray in her hair than blond these days. Those blue eyes of hers shone with pride, and Elizabeth was suddenly struck with an almost overpowering surge of love for the family she had sometimes taken for granted.

  In the next instant the three of them lifted their Waterford crystal glasses and brought them together, less than an inch apart.

  “Here’s to—” Terry hesitated, then grinned “—Mike getting to the church on time.”

  “He’ll be there,” Elizabeth told her. “Harding will watch out for him.”

  Sally Stone shot a long, thoughtful look at her older daughter before saying, “Don’t worry, Terry. Your father promised me that your groom would be at the church on time and clearheaded.” Tapping her glass to the other two, she said, “Here’s to my baby. May she always be as happy as she is tonight.”

  “Hear, hear,” Elizabeth echoed.

  “I will be,” Terry whispered.

  “Now go to bed,” Sally said after a sip of wine.

  “Mother,” Terry answered with a laugh. “Ten is a little early, don’t you think?”

  In response, Sally took her daughter’s glass and set it on the table. “I’ve seen the way you and Mike look at each other,” she said with a knowing smile. “No doubt you’ll be up all night tomorrow night. Wouldn’t you like to be well rested and um…energetic?”

  “Mother!” Terry laughed outright.

  “What?” Sally looked at each of them. “We’re all grown-ups, aren’t we?”

  “Apparently,” Elizabeth said ruefully. It was the first time their mother had ever talked about sex and one of her girls in the same sentence.

  Terry hugged her mother tightly, gave her a resounding kiss on the forehead, then said, “You’re absolutely right, Mom. I’m going to bed.” She walked to the doorway, then stopped and turned around. “’Night, Lizzie,” she said. “And thanks for everything.”

  Elizabeth took another sip of wine, letting the chilled, fruity drink slide down her throat slowly before answering. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Terry nodded brightly and disappeared down the hallway. They heard her run up the stairs and the soft echo of a door closing.

  Taking her seat beside Elizabeth again, Sally turned her wineglass between her hands. “Is everything all right, dear?”

  She glanced at her mother. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “No reason,” Sally said with a shrug. “It was good of you to offer to make Terry’s cake.”

  Elizabeth smiled to herself and moved on to the next frosted layer. “I couldn’t very well let her order some ordinary-looking, dry-tasting cake from a bakery, could I?”

  “No, I suppose you couldn’t have.”

  Shooting a sidelong glance at her mother, Elizabeth wondered what the woman was working up to. Her mom had never had trouble saying what was on her mind.

  “I do wonder, dear,” Sally said softly.

  “About what?”

  “Well, how you feel about your younger sister getting married before you.”

  “Mom,” Elizabeth paused in her decorating, smoothing the pastry bag and forcing the frosting down closer to the tip. “You can’t be serious.”

  Sally kept her gaze fixed on the wineglass between her palms. “It might bother some women, you know. Make them feel like…old maids.”

  Elizabeth laughed, ignoring the tiny stab of pain deep inside her. “Come on, Mom. These are the 1990s not the 1890s.”

  “I know that, but still, some women might have tender feelings about such a thing.”

  “Some women maybe. Not me.”

  “I hope not.”

  Elizabeth laid the pastry bag down and reached over to cover her mother’s hand with one of hers. “Remember me, Mom? I’m the daughter who didn’t want to get married?”

  “People change.”

  “Not always.”

  “I’m not blind, Lizzie,” her mother said softly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at Harding Casey.”

  Uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, Elizabeth picked up the pastry bag and went to work. It gave her a good excuse to keep from looking into her mother’s eyes. Eyes that had always been able to tell truth from lies.

  “Your father and I like him very much.”

  “Of course Dad likes him. Harding’s a career Marine. What’s not to like?”

  “It’s not just that,” Sally said quickly, “though for your father, I admit it is a positive sign. But I think Harding is a nice man. He’s polite, charming, witty and looks at you as though you’re one of those desserts you’re so famous for.”

  Heat stained her cheeks. She felt the color race up her neck, blossoming on her face like wild roses. Dipping her head closer to her work, she said, “Don’t look for things that aren’t there, Mom.”

  “I don’t think I am,” Sally answered quietly. Reaching for her daughter, she tipped Elizabeth’s chin up with her fingertips until their gazes met and locked. “And at the same time, sweetie, don’t you try to hide from something that might be the g
ift of a lifetime.”

