Riders on the Storm (Waiting for the Sun #2)

by Robin Hill

  “Darian?”

  I hear her voice, smell her honeysuckle scent, and tears I don’t bother fighting begin to fall.

  “Shh…I’m here.”

  Her arms and legs go around me, and I realize I’m sitting on the floor. My knees are pulled to my chest, my face buried between them.

  “I’m here and I’ve got you,” she says, rocking me gently. She rests her forehead against my spine and I feel her tears trickle down my back. “It’s okay.”

  I slowly lift my head and open my eyes. The box lies busted and empty in front of me, its memories strewn across every inch of carpet. I clench my fist, and with it, the envelope that’s still in my grasp. “Oh God,” I whisper on the back of a gasping breath. “Oh God, oh God…”

  “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  “It’s my fault,” I choke out. “She didn’t want to go, but I insisted. She said it wouldn’t kill Annie to wait one day, but I fucking insisted.”

  “No…God, Darian…” Her voice breaks on my name and her grip around me tightens.

  “I thought she was being ridiculous,” I say. “It was done. The plane was boarding. I hugged my little girl and shrugged my shoulders at Julia. Shrugged my fucking shoulders.” I flex my fingers and the envelope falls to the floor. “That was the last…that was…”

  “Darian…”

  “You told me once the island shouldn’t exist for me, yet neither should you. If I hadn’t forced them on that plane, you wouldn’t be here. And I want you here. I want—”

  I gasp for breath as the room fades in and out, the bright overhead light dimming in the corners of my vision.

  “Darian, listen,” she whispers in front of me. “You’re having a panic attack. Focus on my voice and try to breathe.”

  I inhale the sweet smell of honeysuckle and open my eyes to hers, pale blue and glistening.

  “All that matters is what you feel in here,” she says, holding her hand to my heart. “There’s no right or wrong. No winner or loser. Who you love doesn’t have to be a choice. It’s okay to love us both.”

  I close my eyes again, thank you trapped behind my teeth.

  “We’re going to stand now,” she says quietly. “On the count of three.”

  Seconds later, we’re up and moving from the confinement of the closet to the sanctuary of our bed. Lying on my side, facing her, I begin to relax. My heart continues to race but for an entirely different reason.

  This woman is my future.

  I hold my hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I ruined dinner.”

  She smiles. “We have our whole lives ahead of us. That’s a lot of dinners. I think we’ll be okay.”

  Our whole lives…

  My racing heart takes off at a gallop. I think we’ll be okay too.

  Hello, I Love You

  Darian: Lunch Monday?

  Drew: In the mood to get your ass kicked at some racquetball?

  Darian: Funny, but no. Actual lunch.

  Drew: Same bat time, same bat place?

  Darian: See you then.

  Frankie

  “Marry me.”

  I yank the single earbud from my ear and whip my head around. “What?”

  “You heard me,” Darian says, slipping a hand in his pocket as he leans in the doorway of the closet. “Marry me.”

  Dropping the photos I just sorted, I stand up and dust myself off as my gaze runs the length of him. His hair is damp from a shower. He’s freshly shaven and dressed in jeans and a Queen T-shirt. His stance is casual, his smile effortless, and he’s watching me as if waiting for me to say sure, breakfast sounds great.

  “Marry you…”

  He comes closer, carefully stepping over the piles of pictures and letters that are stacked around me—his pictures and letters. “And before you start drilling me with questions, no, I’m not crazy, and yes, I’ve thought this through.”

  “You’ve thought this through…”

  Jesus, Frankie, you sound like a fucking parrot.

  I glance at the half-filled box lying on the floor between us. Darian gently nudges it to the side with his foot and then goes down on one knee in the empty space. My heart stutters, and when his hand emerges from his pocket holding a ring, it stops altogether.

  Yes, he’s thought this through.

  “It was my mother’s,” he says, taking my hand and placing it in my palm.

