“You have our blessing,” he said. “Of course you have our blessing! You’ve been so good to our Donna, too. You two are going to be wonderfully happy together.”
He drew all of us into a great big hug, and, at once, everything was all right—better than all right. It was perfect.
DONNA
This couldn’t be happening. I kept closing my eyes, expecting it all to disappear. The gathering crowd outside, the friends and family coming here to celebrate me. Us. Carter Ray and me. The ranch was all decked out like the sketch Carter and I had made: the white roses covering the wooden furniture, the black-clothed tables, the cherry wood arch, everything covered in ribbons of blue.
“Donna, if you keep staring outside instead of getting ready, you’re going to miss your own wedding,” Helen admonished gently.
I turned to her with a smile, throwing myself onto her in a hug.
“Whoa, what’s this about?” Helen said, although there was a note of happiness in her voice.
“For everything. For helping me with the wedding. For being my friend during these whirlwind past eight months.”
And they had been a whirlwind. Once the press had gotten a hold of the story that a penniless civilian—the same civilian who was responsible for RayGen’s complete policy overhaul the past few months—was engaged to Carter Ray, I’d barely been able to step into Denver without being besieged by paparazzi.
Helen had been the one who had convinced me to keep living my life, to keep shopping, going to movies, and just being a regular girl in her 20s, despite the overwhelming attention.
“It’s nothing,” Helen said. “I’m just glad you were so easygoing about Kyle and me, especially when I’d been trying to force you two together.”
I squeezed her hand.
“Of course I’m happy for you guys. It made sense in a weird little way—you trying to deny your feelings by trying to match us up.”
Scrunching her face into a pleased expression of discomfort, Helen thrust my dress at me.
“Great. Enough bonding, though. Time for the dress!”
I let her help me into it. Then, walking to the full-length, gold-framed mirror, I surveyed myself one last time. The dress couldn’t have been more fitting. The sweeping chiffon neckline and lace inserts were perfect for today’s sunshine, even for how I was feeling: light, excited, free.
Helen placing the crown of flowers on my head was the final touch.
“It’s go time, Donna,” she whispered, and I nodded.
“Okay. You go out. I’ll be there in a sec.”
She left, and I peered out the window one more time at the guests. They were all sitting down on the lawn of my family’s ranch, waiting for me.
This was it.
I walked out as the band began to play. First were Helen and Kyle walking down the aisle. Then it was Paul, Carter’s brother, wearing a hilarious light blue suit. On his arm, in an equally incongruous baby blue dress, was his date. Then, it was time for my dad to walk me down the aisle. He walked me to my husband-to-be, my Carter, who looked as dapper and irresistible as ever in his black tuxedo.
As the minister got the ceremony underway, Carter was so transfixed by the sight of me that he took a second to answer each time. When it came time to say his vows, he took a moment to remember himself. Then, clasping both my hands, stepping so close to me so that our whole bodies were pressing together, he spoke.
“Donna, I can’t say that I ever expected this, ever even believed enough in the world to hope for this. To hope for a woman who understands me, challenges me, completes me. And not in a way that I’m less when you’re gone, but in the way that I’m more when you’re around. Donna, you make everything better. That day you added color to my charcoal drawing—that’s when I really saw it, saw just what you mean to me. You are a bettering of everything that I am, the color to my shade. You came to me when I’d forgotten what life was all about, when my mind was imprisoned by figures and bottom lines. I viewed people as a means to an end. I had forgotten the humanness of things, the joy of laughter and fun and being silly, the true vibrancy of life. So, what I want to say to you, Donna, is thank you. Thank you with all my heart. You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been in my life, and I know that as long as you’re here, I’ll be happy until the day I die.”
I stared into the face of this handsome man, dumbstruck as my entire speech fell away from me. Then, suddenly, I realized it. I didn’t need a speech, because the words were lodged in my heart.
“Carter, I don’t think you realize that you have had an equally profound effect on my life. That, when I met you, I was lost. Never had I felt anything this strong; I was starting to think something was wrong with me. And then I met you—you and your drive-me-crazy self. I still wake up smiling at my incredible luck at having met you. You’re adventurous, funny, sexy, and, most of all, Carter, you are an incredibly good, caring man. Every day you do a thousand little things for me, so many that I even miss some, only realizing them hours later—like how you always pick up those little packets of mustard I love at the grocery store, or how you had that sequin dress you bought me so many months ago fixed without my even asking. If this vow was at all what it should be, it would be me thanking you. So, thank you, Carter. Thank you with all that I am and all that I will grow to be with you. Thank you for every perfect day I have had with you and every perfect day that I will have with you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
Then, the minister said, “Carter, do you take Donna to be your wife?”
Carter, his face shining, his lips trembling, said, “I do.”
Now, the minister was smiling, too. Turning to me, he asked, “Donna, do you take Carter to be your husband?”
