Love Everlasting

by Tracey Alvarez

  They didn’t talk about their future at all because she suspected the elephant in the middle of the room would sneer and spit her dreams out into her face.

  But that was neither here nor there nor anywhere, she told herself as she opened her eyes and practiced her everything’s cool face one more time. When you’d calculated your life by weeks and months while poison coursed through your veins trying to extend it, you learned to concentrate on the here and now.

  Don’t cry over the past, it’s gone. Don’t stress about the future, it hasn’t arrived. Live in the present and make it beautiful.

  She’d seen that quote stuck to the wall of the oncology ward and had never forgotten it. So she’d make something beautiful with Reid in the present.

  She opened the bathroom door and slipped into the workroom. Eighties rock music poured out of the sound system, and Reid turned to looked at her, brow wrinkled.

  “MacKenna,” he said simply. “I can change it if you like.”

  “Leave it,” she said. “Nothing wrong with a bit of nostalgia.”

  He crossed over to where she stood unsure of where to position herself, her arms wrapped around her waist to keep the dress from slipping off. The garment back would have corset-like lacing and the open seam gaped like a hospital gown. At least in this instance she had panties on—sexy ones, too.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Maybe he’d assumed Darby had been preening in front of the bathroom mirror instead of taking a mental trip down a mine-laden memory lane.

  Darby unhooked her arms and glanced down at the electric-blue silky fabric that skimmed over her breasts in a form-fitting halter neck. The skirt—which Reid had refused to let her sew because of the trickiness of the bias-cut fabric—flared over her hips, the handkerchief hem exposing the layered black tulle underskirt beneath. One of her upcoming jobs was to hand-sew tiny sequins on the underskirt which would catch the light as she moved.

  “I think this Ugly Stepsister may just upstage Cinderella at her ball.” She grinned up at him and he moved in closer, settling his big hands on her hips, drawing her in for another kiss.

  “Part of my devious plan all along.” His mouth lingered on hers and she sighed, slipping a hand around his neck and into the soft strands of his hair.

  He pulled back and her fingers slipped down to his shoulder. He lifted them and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. “Turn around so I can pin you in, then I have something for you.”

  “Is this like a close your eyes and hold out your hand prank? The one where I hear a fly being unzipped?” She shot him her sassiest pout, making him smile.

  “Damn, you know all my moves.” He reached for the pincushion on the cutting table. “Haven’t got as much game as I thought.”

  Darby huffed out a laugh and strolled over to the workroom’s full-length mirror.

  Reid worked quickly, all business now as he closed the back of the dress. He moved around her, muttering to himself, sliding in a few pins here and there, making minor adjustments until the garment fit like a second skin. His hands were steady and sure, his fingers impersonal as they skimmed down her ribs to pinch a slightly loose seam. But she shivered under his touch, and watching him work, she was once again struck by his likeness to an old-fashioned craftsman—maybe one who created beautiful furniture from planks of rough timber, or an architect who could envision a building encompassing both beauty and practicality. And if people were judgmental enough to dismiss him and his work as effeminate, screw them and their bigotry.

  “There.” He stepped away, eyeing her much the same way she imagined that same craftsman would examine a project completed to his satisfaction.

  Darby did an experimental twirl in front of the mirror and giggled at the way the skirt and underskirt swirled around her legs. Catching Reid’s admiring gaze in the mirror, she switched to a funky dance move, hoping to hear him laugh—because, wow, she loved the sound of his deep from-the-belly laughter. She was rewarded with it and goose bumps, of the pleasurable kind, pebbled down her bare arms.

  Still chuckling, he held up a finger. “Close your eyes, hold out your hand, and no peeking.”

  Hands on hips, she narrowed her eyes, pretending she really didn’t want to hear the hiss of his zipper. “If you put something thick, smooth, and hard in my hand, it’d better be a wine bottle.”

  “Trust me,” he said.

  Even though his smile said he was teasing, the softness in his gaze told her he was serious.

  “I do, Reid.” She obediently closed her eyes and stuck out a hand.