  I try to speak, but my voice is a broken whisper followed by silence as I stare down at the ring. It’s gold with an oval filigree face about the size of a stretched-out penny and houses at least a dozen diamonds of various weights. I’ve never seen anything like it. My watery gaze flicks to his.

  “I searched every estate jeweler in Miami and scoured the internet, but nothing felt right. Then this,” he says, “kind of fell in my lap.” A muscle tics in his jaw and he swallows. “I thought she had it with her…on the plane.”

  “She didn’t…”

  “No.” He smiles. “Gloria had it, and…her timing—when she returned it to me—it’s like she knew.” He takes it from me and slides it on my finger.

  “The second I saw it,” he says, “I knew too. This is the one…I mean, if you like it. If you don’t—”

  “I love it.”

  “Does it fit okay? I used one of your other rings as a—wait…you love it?”

  I nod.

  “Does that mean…”

  Tears clog my throat and I nod a second time.

  “I was so worried. I hoped…but then last night…” His warm olive eyes search mine. “I panicked, like you said. But that’s all it was.”

  “I know,” I whisper, kneeling across from him.

  “I get that it’s soon, but hell, you coming here was soon, and look at us. We’re happy—you’re happy, right? I know I still have work to do, and I’m going to do it. I’ll do whatever it takes.” His gaze sweeps over the piles I’ve made on the carpet. “Thank you for doing this.”

  Cupping his smooth jaw in my hand, I guide his eyes back to mine.

  He blinks them closed. “I just proposed to you in my closet.”

  “You did,” I say, fighting a grin.

  “And you said yes…well, you nodded. I’m taking it as a yes.”

  I pull him close and kiss him, the veins in his neck pulsing against my fingers. “Yes.”

  “I love you so fucking much.”

  “I love you too.”

  “Francesca Fox,” Darian says, propped up on his forearm with a pillow tucked beneath him. “Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  My face breaks into a grin. “It does.” But I knew it had a nice ring to it when I doodled it all over The Mendón’s hotel stationery months ago. “It sounds like a stage name for a pop star. Or maybe a news reporter.”

  Darian holds his hand in front of him like a microphone. “Coming to you live from downtown Miami…”

  I laugh. “It’s nice to know I have options in case my business tanks.”

  “Your party boxes are doing well,” he says, slowly dragging his fingers through my hair.

  “Sales tend to pick up closer to summer. Means I have more time to lie around with you.”

  “Not a bad way to spend the morning.”

  “The morning?” I scoff. “A couple of takeout menus and we’re set for the weekend.”

  “Maaaybe not the whole weekend…” He smiles nervously. “I sort of invited Evelyn to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Evelyn?” I sit up against the headboard with the sheet pulled to my collarbone. “When did you speak to her?”

  “Yesterday. And this morning, after…” He sits up beside me. “We’ve been…talking. We have lunch sometimes.”

  I stare down at my lap with my lips pressed together. His admission hits me in a way that’s unfamiliar. It feels like a balloon deflating in my chest.

  He places his hand on my thigh.
“Are you upset?”

  Yes! But it seems absurd to be upset that he’s reconnecting with his mother-in-law, so I shake my head. “No, but…I guess I don’t understand why you’d keep it from me. We just talked about this, Darian. We agreed to stop hiding things from each other.”

  Hypocrite much? When are you going to tell him your secret? The one that involves him and his daughter?

  “I wasn’t hiding it.” He sighs. “I wanted to see if I could repair the damage I’d done first, but you’re right. I should’ve told you.”

  “And?”

  “And things are good.” A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Evelyn’s excited to meet you.”

  “She is?”

  “Is that weird?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I guess it doesn’t have to be.” My lips twist. “Tomorrow, huh?”

  “I can reschedule,” he says quickly. “If it’s too soon…”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m excited to meet her too.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “I’ll run to the store in a bit. What does she like?”

  “Tequila,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “But don’t worry; I’ve got this.” His fingers thread through mine. “And I’ll go soon so you can call Jane—assuming you want to call Jane.”

  I shudder at the thought. That’ll be a fun conversation.

