Eternal Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (3 page)

Celia and Gavin had picked up their marriage license; she and Celia had selected their gowns from a bridal boutique. Except for adjustments to the bodice, the gowns hadn’t needed any major alterations. They’d also purchased wedding accessories and ordered their bouquets and the groom and best man’s boutonnieres. Customarily some brides spent a year planning their wedding, while Celia’s had taken a mere three days. The weather had also cooperated for the outdoor venue. There was hardly a cloud in the sky; temperatures were predicted to peak in the mid to high eighties, and nighttime temperatures in the mid-seventies.

Peyton gave her name to the guard, who flashed a warm smile. “Aren’t you the lady doctor from Blackstone Farms?”

“Yes, sir.”

He extended his hand. “I’m Clinton Patrick. It’s nice to put a face with a name. Welcome to Cole-Thom Farms.”

She shook the gnarled hand. “Thank you.”

“Go straight ahead and follow the signs to the end of the allée. When you come up on the one for Cole House just make a left and you’re there.”

Towering trees stood along the newly paved roadway like sentinels. The smell of freshly mowed grass wafted through the truck’s open windows. Peyton spied several mares and their foals frolicking in a meadow surrounded by white rails under the watchful eye of farm workers. Men and women dressed in coveralls were unloading vans with tables and chairs, while others were driving stakes into the ground for those waiting to set up tents. Printed signs were posted on trees with directions to turn right or left for parking and comfort stations.

When she’d called to ask Nicholas to meet her for dinner, she’d suggested a Staunton steakhouse. She told him to meet her at the restaurant because she didn’t want him to get the impression that she was trying to come on to him. If they arrived in separate vehicles, then they would leave in separate vehicles. However, he’d insisted he would come to the farm and pick her up. Her plan to talk to him about possible employment was foiled when he called back to say he’d invited his sister and future brother-in-law to join them.

Truthfully Peyton wouldn’t know how to come on to Nicholas, because he was nothing like the men she’d known. He was much too aloof, indifferent. She wasn’t an ingenue when interacting with the opposite sex. By the time she’d entered high school she recognized when a boy was interested in her. The sly glances, the purposeful brush of his body against hers and those bold enough to verbalize they wanted to sleep with her.

Then, Peyton hadn’t had a boyfriend in the traditional sense, but hung out with a group of brainiacs that were more interested in their grades than in hooking up. They did everything together: study, hang out at the mall, go to the movies and crowd into booths at their favorite restaurant chain. The cool kids teased them relentlessly, but Peyton and her fellow geeks closed ranks to strengthen their supportive, carefree bond. She never concerned herself about not having enough money for a movie or for their occasional Friday-night outings because every week everyone in the group would donate five dollars of their allowance to an unofficial sunshine fund. At the end of the school year they celebrated in grand style at an upscale restaurant.

Peyton found kindred spirits in her fellow nerds. They’d developed a friendship that went beyond high-school graduation. As college students they continued to communicate with one another in cyberspace and once a year between Thanksgiving and Christmas they’d reconnect for a celebratory weekend in their small hometown in upstate New York.

College was very different for her. She dated her roommate’s cousin who wasn’t ready or willing to come out of the closet. Peyton wasn’t ready to give up her virginity, so going out with Collier had become a win-win situation for both. Who she did give her virginity to wasn’t worth her taking off her clothes. However, she didn’t know that until it was too late.

She saw the sign for Cole House tacked to a tree, and made a left turn. A trio of chimneys came into view when she maneuvered up an incline. Peyton held her breath when she saw the white three-story antebellum great house at the end of a live oak allée. A full-height, columned porch wrapping around the front and sides of the magnificent Greek Revival mansion was something she’d only seen in books and magazines.

When she and Celia met to discuss wedding plans, the E.R. doctor revealed that Nicholas had spent most of his inheritance to set up his enterprise. Celia also said she thought her younger brother frivolous, but after seeing the farm she was forced to admit he’d proven her wrong.

Peyton parked the pickup behind Nicholas’s late-model Lincoln sedan in the circular driveway. Alighting from the truck, she walked up the steps to the porch. She lifted the massive lion’s head door knocker, letting it fall against the door painted a glossy navy blue. Seconds later it opened and she curbed the urge to take a backward step when Nicholas loomed over her. She didn’t know why, but she hadn’t expected him to answer his own door.