  Her ears strained to track where he went, but Bon Jovi masked whatever sound he made. She knew, though, when he was standing in front of her again because her body apparently had some sort of psychic connection to him. She shivered.

  “Ready?”

  “Uh-huh.” She curled her fingers toward her open palm. “Gimme.”

  He slipped his hand into hers. “Change of plans. Keep your eyes shut.”

  She heard the screech of rubber-capped legs on wood, then strong arms boosted her onto one of the workroom’s stools. She squeaked in alarm but kept her eyes scrunched shut.

  “I should get bonus points for this since I failed every trust exercise we did in high school gym class. Fall backward and let two pimply-faced boys catch me, I don’t think—” Warm hands skimmed down her right calf and cupped her heel. She clutched the stool edge, forgetting what she’d been about to say as something—a shoe, obviously—was slid onto her foot, her sole arching at an unfamiliar angle.

  “Wait.”

  Reid slipped a strap around her ankle and fastened it.

  “You can look now,” Reid said.

  Her eyes popped open. Reid kneeled at her feet, one big hand still supporting her extended calf. Her gaze dropped from his face to the black pump with a metal ice pick of a heel and an ankle strap featuring cute little metal spikes. She wriggled her toes inside the shoe. They were a perfect fit and they were absolutely, positively freaking gorgeous.

  She lifted her left foot and Reid obliged, sliding the second shoe on and fastening the ankle strap.

  “I know they’re a bit Goth, and that you don’t usually wear heels…” His hands slid in unison up her calves and under the layers of her dress, fingers tracing lazy circles on her inner thighs. “But I thought, as your personal stylist—not your Fairy Godmother—these were all you.”

  “Good call,” she gasped as his fingers met the lace of her extra-special panties.

  “Well, hell, Reid Hudson. You dirty dawg, you.”

  Darby’s gaze flicked up from Reid’s wandering hands, still buried under the folds of her skirt, to the cat who got the canary grin on Laura’s face where she stood by the steps leading upstairs. She’d been so wrapped up in Reid she hadn’t heard Laura come in over the music. One of Reid’s hands slid down to rest on Darby’s kneecap, and the other dropped away. He half spun on bended knee toward Laura.

  “You’re home early,” he said mildly.

  As if he were caught by his roommate and friend with his hands up a woman’s skirt every other day.

  “Like you’re aware of what time it is.” Her eyebrows arched over the top of her glasses. “Hi, Darby, by the way,” she added.

  Cheeks on fire, Darby gave a little wave and tried to dislodge her knee from Reid’s grasp—but he wasn’t letting go.

  “Hey, Laura.” And since it didn’t look like Reid was about to offer any kind of explanation, she added in a rush, “We were just fitting my Ugly Stepsister ball gown.”

  Laura snorted. “Oh, puh-lease. Like everyone in this building doesn’t know the two of you are making sweet, sweet love every night like bunnies on steroids.”

  “Sweet, sweet love, Laur?” Reid’s mouth curved into a sharp smile. “Never knew you were such a romantic.”

  Darby gave another experimental tug on her knee, planning to slither off the stool in a gooey hot puddle and slide under the cutting table. Reid’s fingers tightened just abov
e her knee, making her flinch with the ticklishness of his touch.

  “It’s a polite way of saying the two of you have been doing the nasty for the past week and these walls aren’t as soundproof as you think.”

  Reid gave her a side-eye. Wickedness, and if she wasn’t mistaken, affection, gleamed in his eyes. “Sorry, Darby’s a screamer. I could consider gagging her, I suppose.”

  Which made Darby consider using the spike of her heel to nail Reid’s testicles to the floor.

  Laura laughed, her gaze meeting Darby’s. “Oh man, is she gonna make you pay for that.” She cocked her head. “So, you two are…” There was a dump-truck load of speculation in her question as it trailed off.

  “Together,” Reid said firmly and without fanfare. “We’re together.”

  Laura smiled at them both, but this time it wasn’t a teasing smile but one of acceptance. “I’m glad. Now I’m going to vanish upstairs, put on my noise-canceling headphones, and binge-watch an entire season of Game of Thrones. ’Night.”