  “Yes, definitely. I should call her.”

  I talked to Jane last night during my Darian’s missing panic attack and again this morning before he woke up. I told her how manic he was when he got home and that he broke down in the closet. I also said he seemed fine before bed but that I was worried.

  Worried.

  Not the thing you want to tell your best friend about your fiancé…right before you tell her he’s your fiancé.

  When Darian leaves for the store, I sit at my desk in my new office and stare at my phone for at least ten minutes before powering it on to call Jane.

  After the third ring, I begin to think I’ve dodged a temporary bullet, but then she answers.

  “Hold on a sec; I’ve got my hands full,” she says, slightly winded. I hear a door slam, followed by a loud thud. “Okay. Sorry about that. How is he?”

  “He’s good. Great, actually. He’s at the store right now stocking up for tomorrow night. Evelyn’s coming to dinner. I’m finally going to meet her.” I realize I’m babbling, but I can’t seem to stop. “He says she likes tequila. Isn’t that peculiar?”

  Peculiar?

  “Evelyn’s coming? Wow. That’s…wow.”

  “I know, right?” I sit back in my chair and stare out the french doors at the palms swaying in the backyard. “He asked me to marry him.”

  Jane gasps. “He what?”

  “And I said yes.”

  “You what? Oh my God, Frankie! He proposed? And you accepted? What the fuck!”

  My face heats. “I love him, Jane. You know this.”

  “Yeah, I do. But marry him? Jesus, Frankie!”

  “You’re the one who was all ‘take a risk, Frankie; he’s worth it, Frankie.’”

  “Yeah, to shack up with! To live a little with! Do you hear yourself right now? Marry him? After he just freaked out over his dead wife?” Jane huffs. “I’m sorry. I know that was harsh, but, Frankie, please…”

  “I’m happy, Jane, and unlike when I moved here, I have zero doubts. This is happening. Please get on board with me. I want to celebrate with my best friend.”

  I push out of my chair and walk the length of the bookcase-lined wall—twice—before Jane’s hyperbolic sigh cuts through the silence.

  “Tell me about the ring,” she says with mild enthusiasm. “He did give you one, right?”

  “Of course he did. He’s been planning this.” Maybe not the closet part, but I decide not to mention that. “It was his mother’s. It’s been sized and everything.”

  I stare down at the ring on my finger, describing it in full detail to Jane before snapping a picture of it and sending it to her.

  “Wow…it’s beautiful.” Her voice breaks and she clears her throat. “You’re really doing this.”

  “I’m really doing this.”

  “Okay,” she says softly, resignedly. “I know how you are. Once you make a decision about something, that’s it. But, Frankie, this is your life. You’re allowed to change your mind.”

  “I get it,” I whisper.

  “You know I have to ask…” she says as if warning me her next question won’t be pleasant. I grip the edge of my desk to brace myself. “Are you ever going to tell Darian about your connection to the crash? About your nightmares? I mean, he’s going to be your husband. Don’t you think he should know?”

  Ugh.

  The guilt that gnawed at me earlier makes a comeback. “I don’t know.” My pulse dances beneath my skin just thinking about it. “It feels weird. Like I’m trying to make something that has nothing to do with me about me. It’s in the past.”

  “Frankie, it isn’t. Your last nightmare wasn’t that long ago. I understand why you’re uncomfortable telling him, but you’re making it sound like it was nothing—and it wasn’t nothing. I was there, Frankie. I remember. You lost so much sleep you made yourself sick. You missed school. Your grades dropped. Your doctor made the connection between your mother and—”

  “Jane, Darian’s home,” I say, pushing the lie through the thickness in my throat. “I have to go.”

  “Tell him, Frankie.”

  I stop pacing long enough to glance at the clock for the seventeenth time in as many minutes. Then I check my phone. “She’s late. Maybe she hit traffic or something.”

  “On a Sunday night? Doubtful.” Darian looks at his watch and frowns. “She still has fifteen minutes.”