Peyton held her breath when she stared at the white T-shirt stretched over his broad, muscled chest. Her gaze moved slowly from his throat to the faded relaxed jeans riding dangerously low on a pair of slim hips. Her gaze reversed itself when she stared boldly at his face. There was something in his large, dark eyes that wouldn’t permit her to glance away. The nostrils of his delicate nose flared slightly when their eyes met and held.

“Good morning, Nicholas.” Peyton didn’t recognize her own voice when she stared at the stubble on his jaw. The timbre was low and breathless as if she’d run a grueling race.

Peyton failed to understand her own reaction to a man who was always seated next to her whenever Sheldon invited him for dinner. Except for a request to pass a plate or dish hardly a word was exchanged between them other than polite greetings. Their strained association had continued at the restaurant. She’d interacted with Celia and Gavin more than she had with Nicholas. However, she did get to see another side of him, a softer, relaxed part of him as he smiled at his sister’s enthusiasm whenever she talked about her upcoming nuptials. He also appeared to be amused watching Celia and Gavin share surreptitious glances, endearments and an occasional caress.

She didn’t know what it was about this reserved man that made her heart beat a little too quickly. It wasn’t only because he was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, but the way he looked through her rather than at her, which led her to ask herself if he found something about her that turned him off. She’d begun to ruminate on various reasons for his coldness, and the only thing she could come up with was perhaps she’d reminded him of someone in his past.

* * *

Nicholas opened the door wider. “Good morning, Peyton. Please come in.” He noticed her looking at his bare feet.

“How is Celia holding up?” she asked.

“She’s not.”

Her head popped up. “What!”

Nicholas almost laughed aloud when he saw Peyton’s shocked expression. The thick, charcoal-gray lashes shadowing her cheeks flew up. There was something so young and innocent about her that he suddenly didn’t want to believe she was in her twenties. She reminded him of a high-school cheerleader with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

“When I saw her earlier she was so nervous she refused to eat. I’d like for you to try and get her to drink something.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

He watched Peyton glance around the entryway. “You’ve never been here?”

“No.”

“Would you like a quick tour?” Nicholas asked.

“Perhaps another time. Celia and I have to be at the salon by eleven. But, there is something I’d like to talk to you about that I didn’t get a chance to do at the restaurant.”

Nicholas studied the petite blonde woman with incredibly beautiful gray eyes and a killer, compact body. Even though Peyton Blackstone was physically the complete opposite of what he considered his
type,
he had to acknowledge she was stunning. Resting a hand at the small of her back, he led Peyton through the entryway and into the living room, seating her on a straight-back armchair, he taking a facing matching one. He’d been curious as to why Peyton wanted to meet with him.

“I’d like to apologize for the other night. Even though you’d called the meeting I still invited Celia and Gavin to join us.”

Peyton waved her hand. “That’s all right. If you hadn’t invited them I wouldn’t be your sister’s maid of honor.”

“It’s not all right,” Nicholas countered. “Not only was it rude but also selfish on my part.”

“I don’t want to argue about it, Nicholas. It’s not that critical.”

His eyes drilled into her. “Aren’t you going to accept my apology?”

Peyton returned his glare with one of her own. A shiver eddied over her, bringing a chill despite the comfortable temperature in the room. If Nicholas believed he was going to intimidate her, then he was mistaken. She’d grown up with a father that made intimidation his trademark. Alphonso Blackstone was a harsh taskmaster. The men working for his construction company never slacked off in fear of losing their jobs, and his sternness was transferred to his home where her mother did everything humanly possible to keep the peace. Only Peyton was immune to his unexpected outbursts. She’d learned to tune him out whenever he complained that he had had to lay men off because business orders were down, while her mother placated him with her patent
“things will turn around soon.”
Lena Blackstone was always the optimist and her husband the pessimist.

“We’ll talk another time.” Celia had just walked into the living room. She stood up, Nicholas rising with her. She stared at Celia, who looked as if she hadn’t slept. Her eyes were puffy and lines of strain bracketed her generous mouth. Closing the space separating them, Peyton hugged Celia. “You look a hot mess,” she whispered in her ear.

Celia returned the hug. “I’m an E.R. trauma doctor supposedly with nerves of steel, but I’m having a meltdown just because I’m getting married.”

“What you need is some comfort food for the Southern soul,” Peyton said. “We’ll stop at a little takeout place and get an order of grits and eggs.” She wanted to tell the prospective bride that getting married was one of the most important events in one’s life, and would change Celia’s and Gavin’s lives forever.

Pulling back, Celia shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything. And what do you know about soul food?”

Peyton went completely still, struggling to rein in her rising temper. “I know as much about it as you do. And please don’t let the blond hair and gray eyes and the fact I come from upstate New York delude you into thinking I’m not a woman of color.”