  She climbed the stairs out of sight, and Reid turned back to Darby, his hands already burrowing under her skirts again. She sucked in a breath as he found both lace and the evidence of how much she wanted him.

  “How much am I going to have to pay?” He dropped his head to press a kiss on her inner thigh.

  Together. We’re together.

  But for how long? And what would be the cost—to both of them?

  The future hasn’t arrived. Live in the present and make it beautiful.

  Darby stroked a hand over Reid’s head then fisted a handful of his hair, gently dragging his face up to meet her gaze.

  “Just start evening the score, honey. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Reid bent his head to oblige, and Darby didn’t tell him to stop for a long, long time.

  Darby had kept a low profile in the theater on rehearsal nights. Most of the practices she wasn’t even required to attend since the focus was on Hugh and Claudia’s main roles. For a woman her size, Darby did a pretty good impression of blending into the set backdrops now painted and on stage, especially when Hugh was around.

  He hadn’t spoken to her since the foot-stomping incident—not that she was complaining. And it probably wasn’t obvious to the rest of the cast that he directed the few lines they exchanged over the shoe-fitting scene toward her shoulder.

  She snuck a glance into the wings, pulse doing a side kick when she spotted Reid leaning against the wall, watching her, a small smile on his face. He’d been there since the start of rehearsal tonight, unpacking the costumes ready for the final cast fitting and then taking a spot in the audience for most of the evening. Her brief moment in the limelight was almost done, then she’d slip backstage to help Simone try on her gown.

  Tingles ran up and down her spine as if Reid’s gaze on her were hands sliding over her body in an intimate caress. Dammit—now she was thinking about last night’s died and gone to heaven back rub. Cheeks starting to burn, she lost track of Claudia rushing on stage to try on the glass slipper, and Darby’s shock-horror reaction to its fitting was a complete phone-in performance. Not that it mattered since everyone was watching Hugh feeling up Claudia’s right calf as if he were about to start humping it at any moment.

  Darby didn’t miss the look of triumph Hugh shot over Claudia’s shoulder, but it was all she could do not to roll her eyes heavenward as the scene ended and she and her fellow ugly stepsister ran wailing backstage.

  “Reid’s turned you into quite the wardrobe mistress,” Kaitlyn said sometime later as Darby and Reid worked on the hem of Cinderella’s ball dress. She folded her arms and lifted her chin in an examination of the frothy pink dress. “That dress is a masterpiece.”

  Reid met Darby’s gaze around layers of tulle and satin, his eyes crinkling. “You can’t have it, Kate. Darby’s got first dibs.”

  Darby looked up from her cross-legged position on the floor, pulling a pin out of her mouth so she could speak. “That’s right. I thought if we ever put on a production of Gone with the Wind, I could play Scarlett O’Hara.”

  Claudia laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel laugh. “You’d make a fantastic Scarlett.”

  “Please, babe,” Hugh’s nasal voice suddenly sliced through Claudia’s laughter. He’d sneaked up behind them, wearing the black pants of his costume, the only item Reid thought would need fitting. “Like Darcy could squeeze into your dress. It’d be like an Amazon trying to fit into a normal person’s clothes.”

  His lip curled as he continued to stare down his nose.

  Darby shrugged. “You’re probably right. Though Wonder Woman was an Amazon and she rocked whatever outfit she wore.”

  “Wonder Woman?” Hugh muttered. “You’re such a—”

  Even though Darby couldn’t see Reid behind the voluminous skirt, Hugh must’ve caught sight of something on his face, as he abruptly shut up.

  Reid unfolded himself from a crouch, stretching to his full height and towering over Hugh. His expression could have been mistaken for bored if you didn’t know him well. But Darby—and Kaitlyn, who shot a worried look at her—knew he was anything but bored.

  “Are you ready for your fitting?” Reid asked mildly.

  Hugh, who apparently wasn’t as stupid as he looked, took a step away from the bigger man’s reach. Or so he thought. Darby and Reid had taken Duke to Oreti Beach for a walk and Reid had been pretty darn quick on his feet playing with her little dog.

