Bet on Me

by Alisha Rai

  “It's going to be made of platinum,” she said, the words tumbling out. “And there will be tiny chips of diamonds along the top edge here, so it looks like a solid line. Because you pretend to be flashy and over the top, but you're not like that, not really, so you can wear it with a tux or with jeans.”

  He placed his palm over the sketch. “Tatiana,” he asked, each word very slow and careful, “are you proposing to me?”

  She swallowed and finally met his gaze. “I am.”

  He stared at her. “You know it's supposed to be me proposing to you.”

  “Well, we're pretty nontraditional all around, you know.”

  The joke was a valiant effort, but he was too flummoxed to respond.

  She sobered. “I haven’t slept. Thinking about everything. How you think you aren’t normal. And how you’re always braced for me to leave you. How you thought I wouldn’t want you if I knew how crazy your family was.”

  He gritted his teeth, hating the picture she was painting of him, but he remained silent. He'd seen a psychiatrist when he was making enough money to go to one, and though his visits had ended when he’d become overly consumed with work, she'd pointed out that he exhibited some textbook behaviors of a person who had come from a dysfunctional home. Fear of abandonment and rejection? Check.

  “And then I thought...” she said, her voice so soft he had to lean forward, “…I don’t want you to always have to be in charge of everything. That’s not fair. You do so much for me. I want to do this for you.”

  “You don’t have to propose to me so I feel secure. I’m not that weak.”

  “I’m proposing to you because I want to marry you. No other reason.”

  A memory teased him. His mother’s old music box. When it was wound up, a pair of skaters would dance the perimeter, come together for a brief moment, and wander off again. He remembered he’d wondered if he and Tatiana were like that. Crashing together, twirling around, maybe drifting off. But always returning.

  It was about time he stopped agonizing that they might drift off, and started to enjoy the whole crashing-together part. A smile crossed his face. “I should have known you would take the reins.”

  “Only because I don't want you to have any doubt I want you. If it’s still not clear, I do want you,” she said simply. “I love you. I always have. I always will. Nothing you say or do could make me change that. And in case you're wondering…” she nodded at the ring, “…that's been in my head for a long time.” She smiled. “I took the initiative by practically slamming my books on your feet when I was a kid. Figure I should keep this streak alive, yeah?”

  “Thought that was an accident.”

  Her chin rose. “Please. There wasn't even anything there to trip on. No, I wanted you to look at me. Even if there was a chance you would laugh at me.”

  “I look at you.” He stroked her cheek, his heart so full he thought it might cease operating. “Give me a second. Stay right there.”

  “Uh, I'm kind of waiting for an answer here,” Tatiana called after a minute or two had passed. She shifted, the carpet rough on her knees. This was not protocol for a proposal, right? Shouldn’t he have squealed with joy and accepted by now?

  Okay, maybe squealing wasn’t something Wyatt would do, but he should have definitely accepted.

  He came back into the room, holding a small box, and she cast him a disgruntled look.

  “You're kind of leaving me hanging here, Wyatt.”

  He matched her position, getting on his knees in front of her. “I thought getting serious would scare you off.”

  She regarded him steadily, without a hint of reproach. “I don't scare easily.”

  “I know.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I do. It's what kept me from not seeking you out for all those years, even when I should have. The stakes are too high when it comes to you.”

  “Silly. I'm the surest bet you'll ever find.”

  He ran his thumb over the top of the plain wooden box. “Even thinking it might scare you, I was still getting ready for this.” He flipped open the lid.

  Tatiana assessed the small fortune in jewels with a professional’s eye. She picked up a diamond and held it to the light. “These are beautiful.”

  “For the past couple of months I’ve been collecting them.”

  She squinted. “Is this my dowry?”

  He snorted. “No. I don’t have a family ring or anything to give you, and I didn’t want to get you something someone else made. Thought you should have some choice in it. It is your area of expertise.”

  “I get to design my own ring?”

  He grinned at her delight. “Who could do a better job than you?”

  “No one.” Ah, there was the shriek. It came from her, not him, but that was okay. “I can't wait!”

  He shifted the jewels to the side and pulled out a tattered piece of notebook paper. “There’s this, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The marriage proposal I drafted when I was nineteen.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “And you thought you had all my letters.”

  She had kept every single letter he had written her during the course of their seven-year relationship.

  Well, clearly not every single one. “You kept it? All these years?”

  “Of course. For the same reason you kept my other letters. I liked to have the proof. To know I loved someone the way I loved you.”

  Vibrating with curiosity, she held out her hand. “Let me see.”

  Supremely satisfied to have bested her, he considered her demand before shaking his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No. I have to keep some surprises in this relationship. And you could learn to benefit from delayed gratification.”

  “This is torture. Not delayed gratification.”

  “There’s that hyperbole I love so much.” He tucked the paper back into the box. “I figure our twentieth? Twenty-fifth anniversary? I’ll let you read it. It’s great. Some of my best work.”

  “I hate you.”

  “No. You don’t. Now, what's your answer?” he teased.

  “Nuh-uh. What's yours? I asked first.”