Nicholas knew it was time to intervene or Celia would start something with Peyton she had no chance of winning. “Cee Cee, you...” Peyton held up her hand stopping whatever it was he’d planned to say.

“Please stay out of this, Nicholas,” she warned softly. “I can understand what your sister is going through. She’s having premarital jitters, and if she doesn’t get over it real quick I’m going to seduce her drop-dead-gorgeous fiancé. And you know it’s been done before.”

Celia’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t?”

Peyton bit back a smile. Talking about seducing Gavin had shaken Celia from her malaise. “I damn sure will if you don’t stop being a drama queen.”

Squaring her shoulders, Celia straightened her spine. “Okay. I’ll try and eat something.”

“Once you taste Mama Lula’s grits and eggs you won’t be able to stop eating.” Looping her arm through Celia’s she forced her to put one foot in front of the other. Glancing over her shoulder, Peyton smiled at Nicholas. He returned it with a wide grin and a wink.

“Later.”

Nicholas nodded. “Later,” he repeated.

Chapter 2

P
eyton knew she was speeding but she wanted to get to Mama Lula’s to pick up the order she’d called in, and then to the salon. If Celia had planned to marry on the weekend she doubted whether they would’ve been able to secure an appointment. The technicians at Unique Creations were usually booked up two to three weeks in advance.

She gave Celia a sidelong glance. She was a feminine version of her brother, reminding Peyton of a doll with her small round face, black curls grazing the nape of her neck, large dark eyes, and pert nose, curved mouth and thumbprint-dimpled brown cheeks.

“I’m sorry I came at you like a rabid dog,” Peyton apologized.

Pressing the back of her head to the headrest, Celia closed her eyes. “And I’m sorry if you misunderstood me. I would never presume to identify your racial designation. I have an uncle with light green eyes whose hair was much lighter than yours. He has a grandson who looks exactly like him even though Alejandro’s parents both have black hair. When Uncle Josh tans his complexion is similar to yours. And he doesn’t bite his tongue when he brags about being an Afro-Cuban down to the marrow in his bones.”

Peyton felt duly chastised. People who hadn’t seen her parents would rudely ask
“what
are you?”
And her pat comeback was “An American.” “I inherited my eye color from my father and everything else from my mother. Mom is very mild-mannered and laid-back, and the only time I witnessed her going ballistic was when I came home to tell her that my second-grade teacher, who was new to the school, asked me what I was. When I’d innocently told her my name she said knew that, but wanted to know if I was white or black. My mother called a lawyer and had the teacher transferred to another school.”

Celia opened her eyes. “Why should it matter what you are?”

Peyton shook her head. “I really don’t know what the big deal is when it comes to a person’s race. Didn’t we elect a mixed-race president?”

“Word,” Celia drawled. “By the way, the Coles are a patchwork quilt of different races and ethnicities.”

“Do you speak Spanish?” Peyton asked.

“Yes. My father and grandmother always spoke to me and my brothers in Spanish. My father felt it was important we know more than one language. It was different with
abuela.
She didn’t want us to forget our Cuban roots.”

The two women talked about their medical careers, professors, fellow students, course work and internships. Their order was waiting when Peyton maneuvered up to the drive-through window at Mama Lula’s. They had twenty minutes to spare, so they sat in the parking lot behind the salon eating grits, fluffy scrambled eggs and fileted whiting seasoned and fried to perfection.

Celia took a deep swallow of coffee. “Do you think we’re going to be able to fit into our gowns?”

Touching the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin, Peyton nodded. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t. We probably won’t eat anything else until later on tonight.” Their gowns were scheduled to be delivered to the farm at noon.

Celia patted her flat belly. “Thank you for forcing me to eat. I really needed to put something in my stomach.”

Peyton gathered the containers and coffee cups, storing them in a plastic bag. “I knew you would feel better if you ate something.”

A beat passed. “Would you have really attempted to seduce Gavin?”

She looked at Nicholas’s sister as if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. “I was just blowing smoke, Celia. I’ve never attempted to seduce another woman’s man and I pray I don’t lose my mind and actually do something that skanky.”

Combing her fingers through the mass of raven curls, Celia held them off her forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I believed you. I lost one fiancé, so it’s always in the back of my mind that I could lose another one.”

“What happened? Talk to me while we walk.”

Peyton listened, stunned when Celia disclosed the gang-related shooting rampage in the Miami hospital emergency room where her fiancé had been one of six murdered in cold blood. Two doctors died that night along with her patient and three other gang members. She and three others were wounded in a mêlée that lasted no more than thirty seconds and had turned the E.R. into a killing field.