  Tears suddenly blinded her. She didn’t know whether it was her mother’s gentle touch or her soft voice or the fact that those same words had been whispering around inside her own head for days. But whatever the reason, she blinked them back stubbornly.

  “Harding and I are…friends.” Somehow she just couldn’t call him her lover to her mother’s face. Thirty-two or not, some things one just didn’t say to one’s mom.

  “Friends,” Sally echoed sadly. “Is that all you want from him?”

  “That’s all there is,” she said firmly.

  “Lizzie honey, the sparks that fly when you two are near each other are bright enough to light up a city.” She smiled tenderly. “Friends don’t usually have that effect on each other.”

  “We’re very close friends.”

  “Ahh…” Sally nodded, patted Elizabeth’s cheek, then let her hand fall away. “I thought as much. It’s in your eyes, honey, how much you care for him.”

  “Mom…”

  “Does he feel the same? Yes,” she answered herself in the next breath. “Of course he does. Even your dad noticed.”

  “Don’t make this into something it isn’t, Mom,” Elizabeth warned her. “In three weeks Harding’s being deployed to Okinawa for six months, and that will be that.”

  “Will it?” Sally mumbled. “I wonder.”

  Nine

  The groomsmen, all Marines, were wearing their dress blues uniforms. Only the groom himself wore a tuxedo, and Harding was the only person who seemed to notice Mike looking at the uniforms surrounding him just a bit wistfully.

  But once he had gotten a look at his bride, that expression in his eyes faded to be replaced by a joy that was so strong, Harding had had to look away from it. It was either that, or be eaten by jealousy for his best friend’s good fortune.

  All through the short ceremony, Harding’s gaze had continually shifted to Elizabeth standing just opposite him at the small altar. Beautiful in a silvery, lilac-colored, off-the-shoulder dress, all he could think was that it should have been the two of them standing in front of the preacher. It should have been them repeating those ancient words about love and loyalty and commitment.

  He would never have believed it of himself. But the truth was hard to ignore—especially while staring into Elizabeth’s eyes.

  Lifting his bottle of beer to his lips, Harding looked around the reception hall, trying to find her without seeming obvious. He took a long drink as he casually noted the other Marines in the room, each of them surrounded by a cluster of women. Smiling to himself, he remembered plenty of times when he, too, had used the effect of dress blues on civilians to his best advantage.

  Odd that only a week after meeting one particular woman he had no interest in any other. Odd, or fate? he wondered. Was it really fate taking a hand in things? Had he and Elizabeth been brought together by some karmic force?

  He whistled low and soft, looked at his beer bottle suspiciously, then set it down on the table beside him. Apparently two beers was enough to kick his imagination into high gear.

  Fate?

  Karma?

  No, what had happened between them was simple science. Chemistry.

  Across the wide, crowded hall from him, he finally caught a glimpse of the woman who had turned his brain into slush.

  Busying herself around the cake table, she was making last-minute adjustments to the most-gorgeous-looking cake he had ever seen. Five layers, divided by white plastic columns, the wedding dessert had been lovingly decorated with lilac frosting flowers, silver stars and studded with real, live roses. Sterling silver rosebuds, fully bloomed lavender roses and white baby’s breath, each blossom tucked into a tiny plastic bud vase then attached to the cake. Tendrils of ribbons streamed from the icing and lay in curled abandon at the base of the cake.

  Elizabeth really was the Princess of Party Cooking.

  Everyone who had seen the cake had paused to admire it. He had listened to their praise for the chef and taken great pride in every word.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” a voice from nearby asked him.

  Startled out of his thoughts, Harding half turned to meet the steady gaze of Elizabeth’s father. Marine Captain Harry Stone, retired, still looked as if he was ready to report to the parade ground.

  At six foot one, Captain Stone stood tall and straight. A receding hairline, more gray than dark brown, and fine lines around his eyes and mouth were the only marks of age on the man.

  Instinctively Harding straightened almost to attention. “Yes, sir,” he said. “She is.”

  The captain’s gaze shifted to his daughter, unaware of their regard. “You know, Lizzie always was the more hardheaded of my daughters. The one most like me, I guess.”

  “Sir?” Was he supposed to agree? Wouldn’t that be insulting the man? Although he had to admit, Elizabeth was definitely a strong woman. One who knew her own mind and wasn’t afraid to voice her opinion. It was one of the things he liked best about her.

  “She’s not fond of change, you know,” her father was saying. “Never has been. Guess that’s why she didn’t like being raised in the Corps. Hated the moving. The deploying.”