  A fog of Mediterranean spices infuses the kitchen making my anxious stomach rumble. I pull out a barstool and take a seat at the island. A heavy sigh gusts out of me as I prop my elbows on the granite and rest my chin on my folded hands. “I feel like I should be doing something. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

  Darian turns from the stove with a spoon full of orange-colored rice perched between his fingers. “Here, try this,” he says, handing it across the island to me.

  Garlic and cumin explode on my tongue and my head tips back. “Arroz…”

  “Arroz con pollo,” he says, smiling. “Gotta roll your r’s.” He takes the spoon from me and drops it in the sink. “Evelyn’s going to love you.”

  “I wish I weren’t so nervous.” Hopping off the barstool, I catch my reflection in the patio doors and study my lavender sundress, smoothing my hand over its nonexistent wrinkles. “Maybe I should change into jeans. I feel stupid wearing a sundress at night.”

  It isn’t even warm out.

  “You look beautiful,” Darian says, coming up behind me. He takes my left hand and smooths his thumb over the surface of my ring. “As long as you’re wearing this, I don’t care what else you have on.” He spins me around to face him, pulling me into the hard expanse of his chest. His free hand snakes around my waist, and suddenly we’re swaying in the kitchen, dancing to the low hum of Snow Patrol drifting in from the family room. “But changing again isn’t going to help, is it?”

  “Probably not.” Considering this is outfit number three…

  “I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.” He gives me a playful wink. “I bought Patrón.”

  The doorbell rings and my body tenses. “And where would that be exactly?”

  Darian laughs. “I’ll get it as soon as I get the door.”

  He disappears down the hall, and I busy myself looking for glasses until Evelyn’s boisterous voice reaches me from the foyer.

  “Well, it’s wonderful, dear,” I hear her say. “I’m so proud of you.”

  I close the cabinet and turn toward the door, working my hands over a new set of imaginary wrinkles on my dress. Evelyn comes around the corner and I straighten, squaring my shoulders.
“Hello,” I offer timidly.

  Her answering smile engulfs her small, heart-shaped face. “Hello.”

  She’s petite in stature with a dainty nose and narrow lips. Her silver hair, pushed back by a pair of turquoise frames, swings an inch below her jaw in a bob. And her eyes…

  “Evelyn March,” Darian says, “I’d love for you to meet my beautiful fiancée, Francesca Valentine.”

  They’re Anabel’s eyes. The same eyes that used to haunt my dreams.

  “Frankie, please.” I step forward, extending my right hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Ms. March.”

  Spotting my ring, she grabs my left hand instead. With a practiced tap, her glasses slide down her nose and she leans in to inspect. “Oh my,” she says, staring for long seconds before lifting her head. “I think it suits you. And please, call me Evelyn. Miss March is a Playmate, dear.” She pulls me into a clumsy hug, then holds me at arm’s length as her gaze rakes over me. “Aren’t you a doll?”

  A warm blush follows the path of her eyes and settles in my cheeks.

  Darian skirts around us carrying a small potted plant—a shrub with tiny yellow trumpet flowers—and sets it on the island. I immediately recognize the scent.

  “Darian told me how much you both like honeysuckle,” she says, returning her glasses to the top of her head. “This is a little something for the house, but I have plenty more where that came from. Your fiancé wants to line the fence with it.”

  “I love it,” I say, my gaze flickering between them. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  “Don’t thank me.” Darian squeezes Evelyn’s shoulder as he passes behind her. “This is all her doing. I only happened to mention it.”

  “It’s nice having someone to spoil again,” she says, her gaze following Darian to the stove. “And speaking of spoiling, is that Gloria’s arroz con pollo I’m smelling?” His grin confirms her suspicion and she nods. “I’d love to see her sometime.”

  “I’m sure she’d like that too,” Darian says as he retrieves the tequila from the freezer and sets it on the island. “Francesca, will you do the honors while I get a fire going in the courtyard?” He points to the cabinet I was searching in before. “Glasses are up there.”