“It’s been a year, but I still have nightmares,” she whispered as they entered the salon through the rear door.

Peyton wanted to know how seriously Celia had been injured and what had happened to the shooters, but it was too late to ask when they were approached by the owner of the salon. “Good morning, Mrs. Barnes. I’m Peyton Blackstone and this is Celia Thomas.”

Barbara Barnes, or Babs as she was referred to by her closest friends, pressed her manicured hands together. It was impossible to pinpoint her age; the woman had been nipped and tucked to where she’d literally stopped time. She was tall and claimed a figure that would rival a woman decades younger. Her short coiffed honey-blond hair, flawless peaches-and-cream complexion and her makeup were in keeping with someone who had achieved grande dame status. It was only on a rare occasion she would be seen in the upscale unisex salon.

“Welcome, Miss Blackstone. When one of my technicians told me you needed an appointment for a bridal package I knew I had to come and personally meet you. I had Iris move several clients to another day.”

Earlier that morning Peyton had complained to Ryan that being a Blackstone in horse country was more of a disadvantage than an advantage, but apparently she’d been wrong. She knew she’d been given an appointment when she told the receptionist her name; the woman called her back to inform her that someone had cancelled and they would be able to fit her and Celia in.

“Thanks so much for being so accommodating,” Peyton said, smiling.

Barbara inclined her head in acknowledgment. Her brown eyes shifted from Peyton to Celia and then back. “Who is the bride?”

Celia flashed a dimpled smile. “I am. And Peyton is my maid of honor.”

“You’re both lovely girls. My husband and Sheldon are very good friends. He was part owner in one of Sheldon’s Thoroughbreds that made Grainger a very wealthy man. So, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for a Blackstone. I know you didn’t request it, but I’m throwing in full-body massages for both of you.” She winked at Celia. “A bride should be completely relaxed on her wedding day. Do you ladies have a favorite fragrance?”

Peyton exchanged a puzzled glance with Celia. “Anaïs Anaïs.”

Barbara smiled. “And you, Celia?”

“Trésor.”

“I asked because I know the wedding begins at four, so you’ll be able to shower and apply your fragrance before we do your hair and makeup. This way when you return home you’ll just have to slip into your gowns.” She motioned to a young woman dressed in a flowing black smock with her name stitched on one pocket and Unique Creations on the other. “Ingrid, please take care of
Ms. Blackstone and Ms. Thomas.”

Peyton and Celia gave each other fist bumps, as they followed Ingrid to a dressing room where they left their street clothes in a locker and were given plush black velour robes and matching slippers. Soft, relaxing Zen-like music coming from concealed speakers competed with the hypnotic sound of flowing water in a large corner waterfall filled with stalks of bamboo. They were brought into the massage room; scented candles and diffused light threw soft shadows on the walls and ceiling. Peyton felt as if she’d entered a cave or a grotto. The masseurs stepped out while they exchanged the robes for a towel, then lay facedown on the heated massage tables.

Both women lost track of time when they were simultaneously massaged and kneaded from head to toe. The massage was followed by a facial that left their faces cool and tingling. Peyton was almost listless when she was told she had to take a shower. They headed back to the massage tables where the masseurs applied scented body creams in their favorite fragrances. Dots of perfume were applied to all the pulse points. Her entire body glistened and glowed from the ministration.

Peyton slipped back into her robe, accepted a mug of steaming herbal tea, and as soon as she finished it she was seated in a shampoo chair. She ignored the conversations going on around her, luxuriating in the feel of strong fingers massaging her scalp. Every service was performed in precision like an assembly line. The highly skilled technicians knew exactly what to do, and there was no wasted motion. Her pedicure was completed when she sat in the chair with her hair slathered in a rich avocado-based conditioner under a plastic cap. Following the conditioning treatment, her hair was blown out and styled in a loose twist behind her left ear.

Her eyes met Celia’s in the mirror as they sat next to each other. Celia’s raven curls were set on large rollers, and then blown straight, brushed off her face and pinned into a chignon on the nape of her long, smooth neck. Celia had decided to wear flowers in her hair instead of the traditional veil or headpiece, while Peyton had chosen pearl and crystal hairpins.

Glancing at a wall clock in the glass and mirrored salon, Peyton noted the time. It was minutes before two. All that remained was a manicure and makeup. Although the invitations read four o’clock, Celia insisted the ceremony begin no later than four-thirty.