  “But I’ve clearly been planning this.”

  “But you were moving at a snail’s pace, overthinking it.”

  “Thank God I have you to save me from thinking.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, eyeing him suspiciously. “I hate it when you cleverly insult me.”

  “I could never insult you.” Still smiling, he held up the box of loose stones and that mystery letter. “What if I asked you properly?”

  “Hmm.” After considering that, she nodded. “Very well. Make it pretty.”

  He cleared his throat. “Tatiana Belikov, you crazy, unconventional woman. I've loved you forever. I love that you're kinky, and dirty, and filthy in the bedroom…” he paused, thinking, “…and out of it. I love that you let me be myself. I love you. Will you marry me?”

  She regarded him seriously and folded up the sketch she'd made of his ring. His smile was gone now, his eyes grave. As if her response would be anything other than what it was.

  “Wyatt Caine, you're crazier, dirtier, and kinkier than me. Luckily, that seems to work for both of us. Of course I love you, doofus.” She tucked the square of paper into his jeans like a dollar bill, her fingers brushing against his belly. “And I'll marry you if you marry me.”

  He gave a small oof when she launched herself at him, knocking him backward to the carpet. He rested his hands on her waist, his face soft. He looked younger than he normally did, carefree and relaxed.

  That was how she felt, like she was sixteen again. No, not sixteen. Her love for him was deeper now, more faceted. No less intense, but with a stronger foundation. Not because he was more loveable, but because life had changed both of them.

  She’d found her heart again. There may not be any certainties in life, but this t
ime, she was going to hold on to it with all her strength.

  He stroked his hands up the back of her thighs. “I'm going to put in my wedding vows that you can't wear panties.”

  The words cut through the seriousness of the moment. She leered down at him. “If that's how we're doing things, I'm going to demand head every morning forever.”

  “That's going to be a given. Don't waste your vows on that.” He flipped her over, using his lower body to pin her to the floor.

  She ran her foot up his calf. “I want a filthy wedding night. With toys.”

  “I don't need no toys. Have you seen what I can do with a pen?”

  “What if you used the toys on me while someone watched?”

  He paused, going from semi-hard to full mast in about three seconds. “Fucking hell, Tatiana.”

  “Yeah.” She lifted her head to lick a flame of sensation along his jaw. “I thought so.”

  “We're getting married next week,” he said emphatically.

  She snorted. “Good luck with that. I have to shop for the dress, which will take forever. Figure out our flowers and food. I suppose we could do it here, so the venue is taken care of.”

  “Of course we'll do it here...” He thought of the stellar quarter they'd had, helped in part by the booking of their facilities and ballroom. “We might have to do it on a weekday if we want to have it anytime in the next six months. Or try to pressure someone into switching.”

  “That's so long away.”

  He was glad he wasn't the only one who was impatient for her to be his.

  “And I don't want to waste my wedding-night idea on a non-special event.”

  He gave a half laugh and pressed his forehead against hers. His dirty little Tatiana. She was probably already imagining someone watching while he taunted her with a vibrator. Most men might be annoyed that she wanted more than his eyes on her on their wedding night, but he wasn't most men.

  And she definitely wasn't most women.

  Thank God. He exhaled, the remnants of bitterness inside of him relaxing their hold on his soul. The future. She was his future. They were strong. They had a shot.

  All he ever needed was a chance. He could do a lot with that.

  “My mom will also want to help plan,” she said, almost apologetically.

  He nodded. “Maybe by then Ellie could come.” He shrugged, as if it didn't matter.

  She kissed his lips. “Well, yeah.”

  “I'll have to invite my business associates, too.”

  “Mine as well. And friends…” Her forehead wrinkled. “This is going to be a production, isn't it? It's good we have a long engagement, so we have time to plan it.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, though his heart wasn't in it.

  “Or we could go down to one of those chapels and get hitched right now.”

  He stilled at her joke. She blinked up at him and shook her head. “But that would be crazy.”

  He was silent.

  “Right? That's crazy, Wyatt.”

  He considered it some more.

  A dangerous glint entered her eyes. He knew that look. It had usually preceded some nutty idea, like painting her dorm room chartreuse or climbing out of her bedroom window. “It's super impulsive.”

  “Yes.” He waited. There was very little convincing that needed to be done here. Not when she was sporting that look.

  “That's not like you.”

  “No.” He grinned at her. His face was going to ache if he kept up this much smiling. “But it's very like you. And you are a terrible, terrible influence on me.”

  “My parents would be so sad.”

  Weak. She couldn’t even put up a robust argument for him to knock down. “We don't have to tell them. We plan a big wedding, throw the party.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “But you would be mine today. And we could have that wedding night tonight. I have a friend. A discreet one, whom I’m certain I could coax out to play.”

  She shuddered. “Akira might still be in town, too.”

  “So many eyes on you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everyone watching as I make you mine—”

  “Okay, enough. Enough. You brilliant bastard. Let me up. We can find an ordained Elvis in about five minutes.”

  He got to his knees and helped her up, pausing before he stood. On his knees, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his face against her abdomen.

