“A person has to do something of value,” I responded. “Or at least have some goals.”
“But I’m too old and ill equipped to work.”
Who was she trying to kid? “You’re smart as a whip and highly attractive, too. I’m sure you’d find something that you’d excel at.”
Tracy said, “Maybe you could work at a jewelry store or at an upscale boutique.”
Mom huffed out a breath. “I’m not working as a salesperson.”
“I think you’d move onto a managerial position in no time,” Tracy replied. “You could even take some online courses and get an education.”
“I can’t believe this.” Mom quit slouching on the sofa. She stood and refilled her champagne, posing with the flute. “Look at me, Dash. I’m not the type who was meant to work. I’m not meant to be analyzed by some pesky psychologist, either.”
“But you’re the type who was meant to abandon your kid and then come back into his life when you found out that he’s rich and successful?” I stared her down, hurt and frustrated that she was belittling our relationship and ignoring the way it should be.
She glared at me. “Is that what this is about? You’re punishing me for the past?”
“It’s not punishment. I’m a grown man who’s finally learned how to give and receive and accept love.” I squared my shoulders. “But I can’t make things right with you until you’re willing to try.”
“So you’re taking everything away from me instead?”
“I’m not taking anything away. I’m just asking you to make a change. I can’t begin to fathom what you experienced when you were young, and I’m sorry for any pain it caused you. But I know what I endured, and how it affected me.”
She glanced away, as if she was getting emotional. But a second later, she said, “You had a tough childhood, but look how charmed your life is now. You’re a millionaire. You’re probably even on your way to becoming a billionaire. I don’t see the harm in you supporting me without any strings attached.”
“I see plenty of harm in it. I spent my entire life feeling like trash and thinking that I had to be rich to matter.” I glanced at Tracy. “She loved me when I was poor, and she loves me now. My success has nothing to do with it.”
Mom scowled. “But she’s going to marry you, while I’m being forced to change my ways.”
She sipped her champagne, a look of damnation on her face. “I should go to the press and tell them how utterly horrible you’re being to me.”
She was threatening me? No way, I thought. No effing way. “Do you honestly think that the public is going to side with you? What are you going to say that makes me sound so awful? That I’m trying to help you recover from your past? That I want us to attend family counseling, but you’re refusing to go?” I wasn’t going to back down, not now, not like this. “And just so you know, I have an entire PR team who manages my publicity, so if you go to the press, I’m going to fire back.” For now, Tracy and I hadn’t even announced our engagement yet. The last thing I needed was my mom doing it for us.
She clicked her shiny red nails on the bar top. “Your fans already know that I left when you were young, so why should I keep quiet? I might as well make my identity known.”
“You don’t care what people are going to think of you?” Tracy asked.
Mom shrugged. “Everyone already thinks I’m rotten, anyway.” She paused, still clicking her nails. “In fact, I think we should all do a reality show together. The public would eat it up. Me as the glamorous villain, Dash as the world-famous artist and you as his love-is-everything fiancée or wife or whatever you’ll be by then.”
Tracy gaped at her. I did, too. Both of our mouths hung open.
Mom kept chattering. “You should talk to your agent about it, Dash. And then they can present it to whatever network they think will be interested. Who knows? There might even be a bidding war.”
Holy cow, I thought. “I’m not making a TV show with you.”
“But it’s a way for all of us to be a family. And on top of that, it’ll boost your fame and income, too. You’ll be an even bigger star than you already are.”
“I don’t want to be that kind of star. And that’s not my idea of being a family.” I wanted something nice and nurturing and normal.
“Fine.” She tossed back the rest of her champagne, all drama, all glamorous-villain. “I’ll just have to get my own show. Or I’ll join the cast of another show that’s already established. I can still become a celebrity.”
“You know what? You’re right. You can do whatever you want.” I wasn’t going to worry about the repercussions her self-serving deeds would have on me. I was already in the spotlight, and once Tracy and I announced our engagement, she would be knee-deep in it, too. Fame was a part of our lives, either way. “I’m sure you’ll find an agent to represent you once you tell them that you’re related to me. But don’t do it until after Tracy and I go public.”
Mom frowned. “How long is that going to take?”
“It’ll be sometime this week.” We didn’t want to drag things out any longer than necessary. “You won’t have to wait long. Then you can have your life to yourself, just as long as you keep your distance from me and mine.”
Mom moved away from me, and suddenly she seemed overwhelmed, as if being in a reality show wasn’t such a great idea, after all. She paced the room, her shoes echoing on the hardwood floors.
Tap...tap...tap...
Was she having second thoughts about being excluded from my life? Was she afraid of being alone? Of being scorned and cast out?
