Three and a Half Weeks (51 page)

Did some part of him recognize that very night that she was his, or more aptly, that he was hers? Very possibly.

He went back to the States without ever making contact with her. For one thing, he knew he wouldn’t be successful. Too much time had already passed and she had made no effort to get in touch with him. She was done with him the moment he picked up the single tail. His dour conclusion was that he’d have to live without her and so he went home.

But peace was elusive. At first, he tried to banish her from his mind. It didn’t work. Then, he thought he should return to the UK and beg her forgiveness, bring her flowers and chocolate. Or fine wine and sincere apologies. Expensive shoes and jewels, for God’s sake. Whatever it would take.

But he knew he’d fail. And the one thing above all else that Ian Blackmon couldn’t tolerate was failure—he’d almost rather die. Days passed, then weeks, months, eventually accumulating into a tortured year, a celibate year, a year during which he worked longer hours, and made ever more money, and spent his redirected sexual energy on self-improvement, working out constantly to create a tireless machine out of his body. Going without sex conserved quite a bit of energy, he learned, which was why professional boxers weren’t supposed to have sex for weeks before a bout.

Another lesson that came his way was that the idea of taking a whip to a woman no longer appealed to him. If anything, it had the opposite effect. A broken heart can change all of one’s priorities in a flash. The anniversary of their split was fast approaching and he still was nowhere near over her but he recognized he had to move on, and made plans to go to the club to meet new women and even considered attending one of his sister Zoe’s exhausting parties that were always teeming with debutantes.

That was when providence smiled upon him and during lunch with his sister, he learned about Ella’s bestselling book… and he knew he’d come across a way to lure her back into his life.

“Answer me, Ian, you followed me to the UK?”

Ella’s voice pulled him back from the past, into the conversation they were having in New York. “Yes,” he concedes, “I followed you to the UK.”

Her pulse began to race as she realized the implications of his admission. He must have loved her… even then… as she loved him. “Why didn’t you contact me? I was waiting for you.”

“You were? I thought for sure you would reject me, that you despised me.”

“Well, I did. But I also loved you and missed you so much. I would have been thrilled to see you, Ian.” She’s wringing her hands. “When were you there?”

He told her and she squeezed her eyes closed. If only he’d visited her, let her know he was there, they might have avoided so much pain and loneliness
. “Oh, I would have been so happy to stay with you instead of in my drafty dorm room. I missed you with every part of me… but the next move had to come from you.”

“It did,” he said with a smirk.

“Yeah, right. Suing me for breach of contract a year later. Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“It sort of worked, didn’t it?”

“So you filed the suit to get me back? Not because of the book?”

“Yes to the first question, no to the second.”

It’s her turn to smirk; she climbs onto his lap and begins to kiss him, every part of him that’s accessible. “A normal man would send flowers or jewelry with a heartfelt apology.”

“I’ve never been accused of being normal.”

“You wasted time, Mr. Blackmon, precious time. All those months we could have been together. Now it’s up to you to make it up to me. But first tell me what’s bothering you about Natasha’s situation.”

“I think she texted me for help,” he admits, feeling
anew a stab of horror. He tells Ella about the interrupted message.

“Ian,” she says after a while, “let’s commit to planning and enjoying our wedding. After our honeymoon, we’ll investigate Natasha’s new life to see if we need to intervene. I think that will make both of us feel better, don’t you?”

He nods.

“She doesn’t deserve any mercy from us but as a woman, I’m horrified to think of anyone being consigned to a life of sexual slavery. It would be better to die, I think. So maybe we can get someone we trust to do some reconnaissance. Who knows? Perhaps the man will fall in love with her and treat her well. Truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.”

His fingers reach out to comb her hair behind her ear and caress her face. “I love you, Ella.”

Rather than answer him with words, she answers him with her lips in a different way. A better way. And suddenly, sitting on his lap isn’t so comfortable anymore, as things harden and shift beneath her. He smiles wickedly as she squirms.

“I know where we can stow it in a nice, warm place where it won’t interfere with your sitting on my lap in comfort.”

“Really? Well, then…”

He pulls up her short skirt—God, but he loves short skirts—and yanking her panties out of the way, he unzips and impales her in one fluid motion. Her head tilts back and a low moan vibrates in her throat.

“Yes, much better,” she says. “Much… much… better.”

Countdown
:
T minus 56 hours and 23 minutes
.

At
T minus zero
, Ian and I will stand in front of hundreds of witnesses and vow to love one another until death. No biggie.