  “Darby can do it. The pants are only a little bit loose in the legs,” Hugh said, the I don’t want you anywhere near my junk implied in his rapid-fire words.

  “I don’t think so, Prince Charming.”

  Reid’s voice, full of I don’t want Darby anywhere near your junk either, had Darby scrambling to her feet.

  “It’s okay, Reid. I can do it.” She stood and grabbed Hugh’s arm. “You’d better stay here and check my section of the hem. I think it’s wonky.” She sent Reid a down boy glare and dragged Hugh farther backstage.

  Once he’d gotten the message to move his butt before Reid planted his size twelve shoe in it, Darby let go of Hugh’s arm. She resisted wiping her fingers down her jeans, not because of sweatily excited palms this time, but because the feel of his skin against her fingertips made her want to use a gallon of hand sanitizer.

  She directed him to stand behind the portable wardrobe rail with the rest of the costumes ready to go back to the workroom for completion. Kneeling at his feet, she quickly pinned up the unfinished hem of the pants. How had she never noticed what teeny-tiny feet he had?

  Well, you know what they say about the size of a man’s foot. Darby changed a snicker into a last-minute cough as she slid the first pin though the slightly baggy inner leg seam on Hugh’s right thigh.

  “What is that guy’s problem?” Hugh said, trying to crane around to see Reid from behind the wardrobe rail. “Bloody amateur theater critic.”

  Darby only just managed to avoid stabbing him in the femoral artery. She had an answer to Hugh’s question—that Reid wouldn’t stand by and let anyone, let alone a woman he was with, be bullied—but she honestly couldn’t be bothered explaining the concept to him. She slipped in two more pins on the right inseam and started on the other side.

  “He’s probably worried I’ll screw up fitting these pants,” she said.

  “He’s a tool.”

  “He can be.” She smiled to herself, remembering Reid stealing a piece of her toast this morning and licking a strip of the Vegemite spread off before offering it to her. She’d declined and laughed as he’d eaten all but a corner of it, dropping the last crust into Duke’s waiting mouth.

  Hugh shifted his weight from side to side, then tapped his—teeny-tiny—foot on the floor. “Can you hurry it along? Claude and I are heading to Saturn, then back to my place for a little more privacy—if you know what I mean.”

  Ugh. Darby kept her gaze narrowed on Hugh’s inseam area, which was only mildly less nausea inducing than the leer bound
to be on his face. After a beat of sympathy for Claudia, Darby slid the final pin into the seam—the one closest to Hugh’s precious family jewels. The idiot picked that moment to lean forward, possibly to catch a glimpse of his hot date. But the result wasn’t an eyeful of Claudia’s pretty profile but instead a small, sharp pin missing fabric and embedding itself into something spongier…and more painful.

  Hugh squealed like a chased piglet and stumbled sideways, clutching a hand to his groin.

  “Oops.” Darby sent him a sorry not sorry smile.

  Darby rose, gathered up her pincushion, and left Hugh swearing and stomping off to get changed. Too bad if the pants didn’t fit right; it wasn’t like he had a butt worthy of being cast in gold. Unlike Reid, say.

  She strolled back toward the frothy pink ball dress.

  “Pin to the testicle?” Reid asked with an ear-to-ear grin.

  “Yep,” she said. “Guess I really am an amateur.”

  The theater emptied out rapidly after the pin the ball to the Hugh incident, leaving Darby and Reid to reorganize the costumes ready for transport back to the workroom. As they returned from another trip to Reid’s car, Sally bustled toward them with her coat and handbag clutched in her arms.

  “Oh. You’re still here,” she said. “Everyone else has gone, I think. Can you lock the backstage door on your way out?”

  “No problem,” Darby said to Sally’s back as she left the building.

  “All alone in a spooky old theater at night.” Reid hooked another two costumes to the end of the wardrobe rail. “Aren’t all theaters haunted by wannabe actors that never quite made it on stage?”

  Darby slid a glance past Reid through the wings and onto the darkened stage. Stage lighting was shut off for the night, and only the lights still on in the wings cast long shadows over the wooden floor and the props.

  “Maybe they’re haunted by people who never had the courage to even walk out under the spotlights.”