“Blake?” she said sleepily. Her eyes fluttered open and she twitched a small smile.
“Baby, what are you still doing in bed? I thought you’d be getting ready for work.”
She groaned. I smoothed her hair. “Are you okay?
“I got my period. It’s super heavy and I have really bad cramps.” She grimaced. “I’m almost two weeks late.”
My stomach twisted. While she was still on the pill, I hadn’t used a condom in almost a year. The chances were slim but still possible.
“Do you think you had a miscarriage?” Saying that last word pained me.
She shook her head. “No. I took a pregnancy test yesterday. It was negative.”
I felt partly relieved, but worry still gnawed at me.
She sat up slowly. The pinched expression on her face told me she was in pain. She held a hand to her belly.
“I’m going to head into the office a little later if that’s okay with you.”
“No, it’s not okay. I want you to stay home and rest.”
“But Blake, I’ve got so much to do. And with the wedding and everything—”
“Fuck it. It’ll all get done. And I want you to see my sister. She’s the best gynecologist in town.”
I held her in my arms. “I’ve missed you, baby.”
“The same,” she said softly as I planted a kiss on her scalp.
Fucking my tiger wasn’t happening. And the dreaded conversation I wanted to have with her would have to wait.
Chapter 19
Jennifer
“Hi, Marcy. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.” I’d actually had to wait almost two weeks for my lunchtime appointment—until my much longer than usual period subsided. I’d been so looking forward to accompanying Blake at lunch to pick out a new tux for the wedding, but he was insistent on me seeing his sister at the very first opportunity. Health came first.
“Not a problem, Jennifer. Fortunately, I had a cancellation.” Her voice was professional but warm. Clad in a stylish slacks outfit under her lab coat, she looked a little trimmer since I’d last seen her, and she was wearing more makeup. She actually looked very pretty.
She continued. “What brings you here?”
Sitting with one leg folded over the other on an examining room table, I told her that I hadn’t been to a gynecologist since grad school, and that I was experiencing some cramping and heavy bleeding with my period. It had lasted ten days.
“Are you on the pill?” she asked.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Okay, what I’d like you to do is to undress and put on the robe, leaving it open in the front. I’ll be right back.” She ambled out of the small room, closing the door behind her.
I eyed the blue paper robe sitting next to me on the table. In no time, I was undressed and wearing the flimsy contraption. Still seated on the table, I surveyed my surroundings. Unlike the campus doctor’s examination room, it was full of personality. Marcy’s numerous degrees and awards took up space on the walls along with many charming framed pieces of artwork done by her children. One, a painting of SpongeBob, brightened my spirits.
Blake’s sister returned in no time. She shot me a small smile. I think this was a first.
“Jennifer, I’d like you to lie down.”
Doing as she asked with my knees steepled, I watched as she slid out two metal stirrups from the examining table.
“Now slide your rear down to the edge and put your feet in these.”
Familiar with this routine, I did as she asked. The jolt of cold metal against the heels of my bare feet sent a shiver up my spine.
“Perfect.” Facing me, she inserted a gloved hand into my center, gently pressing and moving around it. She closed her eyes while doing the pelvic exam.
“You’re very tiny,” she commented.
“Yeah, I know,” I replied, hoping she wasn’t going to say something like: “How does my brother get his huge cock inside you?” Or: “Does it hurt when he fucks you?” The truth: Blake fit inside me beautifully, and it felt fucking great.
As Marcy probed with her gloved fingers, I suddenly imagined Blake here doing the same. Feeling me up and then fucking me wildly with my feet anchored in these stirrups. He’d once told me he’d done that to a high school teacher and had gotten caught by his sister. Such a bad boy. A sudden distraught thought made me shudder: Had he ever done that to Kat?
“Are you okay?” asked Marcy, obviously feeling me squirm.
“Yes, everything’s good.” I forced Kat to the back of my head. Whatever she had with Blake was ancient history. I shouldn’t care. Yet, I did.
Marcy continued to probe.
“Did you find anything?” My voice was peppered with concern. She seemed to be spending an unusually long time exploring my privates.
She opened her eyes and removed her hand. “So far, everything seems normal.”
Relieved, I kept my eyes on her as she reached for the speculum on the mobile tray table beside her. I hated this part of the exam.
“Now, I’m going to insert this into your vagina and then do a pap smear. Let me know if it hurts,” she said as she adjusted the metal clamp between my legs.
While it was definitely uncomfortable, it didn’t hurt. Marcy had a very gentle touch. My eyes stayed on her as she swabbed me twice, once with a small spatula and then again with a small bristle brush. She dipped each into separate vials that were filled with liquid and labeled with my name.
“Are we done?” I asked, eager to leave.
“I’d like to do one more thing. An ultrasound just to do a double check.”
I’d never had one before. “Isn’t that what they do for pregnant women?” I shivered. Maybe I was pregnant and that stupid store-bought test was wrong.
“Yes,” she said, first pressing down on my abdomen. “Does this hurt?”
I had to be honest. “Just a little.”
Her lips pinched, she pressed down harder. I gave a little yelp. A frisson of fear rippled through me. “Is that normal?”