I picked up my dress today, having had the last fitting three days ago, which called for one very minor adjustment. Mariah’s dress was the height of perfection, but Zoe’s needed a bit of taking in since she’d shed ten pounds since her last fitting. Call me unreasonable but I would think that a considerate bridesmaid (not to mention new sister-in-law) would be able to maintain her weight for three teensy, weensy months. Zoe is a definite pain in the ass, no doubt about it. Her mother, however, is not. Faith showed me her gown last week and I have to admit it’s a brilliant choice—for her coloring, age, figure, and style. Faith and I will definitely get along for we are alike in so many ways—but not too many ways to make it creepy and weird for Ian.

Anyway, I haven’t yet seen my mom’s gown but she assures me I’ll love it. I’m comfortable she’s right since she generally displays impeccable taste. As the bride, I got to select Mariah’s gown and though it presented an almost irresistible opportunity to exact revenge for years’ worth of abuses by putting her in a horribly garish contraption of a frock, in the end I couldn’t do it. I selected a drop-dead gorgeous
aubergine
silk strapless—and quite
short—cocktail dress. Zoe’s is just as short but on a bias cut with cap sleeves. Why should my girls hide their killer gams? Those legs don’t come cheap or easy and they need to show them off to find their own husbands, damn it. I’m still holding out for Mason for Mariah. Hope springs eternal.

We compiled the guest list as soon as we returned from New York and Daniel’s wedding. My mother sent me a list of her guests and Faith provided me with hers. When we put the three lists together and subtracted the few duplicates, there were still over four hundred names. And a few of them were women who had a history with my darling husband-to-be. Those names had to be weeded out.

The moment had arrived for us to have the long-postponed chat about
Diana Benson and Kaylie Ayres.

We had spoke
n about it already, of course, that night when we got home. The entire car ride back to Ian’s place was silent and tense but I was not going to go to sleep stewing over it. When the front door to his home closed behind us, I went on the offensive.

“So what was that little trap all about? Did you mother do it intentionally?”

His eyes blazed. “Of course not! Why would she? My mother likes you very much, Ella.”

“You’re not going to stand there and deny you had a relationship with both of those women who were there tonight. Are you?”

Rolling his eyes, he exhaled through his nose loudly. “No, I’m not going to deny it. Kaylie was a fling when I was a kid, for God’s sake. I just wanted to get laid and I wasn’t too choosy. I never took her seriously and I thought she was doing the same. My mistake.”

“And the cougar?”

He smirked. “Funny you should call her that—”

“That’s what she is,” I interrupt. “She’s got to have a good ten years or more on you. She was stealing from the cradle.”

“Yes, she is actually fifteen years older than I. When I met her, I had no idea she was married to my father’s partner. I just saw a sexy, older woman and I took her up on her offer. The shit of it was she knew damn well who I was and of her relation to my family.”

“Were you not offended by the age difference?”

He shrugged. “I asked her if it bothered her after we’d been seeing each other for a while…”

“Bothered
her
?” I shook my head at his cluelessness.

“It didn’t bother
me.
”

“And?”

“Do you really want to know what she said? I warn you it’s obnoxious.”

I sneered. “I don’t think I can dislike her more than I already do.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘Old enough to pee, old enough for me.’”

“Okay, I was wrong. It was possible to hate her more and I did now. What a disgusting slut.”

“Ella,” he grabbed my arms, “let’s not waste another second talking about either of them. They’re both old news. Forget it.”

I pursed my lips stubbornly, wanting to cling a little while longer to my self-righteousness.

“Look me in the eyes, Ella. What do you see?”

I blew out my breath loudly in contempt, vibrating my lips in the process. “A very handsome man who did not develop his discriminating taste until very recently.”

He laughed. “There you go. But, no. I want you to see the love shining through, love for you and only you. If I hadn’t met and had relationships with all those other women, how would I have almost immediately known that you were
the one
? They were merely yardsticks on which to measure how much I love you, and how high a bar you set, baby.”

I let it go after th
at. How could I not when he said such lovely things to me?

Now I dig in again, and like a juicy steak that gives you colon cancer, this discussion was going to be unhealthy for us to have. “They are not coming to our wedding. What is wrong with your mother? Did you not tell her of your history the day of the lunch she gave?”

“I told her, Ella. But here’s the thing: Kaylie is one of my sister’s very best friends and
Diana is my father’s partner’s wife. How in hell can my mother not invite them?”

I do not want to back down on this one. But I may have to bend because I see his point. “Can you at least ask her if it’s possible before the invitations are sent out? I think I should be able to feel comfortable at my own wedding.”