My “I do” was only a breathless murmur, but already the priest carried on to say, “Carter, you may now kiss the bride.”
Carter pressed his lips to mine. As our lips locked, people started cheering, but it was nothing compared to the singing of my heart, the melody surging through my veins. The joy. A crazy, out-of-this-world ecstasy was overtaking me.
We separated too soon, but now we were surrounded by the beaming faces of our friends and family, of Helen, Kyle, Paul, and my mom and dad. We were all hugging and holding each other, our happiness a common happiness, an outpouring of joy.
Dinner was more of the same: one laughing conversation punctuated by bites of steak and crispy salmon. Paul gave the toast: “To my brother, who’s now the man I always knew he was, and to the woman who made him that man.” The clinking of glasses was music to my ears, Carter’s “I love you” whispered in my ear even more so.
Before we knew it, it was it time for the cake, the five-layered Monet, Renoir, and Toulouse-Lautrec inspired masterpiece. Everyone ate too much, until we had no choice but to hit the dance floor.
As Carter and I whirled around, it occurred to me that the songs were all familiar; I had heard them all before, but where?
Carter, pressing me closer to him, confirmed this. “These were the songs playing when we drove to our different rendezvous spots, before I asked you to be my girlfriend by chaining myself to a tree.”
Chuckling, staring into his eyes—which I had realized a few months ago were actually a deep, rich brown—I suddenly wanted nothing more than to kiss him. So I did, pressing my lips to this man, this perfection, my husband.
And, since we were one now, he read my thoughts and whispered, “Your room?”
As we glided away, someone in the crowd called to me, “Donna, how do you feel now?”
“Perfect!” was all I yelled back as Carter led me inside. The real answer would have been too long. I felt, without a doubt, that today was the first day of the best part of my life.
The End
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Steal The CEO’s Daughter
Layla Valentine
It�
�s not over yet!
Last up is my super hot novel, Steal the CEO’s Daughter
I hope you enjoy!
Copyright 2017 by Layla Valentine
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author. All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
Ella
In my defense, I made a valiant attempt to join in with the festivities. As the heiress to EBgen Corp, it would only be suitable to mingle with my future employees. However, upon spotting my mother with a half-dozen shot glasses lined up in front of her, I made an executive decision; as pleasant as it might have been to break the news to her when she was three sheets to the wind, I knew I would only regret it later. She’d wake up the next day, mind wiped thanks to that heavenly elixir known as bourbon. Which, for me, meant I would have the most awkward conversation of my life not once, but twice.
Granted, I could have tried to just enjoy the party. Unfortunately, except for the crew themselves, every other person on board the cruise ship was one of my mother’s employees. As appealing as the thought of hitting the free bar was, I knew I wouldn’t much enjoy talking shop with a ship full of drunk businesspeople.
That was one of the most annoying things about being the poster child for EBgen; most of the employees were older men who had been working for my mother for decades. In spite of just turning twenty-four, they still viewed me as little more than a child. It wouldn’t do for Ella Beck to go on a drunken tirade saying things such as, “Yes, I’m very much allowed to drink, Bernard. This sort of thing is why your wife divorced you; you can’t keep your opinions to yourself.”
I could imagine the field day my mother would have with that one. In spite of naming her company after me, there was no question that she would side with her employees over her daughter—faster than you could say, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ella."
This was what left me darting away from the main bar on the upper deck, trying to dismiss the turmoil in my stomach as seasickness. I was a grown woman; it was humiliating to acknowledge how fearful I was of my mother’s disappointment.
It should have been an enjoyable cruise. Especially considering that once we hit port in Rio, my mother would be signing a contract so lucrative that everyone under her employment would see their salaries nearly double. It didn't mean very much to me, however. I didn’t have to work to get to the point I was; I was born to take over EBgen.
I’m pretty sure my mother had negotiated a contract with my father (or, by my mom’s assertion, sperm donor) to ensure that he wouldn’t put any ideas of freedom in my head. They had divorced when I was an infant, however, so I couldn’t pose such questions to the man himself. My mother liked to claim that he had been a deadbeat, but in Martha Beck’s eyes, having any dreams that went beyond your income confirmed you a deadbeat on the spot.
I loved my mother dearly, regardless of my bitterness. All the same, I could see why anyone would head for the hills after getting to know her winning business model. I had been fantasizing about my great escape for some years, and had even gone to one of the most prestigious liberal arts schools in the country in an attempt to assert some independence.
Unfortunately, growing up home-schooled with a parent who placed zero emphasis on the arts left me ill-prepared for such a big step. Cue me tucking tail and changing my major to an MBA. Not one of my proudest moments, but my mother had been thrilled.