“Yes. Some women are just very sensitive. If you really had a lot of pain, you would have jumped off the table.”
Inwardly, I sighed with relief as Marcy wheeled the ultra-sound machine closer to me. It consisted of a monitor and some kind of computer with lots of buttons and attachments. She then lifted up my paper gown and rubbed some gel on my tummy. The surprising warmth of it contrasted sharply with the chill of the air conditioning.
“Is this going to hurt?” I asked, fear creeping into my voice.
“Not at all.” She smiled again. “It may even tickle.”
I watched as she glided the head of a shaver-shaped probe around my belly while her other hand fiddled with the buttons and keys on the computer. She was right. It did tickle.
Her intense blue eyes alternated between my abdomen and the screen as did mine. I was intrigued by the volcano-like image on the screen, but had no clue what it was.
“Hmm,” she murmured, her eyes on the monitor.
My muscles tensed. “Is something wrong with me?”
“You have a number of fibroid tumors on your uterus.” She pointed them out to me on the monitor. They looked like shadowy dark spots. There were five in total.
“Oh my God. Are they dangerous?” Panic shot through me. Tumors? The C-word was on the tip of my tongue.
“Actually, they’re very common and benign. Many women have them although they’re a little unusual for someone as young as you. They explain your heavy, irregular period and the cramping.”
“What should I do?” I asked anxiously as she cleaned off my shiny tummy with one of those moist wipes.
“Really nothing. We’ll just have to monitor them to watch how fast they grow and see if they affect your ability to get pregnant.”
My panic button sounded. I was such an alarmist. “Does that mean I won’t be able to have a baby?”
“Not at all. Most of the time, they’re harmless and very slow growing. If they do inter
fere with your ability to conceive, they can be laparoscopically removed.”
“Laparoscopically?” I could barely pronounce the scary-sounding word.
“It’s a noninvasive surgical procedure. It’s rather painless and can be done as an out-patient.” She set the probe down on the ultrasound stand while I lay there motionless. Worry was etched on my face.
“Jennifer, honestly, there’s no need to worry at this point,” Marcy said with a comforting smile. “I want you to stay on the pill and eat foods rich with iron so you don’t get anemic. Just let me know if you experience any unusual discomfort.” She took off her latex gloves and washed her hands as I collected myself.
“Would you like to have lunch?” she asked. “I close the office and take an hour break every day. There’s a great little coffee shop downstairs.”
I was pleasantly surprised by her offer. I’d never spent a lot of time with Blake’s sister. And Blake rarely socialized with her. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to get to know her and learn more about their brother-sister relationship. And she was, after all, going to be one of my bridesmaids.
The coffee shop Marcy took me to was right next door to her office. It was small and totally unpretentious and kind of reminded me of the old fashioned coffee shops in Boise. We both ordered iron-rich medium rare burgers and kale salads, along with Cokes—she, a diet one, and I, a cherry one.
I anxiously bit into my delicious burger, not quite knowing what to say to her. Marcy, on the other hand, wasted no time starting a conversation.
“I thought we should get to know each other since we’re going to be sisters-in-law.”
Swallowing, I agreed. “Thanks for inviting for me for lunch.”
“My pleasure.” She took a sip of her soda through her straw. “You’re probably wondering why Blake and I don’t get along that well.”
Ten years younger than Marcy, he had mentioned once that the two of them fought all the time as children. “He doesn’t really talk about it much,” I replied. “Mostly, he refers to you as being the best gynecologist in all of LA.” The truth.
Marcy’s eyes widened with surprise. “He said something nice about me?”
“Yes. He’s very proud of you.”
With that, Marcy began to tell me what it was like growing up with Blake. She had enjoyed being an only child, and though never the beauty her mother was, her parents lavished her with attention. She was quite the bookworm and pleaser, always studying and scoring high grades. She sounded a lot like me.
When Blake came along, everything changed. The beautiful blue-eyed baby was the apple of everyone’s eyes. The center of attention. No matter how mischievous he was, he got away with everything. Marcy grew jealous of Blake, who knew how to wrap both his father and mother around his little finger. And his grandma too. While sixteen-year-old Marcy was going through an awkward stage with raging hormones and pimples, six-year-old Blake was getting more adorable each day.
“I felt threatened by him,” Marcy sighed. “I was the smart one, but I really wanted to be the beautiful one.” She paused to sip her Coke. “Thank goodness, I have identical twins. And even if they weren’t, I’d never pit one against the other that way. Or lavish more attention on one over the other.”
I processed what she’d said. Being an only child, I had no clue about sibling rivalry. I stored her information in my mind for the future.
“How are Jonathan and Jackson doing?” I interjected.
“Thanks for asking. They’re actually doing surprisingly well. In fact, better now that Matt and I are separated. I think all our fighting really affected them. Kids model themselves after their parents’ behaviors.”
More words of wisdom. And so true. I was so much like my pleasing mother, so non-confrontational. And I dissected things like my father. I told Marcy I was sorry about her marriage.
“Don’t be. We weren’t good for each other. It was a marriage of rebellion and convenience—he was a good-looking poor guy and I came from a lot of money. But we didn’t make the other half better.”