She stopped and turned to me. “I’m sorry,” she said shakily. “And I’m sorry for being rude to Tracy. I was just being obstinate, saying stupid things I didn’t mean. I do care about what people think, and I especially don’t want you to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” I spoke quietly. “But you need help. You can’t go around using people and treating them badly.”
Her breath hitched. “I know.”
“Does that mean you’re willing to give the therapy a shot?”
“Yes, but it’s going to be hard for me. I’m not comfortable talking about myself like that, rehashing everything from my past.”
“I understand. But it’s got to be done.” One step at a time. I chanced a smile at her.
Tears gathered in her eyes. “Are you still going to support me? Or do you still want me to get a job?”
“I’ll support you.” But mostly I was going to support her in emotional ways. Someday, I hoped she would see the full benefit of that and would be there for me, too. For now, I wasn’t expecting miracles. But at least this was a start.
My mother reached out to hug me, and I felt her tremble in my arms. I could sense Tracy watching us.
Afterward, I smiled at the woman I was going to marry, so damned grateful that I had her support. That she was my miracle. That she loved me, just as I loved her—with every beat of our hearts.
* * *
Tracy and I went home and made love, touching and kissing and breathing each other in. She sat naked on my lap, riding me, her body arched, her hair falling down her back. I watched the way she moved, thinking how perfect she was. I cupped her breasts in my hands, rubbing her nipples, making them hard.
As she stroked me with her wetness, with her sweet dampness, I imagined what our honeymoon night was going to be like. I had no idea if we would be in a glitzy hotel or a cabin in the mountains or a bungalow on a tropical island. I just knew that we would be together, giving each other pleasure.
I pictured her in a lace corset and thigh-high stockings, lovely little things she would’ve worn under her gown.
I envisioned flower petals, too, lots of them, in pretty colors, scattered on the bed.
“I’m thinking about our wedding night,” I said, pulling her into my fantasy.
; “You are?” Her gaze locked on to mine.
“Yeah.” I lifted myself up to kiss her, hot and quick. “About how romantic the sex is going to be.” I kissed her again. “Wild and romantic.”
She sank deeper onto my lap, milking my body with hers. “Tell me more about it.”
“You’d be riding me, like you are now, and there’d be flower petals everywhere.”
“What kind?”
“Roses, and they’d smell really good and sweet.” I circled her waist with my hands, helping her move up and down. “You’d be dressed in wedding-type lingerie, except with no panties.”
She bit down on her bottom lip. “What would you be wearing?”
“A tuxedo shirt, that you ripped open. And my pants would be on the floor, with my jacket and tie and your gown.”
She shivered on top of me, aroused by our conversation. “Would I be wearing a veil?”
“While we’re in bed? Hell yeah.” That added a new element to the fantasy. “One of those shorter ones that I could lift every time I kissed you.”
“What about my gown on the floor? What does it look like?”
“It’s long and silky with antique lace and those tiny buttons up the back.”
“The old-fashioned kind that are covered in fabric?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I would get so impatient when I try to get you out of that dress, I’d destroy some of them.”
She leaned over me, her hair falling across the sides of her face. “You’d be that anxious to be with me.”
“I couldn’t help it.” I was getting anxious now, too.
We switched positions and soon I was on top, thrusting into her, losing myself in the feeling of being in love.
While she gazed up at me, I slid my hand between her legs, rubbing her, heightening her pleasure. I watched her, listening to the carnal sounds she made and getting a thrill from it.
I was buried deep inside her when she came. I came, too, spilling into her, in hot anticipation of the bride and groom we were destined to become.
* * *
Two days later, Tracy and I convened in the barn, hanging out with Valentine and preparing to make our relationship known. On this picturesque afternoon we would be announcing our engagement, by way of Instagram.
We’d dressed casually for the occasion; we were just being ourselves. Along with jeans and boots, I wore a plaid shirt and Tracy sported a Western blouse with an embroidered yoke and pearl snaps. Her hair was long and loose, her makeup soft and feminine.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Yes, absolutely.” She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling.
I removed my phone from my pocket. I liked that we had control of the pictures. Of course, once we posted them, they would be picked up by news outlets and celebrity gossip sites. But Tracy and I weren’t flying blind. Until we were ready to give interviews, my publicist would be making statements on our behalf. Zeke and his team were in place, too, gearing up for the fans and paparazzi who’d be waiting to catch glimpses of me and my fiancée together.
Valentine came up to the barn door, and Tracy turned to pet the filly’s nose. The horse nuzzled her hand, basking in the affection.
She turned back to me, and we posed with the foal in the background. Raising Valentine was part of the life we were building, and we wanted to show her off, too.