In spite of my entire life seemingly leading up to the time that I would take over EBgen, I still carried hopes and dreams beyond that. I wanted nothing more than to travel the world, learn new languages, and immerse myself in the cultures beyond my own. The only trips I’d been on had been business-related, and while the destinations were grand, I hadn’t seen much besides the insides of offices and hotel conference centers.
This particular trip had only served to cement the idea that I was unsuited for this lifestyle. I couldn’t even feign interest in the stories my mother had heard around the office printer. Oh, yes, do fill me in on all the details of how Jerry had mixed up the cyan and magenta ink! I had begun to wonder if I was insane; if perhaps that was the sort of thing ordinary people found themselves entertained by? Was I defective in some way? Christ, there had to be more to life than break room gossip and stock market shifts.
God forbid I try to find a boyfriend with interests outside of the box deemed acceptable by my mom. Does he like stand-up comedy? “He must be a stoner, Ella, for the love of God.” Does he work in graphic design? “Oh, heavens, a starving artist. Enjoy living off of ramen noodles for the rest of your life.” It drove me crazy how quickly my mother dismissed my desires. For years, I had been convinced that she just wanted me to stay single and ‘ready to mingle,’ but then she had started trying to set me up with the stuffy sons of her employees.
It would have been fine if they had been handsome, or at least moderately attractive. However, they had all been prematurely balding, with interests including ‘fiscal responsibility.' I had the vaguest inkling of an idea that my mother only wanted me to birth another child to take my place after I kicked the bucket. Which, judging by the stress that went with this job, I could see myself doing by forty.
On numerous occasions throughout my life, I had tried to convince myself that my mother simply had my best interests at heart. As I grew older, however, it became apparent that the only thing she cared about was the life she had laid out for me. I would be wealthy, well-known across the country. Hell, I would likely be known worldwide if the expansion plan she was putting into action resulted in success. Of course, it would. Martha Beck didn’t know the meaning of failure.
The one lingering question was whether or not I would be happy. More specifically, did she even care about my happiness? Was I simply a vessel to perpetuate her success? Was she using the profits from EBgen to fund brain transplant surgery so she could swap our bodies when she became too old and frail?
Okay, I’ll admit that is a bit of a stretch. If you ask me, though, the entire situation was ridiculous. My life was founded in ridiculousness, at least if you accounted for the times my mother insisted I was as such. If you subtracted ridiculousness from the equation, my life’s foundation was much duller. At this point, I craved ridiculousness. I craved anything aside from the life that had my mother put into motion for me.
I was jolted from my thoughts as I nearly collided with someone coming the other way.
Oh, heavens.
He had to have been the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. His hair was dark and shaggy, his eyes the most piercing shade of blue. If I had ever doubted the existence of a higher power, he restored my faith upon seeing that he was shirtless, his well-formed abs exposed to the open air. My immediate thought was to ask, “Can I touch your muscles? Forgive me if that’s a ditzy thing to ask, but I’m a woman with needs!” Luckily, the idea registered in my mind as crazy before it reached my lips.
He seemed too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice me, unfortunately, sidestepping me at the last possible second and continuing in the direction he was going. I came to a stop, turning to watch as he walked away. If you’ve ever heard that phrase, ‘I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,’ rest assured that it appropriately suited my thoughts at that moment. He had the roundest, most toned butt I had ever seen on a man, and his tanned, muscular legs seemed to stretch on for days.
As he turned the corner and I could no longer watc
h the unfairly sexy motions of his body, I realized abruptly that I needed a drink. A gin and tonic sounded magnificent, but to indulge that desire, I would have to join the festivities I was trying so desperately to avoid.
Making another executive decision, I walked in the direction of the party. If I was lucky, maybe my mother wouldn’t get as drunk as I expected. It had always been a tossup, and I was forced to wonder how lucrative alcoholism could be for the company’s image. I would at the very least get to enjoy that gin and tonic to soothe the fire of desire that had been brewing in my gut since I’d seen that handsome crew member.
In another world, in another lifetime, I might have stopped him and asked for his name. In another world, I wasn’t Elizabeth Beck; I would be a sexy alien princess, at liberty to have her share of handsome men any day of the week.
‘An alien? Honey, have you been reading that strange erotic fiction again?’
Great. I was even beginning to hear my mother’s voice in my brain. Quite fortunately, however, I didn’t have to offer my brain-mother an explanation for my strange thoughts. I simply imagined a tiny version of her working in the wings of my mind. She seemed to be lingering towards the inexplicable anxiety button, which was so like her.
I knew it was just my imagination, of course. I wasn’t that crazy. At least, not yet. If it wasn't the stroke by forty, it would be a nervous breakdown that rendered me incapable of running a business empire.
It’s always good to have a fallback plan, after all.
I managed to smile to myself as I made my way back to the party. One of my mom’s employees, Jerry, reached out a hand to stop me as I approached the bar, and I forced a pleasant expression.
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