  She stroked his hair. This. This felt right. She was his, his perfect match. A whirlwind of life, love, sex, and chaos.

  The world should know it.

  He kissed her belly before rising. “I'm going to get dressed.”

  The tip of her tongue touched the corner of her mouth. “Wear a tux. I like you in a tux. Should I change into something else?”

  He drank in the sight of her, in the dress she'd worn the first night she'd walked back into his life. “You're perfect as you are.”

  “Hurry up.” She gave a whoop and twirled in a circle, her skirt fluttering around her. “Don't make me wait.”

  “No.” He grinned and strode to the bedroom. “We’re done waiting.”

  Epilogue

  Ten Years Later

  “I think this one’s crooked.”

  Thirteen-year-old Dee Caine picked up the hand mirror and studied the braids her father had painstakingly put in her hair. “It’s okay.”

  “No, see?” Wyatt readjusted her hand and pointed to a section on the back of her head. “Crooked.”

  Tatiana glanced up from the newspaper she was reading. “I could do it.” She had been half-joking, but the instantaneous “No!” she received from Father and daughter wasn’t very nice.

  She sniffed. “I am an artist, you know. I have excellent hand-eye coordination.”

  “Sure you do,” Wyatt soothed. “Just not with Dee’s hair.”

  “It’s my mother who taught you,” she muttered.

  “Yes,” Wyatt said calmly. “After she gave up on teaching you.”

  Tatiana rolled her eyes and hid her smile at the conspiratorial wink shared between Wyatt and Dee. She might huff and puff, but at the end of the day, the special bond between the two of them warmed her.

  Dee had been six when they’d adopted her, a couple of years after their wedding. As a favor to a friend, Tatiana had agreed to do children’s lessons for a local San Francisco charity that brought artists into elementary schools.

  She hadn’t known Dee’s parents were long-gone when she’d drifted over to help the girl assemble her project. Within a couple of the weekly lessons, the shy, kind-hearted girl had wormed her way into Tatiana’s heart. When she had discovered Dee was in need of a family, it had seemed the most natural thing to consider adoption.

  She had worried over Wyatt’s reaction. Guess what, honey. I’d like to adopt a child, this specific child. She’s beautiful and sweet, and we bonded over sparkly things.

  They had progressed to a point where they discussed children openly, and they were both less panicked by the thought of offspring. But adopting a six-year-old was far different than having an infant, complete with a nine-month gestation period that might give them more time to get used to the idea of a family.

  Surprisingly, though apprehensive, Wyatt had been open to the idea. She credited the handful of visits he had with his sister, visits which had increased in warmth exponentially each time. Plus, he’d promoted Esme, who had taken over a number of his day-to-day tasks at the casino, leaving him with more free time than he knew what to do with.

  By the time they met with the adoption agency, Wyatt had come firmly on board. And when he and Dee had finally been introduced…

  Tatiana smiled as she watched him critically analyze the girl’s hair. Dee had been solemn and quiet, eager to please and hungry for love. Wyatt needed to be needed, his gruffness masking a deep core of tenderness. It was a match made in heaven.

  The stomp of small feet preceded the sentence Tatiana heard practically every morning. “I can’t find my book bag.” />
  Tatiana sipped her coffee and responded with her usual reply. “It’s next to the door. Where you kept it last night.”

  John slipped into his seat at the breakfast table and stared blearily at the bowl of cereal in front of him. A preemie at birth, he was still small for six, and his feet didn’t quite touch the floor. He yawned as Tatiana nudged his spoon closer. Poor baby. She sympathized with his aversion to mornings.

  “You don’t have much time, kiddo,” she said gently.

  Brushing floppy red hair out of his eyes, he sighed and picked up his spoon. John had come to them in a more conventional way—once they’d decided they were ready to take on the responsibility of another child, they had contacted an agency in Vegas. John had been a cranky two-year-old when he’d tumbled into their home.

  He was messy and loud and rash. Tatiana stroked his hair back from his face. He was perfect.

  Dee placed her mirror on the table. “Mom, can we see them again before we go to school?”

  Her gaze met Wyatt’s where he lounged against the counter, and he smiled. He smiled readily now, real smiles that warmed his eyes. After a full decade married to each other, he still wouldn’t admit that he was a romantic, but the love she saw in his eyes every time he grinned? Aw. No way a non-romantic could manage that trick.

  “Sure.” She pulled out her phone and opened the picture before handing it to Dee.

  Delight filled the girl’s face, her dark eyes flashing. The child had a maternal streak, and Tatiana knew she was counting the days until the new little ones made their appearance.

  “I wanna see!” John demanded, and Dee pushed the phone across the table.

  John picked up the phone, chewing absently on his cereal. A frown creased his brow. “How much longer?”

  Wyatt checked his watch. “One week, twelve hours, and approximately thirty-four minutes.”

  The precise time was a running joke between the two of them that rarely failed to make John giggle, but this time he continued to scowl. “What if they don’t like us?”

  “Of course they’ll like us,” Dee said, so confident of her place in life, Tatiana wanted to rejoice. “We’re going to be their family.”