We took a variety of shots, making sure that Tracy’s ring was visible in all of them. Nothing said engaged like a big, bright diamond. I was also going to hashtag the pictures with special phrases, letting everyone know this was the woman I planned to marry. Tracy had social media accounts as well, and her following would probably skyrocket today. But we were ready for that, too. The same internet security company that monitored my accounts would also be monitoring hers from now on.
We took more pictures, enjoying the process, smiling and kissing.
Finally, we sat down to scroll through them, choosing our favorites. We narrowed it down to two: one with Valentine and one without.
“This is it,” I said.
“Do it,” she said.
I posted the first picture, and Tracy cuddled close to me, watching the reactions and comments pile up. With the millions of followers that I had, we would be trending at lighting speed.
“It feels good,” she said.
“Totally good.” Our public life together had just officially begun. There was no going back. We were a couple in every way.
Epilogue
Tracy
Three months had passed since I’d become Dash’s fiancée, and on this lovely fall evening, we were hosting an engagement party.
Pine Tower was filled with friends and family. My dad was enjoying every moment. I glanced across the parlor and saw him with Spencer and Alice, the three of them chatting companionably.
Pop was strong and healthy, his recent checkup showing no signs of cancer. That gave me great peace.
Dash’s mother was here, too, looking as glamorous as ever, draped in a fashionable outfit, her jewelry glittering against her skin. She’d been seeing a therapist Dash had found for her, and as far as we could tell, she was making progress. Sometimes she could still be haughty or abrasive, but she would always apologize afterward. I think she truly wanted to change. Of course, she was great in party settings. She’d helped me organize this event, making every detail shine.
She and Dash hadn’t attended any family counseling sessions yet, although that was still part of the overall plan. For now, Lola was working separately on herself. As for me, I was getting stronger, too, and attending a POF support group.
I smiled in Dash’s direction. He stood near the buffet, enjoying the party, socializing with our guests.
My life had changed dramatically since we’d gotten engaged. I hadn’t dropped any new songs yet, but the albums I worked so hard on before—the ones that had previously bombed—were gaining momentum among Dash’s fans. He was certainly proud of me. But he’d believed in me all along. I was still being cautious about the duet, though. Which I realized didn’t make much sense. There was no reason for me not to sing with the wonderful man I was going to marry.
I headed toward him, and he turned and caught sight of me. He excused himself from the people he was talking to and met me halfway.
He swung me into his arms, and we kissed. He’d already told me how gorgeous I looked in my shiny gold minidress and tall black boots. He looked exceptionally handsome, too, in a finely tailored suit, his hair stylishly messy, his beard stubble wildly sexy. I could’ve devoured him whole.
We separated and I said, “I’ve been thinking... I want to write a song together and record it after we’re married.”
His lips tilted upward in a heart-stopping smile. “You do? For sure?”
“Yes, for sure.” I grazed his cheek, running my fingers along his skin. “Our song. A love song.”
He touched my face, too. “About two people who beat the odds?”
I nodded, and we kissed again, so grateful that we’d found our way back to each other.
For all time.
* * *
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Secrets of a Playboy
by Janice Maynard
One
“This floor is off-limits to the public.”
Zachary Stone felt a moment’s irritation. Perhaps he needed to add key access in the elevator. Today wasn’t the first time someone had wandered where they shouldn’t. The retail space for Stone River Outdoors was at street level. There was no reason for any customer to make his or her way to the seventh floor. But humans were curious creatures.
The woman at the far end of the hallway stopped to peruse an oversize photograph of Thunder Hole in Acadia National Park. “Ma’am,” Zachary said, heading in her direction. The company had been the victim of corporate espionage in recent years, so he was more cautious now. “Ma’am. You shouldn’t be here.”
At last, the woman turned to face him. She was slender and tall, five-ten at least. Her hair was black, jet-black. And wildly curly. Natural? Perhaps.
Long-lashed eyes regarded him with a steady gaze. Her face was narrow, the chin pointed. Glasses with thin black frames gave her a studious air. When he drew closer, he could see the unusual color of her irises. Almost lavender. He remembered reading somewhere that the famous actress Elizabeth Taylor had violet eyes. This woman’s were more periwinkle. Or maybe the shade depended on lighting and the clothes she wore.
The stranger carried herself with confidence, though her posture was relaxed. His obvious displeasure had no apparent effect on her.
Despite the fact that Zachary was on his home turf, the field gave him little advantage that he could tell. Again, he issued a warning. “Visitors are not permitted on this level. Please go back downstairs.”
The woman examined him from head to toe. “I have an appointment.”
That voice. The low, husky tone grabbed something in his gut and reminded him how long it had been since he had indulged in recreational sex. Too long, apparently. If one encounter with a stranger had him itchy and unsettled, he needed to get laid.
Wild Nashville Ways Page 15