The manicurist noticed her staring at the clock. “Don’t worry, Ms. Blackstone. Someone will be applying your makeup while I do your manicure.”

* * *

“What’s going on?” Celia asked when Peyton maneuvered into the driveway at Nicholas’s house. A woman dressed in a black pantsuit with a pair of oversize sunglasses perched on the top of her reddish-pink hair was shouting into a walkie-talkie at the top of her lungs. The color in her face went from pink to bright red in seconds. She beckoned them to get out of the truck.

Peyton came to a stop, shifting into Park. “She has to be the planner.” Within seconds of getting out of the pickup two young women wearing similar pantsuits appeared as if out of nowhere.

The woman stepped forward, extending her free hand. “I’m Danielle Lawson, the event planner. We’re working on a very tight time frame, which means you have to go with the bridal attendants who will help you get ready. The groom and best man are dressed, so we’re only waiting for you. By the way, you look very nice.” She put the walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Get someone here to move this truck to the parking area.”

Celia and Peyton followed the two women around to the back of the house, entering through a rear door. A small storage room off the pantry had been converted into a makeshift dressing room. Both gowns, covered in clear plastic, hung from wall hooks and a full-length mirror was propped against one wall; the wedding flowers, boxes with shoes, lingerie and jewelry were set out on a cloth-covered table.

The bridal attendants worked quickly and efficiently when they helped Peyton and Celia out of their clothes and into their wedding finery. Both women stared wide-eyed at themselves in the mirror as jeweled hairpins were secured in Peyton’s hair, while Celia’s attendant tucked tiny pink rosebuds into the ebony coil of the bride’s hair.

Celia had chosen a platinum silk sheath with embroidered tulle, a sweetheart neckline, short cap sleeves, beading, sheer back and a sweep train. Peyton’s gown was similar, a darker gray and designed without the train. The simplicity of the gowns, hairstyles and dramatic eye makeup was perfect for a summer afternoon wedding.

Slipping her feet into a pair of charcoal-gray silk rhinestone-studded sling-blacks, Peyton added four inches to her five-three height. Celia had decided on a pair of satin pumps with a lower heel in a becoming platinum shade. She’d admitted if she was going to be up on her feet for hours, she much preferred a two-inch heel rather than a higher one. Standing five-eight in bare feet, four inches would have put her at the six-foot mark.

“Please hold out your left hand, Miss Blackstone.”

Peyton complied, her eyes widening as Celia’s attendant looped a bracelet with princess-cut diamonds around her wrist, securing it with a double safety catch. Peyton looked at Celia. “We didn’t order this.”

Celia’s dimpled smile was dazzling. “It’s my gift to you for being an incredible maid of honor.” She held up her hand when Peyton opened her mouth. “Please let me finish. It’s the least I could do for you, because you arranged and paid for the beauty makeover. You also got your cousin to agree to let Reverend Merrill officiate. And you’ve also kept me sane. So please be gracious and accept it.”

She wanted to be gracious, but the weight of the white metal and the size of the stones in the bracelet probably cost more than some people earned in six months. “It’s exquisite, Celia. But it’s too—”

“Please stop it, Peyton,” Celia implored, interrupting her. “Nicholas and I grew up with trust funds, and our parents taught us it’s gauche to talk about money.”

Peyton’s smile did not reach her eyes. She may not have been a trust-fund kid and she hadn’t grown up dirt poor; however Celia’s gift was not only extravagant but also unwarranted. “Thankfully I’ve never been accused of being gauche,” she said under her breath as the attendant handed her Gavin’s double milgrain platinum wedding band. She put the ring on her thumb. She reached for Celia’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Gavin is very, very lucky. You are the perfect bride.”

A fringe of long lashes concealed Celia’s eyes. “Thank you, Peyton. And you’re a beautiful maid of honor, a wonderful friend, and I hope one day we’ll become more than friends.” She leaned in close. “I’m willing to bet Nicholas won’t be able to take his eyes off of you tonight.”

Danielle walked into the room, clapping her hands. “Ladies, we’re ready to begin. Maid of honor first, then the bride.”

Peyton didn’t want to think about Nicholas. She’d begun to believe her fascination with him was due to his mysteriousness. She’d watched him interact with other people, and not once was she able to discern from his expression what he was feeling. If he had been angry or annoyed that emotion also remained hidden behind a facade of polite indifference. She rarely saw him laugh or smile. Dinner at the restaurant had been the exception and she wondered if it had anything to do with Celia’s presence. It was obvious he adored his sister.