  Harding nodded and wished for another beer. “My ex-wife felt the same way. Military marriages aren’t the easiest thing in the world to maintain.”

  Captain Stone chuckled, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d hear a career Devil Dog complain about hard work.”

  Harding shot him a look. Hard work was a part of his life. He had never backed away from a challenge.

  “Ease up, Sergeant Major,” Elizabeth’s father said softly, to avoid being overheard by the wandering guests. “I’m not trying to insult you—”

  Harding nodded.

  “I’m only trying to point out to you that the seemingly impossible is, most often, something we’re afraid to try. Once tried, impossible becomes possible.”

  “Not always, Captain,” Harding muttered, remembering the sense of failure he had experienced when his ex-wife left him, decrying the hard life of being married to the Corps.

  “Call me Harry,” the older man offered. “And no, Sergeant Major. There are no guarantees. But I can tell you from experience that a good marriage is a blessing.” Unconsciously his gaze drifted from his daughter to his wife, chatting and laughing with several other women. His eyes softened, and his features gentled. “The right woman is more than a wife. She’s a partner. A friend.”

  Harding shifted uncomfortably. What was this all about? Was the man actually trying to bring Elizabeth and him together? Hell, as her father, the captain should know better than anyone that his daughter was dead set against any kind of relationship with a career soldier.

  Running one finger around the inside collar of his tunic, Harding had to wonder what this man would say if he knew that Elizabeth and he were lovers. Would he still be getting this speech about honor and commitment? Or would the captain be holding a noose?

  Feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the conversation, Harding blurted, “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I believe I’ll go find your younger daughter and give her my condolences on marrying Mike.”

  The older man smiled. “Certainly, Marine. Go ahead.”

  Harding escaped immediately, blending into the crowd, losing himself amidst the mingle of voices, the snatches of laughter.

  He didn’t see the thoughtful expression on Captain Stone’s face. Nor did he witness the meaningful glance the captain sent his smiling wife.

  There was nothing left to do.

  Elizabeth had managed to keep herself busy from the end of the ceremony until now. But she had worked herself out of a job. The buffet-style meal was being catered by a company entirely capable of managing their own help, and her masterpiece of a wedding cake was set up, awaiting its moment.

  Clutching a glass of champagne, she wandered aimlessly at the edges of the crowd, smiling to friends and nodding pleasantly to strangers. Always, though, she kept one eye out for Harding.r />
  Standing across the altar from him during the wedding, she had hardly heard the words of the ceremony. Instead, she had indulged silly daydreams—visions of Harding and her standing before a minister. Harding and her holding hands, exchanging rings and promises. Harding and her kissing before a gathering of friends and families, then listening to the applause erupt from the pews.

  Silly, she told herself, and took another sip of champagne. No, more than silly. Ludicrous. She didn’t even want to be married. Let alone to a Marine.

  “Oh, Lizzie!”

  She turned around in time to see her younger sister sweep down on her, veil flying, eyes sparkling. Terry enveloped her in a hug, then pulled back and grinned happily.

  “Isn’t this fabulous?”

  “Yeah,” Elizabeth said, unable to keep from returning Terry’s smile. “It’s wonderful.”

  “I actually cried at my own wedding,” Terry said with a half laugh. “But it was so beautiful, I just couldn’t help it.”

  “You’re beautiful, kiddo.”

  She glanced down at her full-skirted, ivory lace wedding dress and nodded before looking back up at her sister. “You know, I think I am, today.” She reached for one of Elizabeth’s hands and gave it a squeeze. “The cake turned out so gorgeous. Thank you, Lizzie.”

  “You’re welcome.” Winking, she added, “And it tastes even better than it looks.”

  “Naturally,” Terry huffed with pride.

  Linking her arm through her sister’s, Terry started walking slowly. “Doesn’t Harding look handsome in his uniform?”

  Elizabeth narrowed her gaze and looked at her sister suspiciously. Her mother had already pointed out how well Harding filled out a set of dress blues. As if she hadn’t noticed without any help from her family.

  Deliberately she shrugged. “I never said he wasn’t handsome.”

  Terry’s lips twitched. “Has he told you how he got his nickname? Hard Case?”

  Intrigued, Elizabeth said, “No.” Of course, the only time she had actually asked for the information, he had been otherwise occupied. A ribbon of heat swirled through her body as she recalled exactly what he had been doing at the time.