I thought hard about what Marcy had just said. Blake was still cocky, stuck-up, and arrogant. Maybe we weren’t meant…
Before I could finish my thought, Marcy jumped in. “Jennifer, I just want to tell you that you are so good for Blake. You make him better. I see the way he acts around you. He’s sweet, considerate, and loving. He’s more patient and so much less into himself.”
“But he’s still so cocky and self-assured.”
Marcy rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. And those bimbos he used to hang with…”
“Do you know Kat Moore?” The question slipped out of my mouth.
Marcy’s blue eyes darkened. “That girl is pure trouble. Stay away from her.”
“She’s helping plan our wedding.”
“Be careful. Don’t let her manipulate you.” She pressed her lips thin as if she wanted to tell me more and was holding back words. Before I could ask her what she meant, she changed the subject.
“The boys are so excited about being the ring bearers. But they’ve been fighting over who’s carrying which ring.”
Still mulling her previous words, I feigned a chuckle. The check came and Marcy reached for it. Her treat. She smiled warmly at me and then did something unexpected—she affectionately clasped my hands in hers.
“Jennifer, I’m so glad you’re marrying Blake. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. I’m thrilled you’re going to be my sister-in-law.”
We ended lunch with a hug. A new mission impossible awaited me. I was determined to get Blake to like his sister as much as I did.
Chapter 20
Blake
I owned half a dozen tuxes, but Jennifer was insistent I get a brand new one for our wedding. One that had never been photographed at the many galas I’d attended or touched by one of my former hook-ups.
Driving my Porsche with the top down, I headed to Beverly Hills where I was going to meet with my personal shopper, Daniel, at the Saks Fifth Avenue Men’s Store. I was actually looking forward to it. Unlike a lot of men who hated shopping for clothes, I actually loved it. And I especially loved buying beautiful Italian designer suits. I must have owned over two hundred of them. Jennifer’s analytical friend Libby called me a metrosexual, and one night when we went out for dinner, she made me take a Cosmopolitan magazine quiz.
1. You just can’t walk past a beauty supply store without making a purchase. True.
2. You own fifty pairs of shoes, a dozen pairs of sunglasses, just as many watches and you only wear Calvin Klein briefs. True.
3. Mani-pedi is part of your vocabulary. True.
4. You shave more than just your face. You also exfoliate and moisturize. True.
5. You can’t imagine a day without hair styling products. True.
6. You spend more time in the bathroom showering and grooming than your girlfriend. True.
7. You carry a man bag. False.
Okay, so, I blew one question (guess which one), but I was a high maintenance kind of guy. Trust me, any rich, good-looking guy who tells you he isn’t is full of shit. Jennifer couldn’t believe I had to annex my closet to make extra room for all my suits—and all my grooming products. She’d threatened to buy me a man bag for Christmas. But that’s where I drew the line. No fucking way. Our silly squabble flashed into my mind as I valeted my car at the back entrance of the venerable department store. As competent as I was when it came to suiting myself up, I wished she were here with me. But I didn’t want her to miss her hard-to-get appointment with my sister, and she didn’t want me to postpone the fitting with the wedding so close. It was less than a month away.
The valet attendant welcomed me warmly as I stepped out of the car. I was a familiar face. While a lot of guys I knew, including Jaime Zander, preferred to shop at hip Barney’s down the street, I liked Saks. Because all three floors of the store catered only to men, it was kind of a refuge. The last place I’d get assaulted by a blond bimbo
. Besides, this is where my father shopped and his father before him. Legacy.
Upon entering the store, I headed to the elevator and took it straight to the third floor. Daniel met me quickly. To my astonishment, I was the sole customer. Well, at least I’d get done quickly. In fact, I knew what tux I liked already—it was draped on a mannequin. Simple. Elegant. A one-buttoned tapered jacket and a thin satin stripe along the pants leg. The kind Brad Pitt might wear.
“An excellent choice,” commented the perfectly groomed, androgynous Daniel. “An Armani. It just came in. I’ll retrieve one in your size and send Luigi to the dressing room to tailor it.”
Five minutes later, I was looking, if I had to say so myself, damn good in my new tux, complete with a slick new tux shirt and bow tie as well as a snappy pocket square in my signature blue. The spacious dressing room was the size of a guest room, done up in soothing shades of gray. Standing before the tri-fold mirror, I watched as Luigi, my tailor, expertly made some alterations. A stocky Italian craftsman in his late seventies with a shock of never-graying jet black hair, he’d been with the store forever and had tailored both my father’s and grandfather’s suits. He was practically family.
“Howsa your grandma?” he asked in his still thick Italian accent as he squatted down and let out the hem of the pants to accommodate my long legs.
“She’s great.” I’d long suspected that Luigi had a crush on Grandma.
“You tell her Luigi said to give her his love.” I made a mental note: Invite Luigi to the wedding. Grandma needed a date. And sex.
Luigi stuck a few pins along the legs of the pants, taking them in. I always took one size bigger because I needed the extra crotch room. While the crotch could be let out, having pins anywhere near my dick gave me testicular tingles—not the good kind.
THAT MAN: The Wedding Story Page 11