“I will. But, Ella, even if they are present, it’s not going to make a difference. There will be so many guests there and we’ll be busy. Chances are you won’t even see them. Kaylie will be with Zoe and Diana will be with her husband.”

“Was she good in bed?”

His eyes pop open, wider than the Continental Divide. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“No, it was a joke. Yes, I’m asking; I want to know. Was she?”

“Yes, she was… proficient. But it was just mechanical sex: there was no affection involved. When that’s the case, it can never be too good, now can it?”

“I wouldn’t know, Ian, for as you yourself have pointed out on numerous occasions, I hadn’t had any sexual experience before you. Perhaps I should rectify that so I can have yardsticks by which to measure you?”

Smoldering eyes zoom in on me. “Do so at great peril: your own, and whoever has the audacity to touch you.”

“You’re not smiling. You would kill me if I cheated?”

“Kill you? Ella, what’s gotten into you? Are you trying to provoke a fight?”

What has gotten into me? It must be nerves. Maybe I am trying to goad him into an argument so I could call off the wedding. I’m nervous about taking this step. Isn’t it usually the man who gets cold feet?

So I backed down. “Just ask your mother. Do it for me. Okay?”

Later that week, when I walked through the entrance hall of Ian’s house, I heard his and his mother’s hushed voices. The fact that they were hushed just made the prospect of eavesdropping that much more appealing. I tiptoed closer and, peeking in, tried to listen.

“… and it wasn’t.”

“Ian, I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“Mom, you cannot allow Zoe to invite whomever she desires. I’ve already told you about her friends. I won’t allow Ella to be uncomfortable at her own wedding.”

“Okay, agreed. So we’ll ditch Kaylie Ayres. What about Diana Benson? Why the no-go on her?”

“Do you really want to know, Mom?”

Faith just looked at her son in consternation. What is it she does or doesn’t want to know? “I’m afraid of the answer but you’re just going to have to spill, Ian. I
have
to invite them—he’s your father’s closest colleague.”

“Mom, before I knew who she was I had a thing with her.”

Faith stared at her son uncomprehendingly. “A thing?”

He had the good grace to blush. “Yes, a thing. Must I spell it out?”

“Ohhhh, a thing.” Now she was blushing. “A thing. Really? My God, what’s wrong with that woman? She’s too old for you.”

“Not to mention married, Mom.”

“Not to mention. Huh. Well, then, you tell me what to do, since you put me in this position, Ian. How am I to explain to your father? Moreover, how will he explain it to his longstanding friend and colleague? Please guide me on this one.”

I watch as Ian tells me in body language exactly how agitated he is. It’s time for me to intervene so I walk into the room, clicking my heels on the hardwoods. “There’s no need, Faith. Ian, it’s fine if Di
ana Benson attends our wedding. I’m not going to get hung up on insignificant matters.” I lean down to give him a kiss and I smile at Faith. The look of relief on both their faces is downright comical so I allow myself a giggle.

“Any other problems we need to address?”

The night before the wedding we have a small party for our friends. It is just us, Ian’s sister, Jackson Delacroix, Mariah, and Ma
son, plus Daniel and Olivia fly in early enough to join us. We are all gathered in the great room when Daniel and Olivia make their entrance.

Mariah turns to me. “Please, Ella, please tell me that mouthwatering beauty who just walked in is single. Please tell me the beautiful girl whose hand he’s holding is his sister or first cousin or ridiculously young mother. I’m begging here?”

I grin. “’Fraid not, Mariah. That’s his brand-new wife and he’s head over heels for her. He doesn’t even notice that other women exist.” I almost add a rejoinder to Mariah to be careful what she thinks about around him, as Ian’s suspicion about Daniel reading minds flashes through mine. Tailgating that thought, I remember the day I met Daniel, at the Russian Tearoom. I’d had salacious thoughts about a three-way with him and Ian. I groan aloud as the connection is made. Oh, no. Oh, please God, no! Please don’t let it be true. I remember now that Daniel looked at me strangely when that dirty little thought went traipsing through my brain. Right now I just want the floor to swallow me up. Right the fuck now.

“Ella, are you nervous?”

I look up to see the handsome Daniel smiling at me, his green eyes twinkling, while Olivia is speaking to Zoe. “Uh,” I stammer, “not too bad, I guess.” I try, really try, to smile but it probably looks like I’m in grimacing in stomach pain.

Daniel continues, “If that’s the case, why do you look so pale?”

He is persistent, isn’t he? I want to tell him to go away and let me wallow in my shame. How will I ever live this down?

“I’m pale because that’s my natural coloring, silly,” I say instead. “Tell me, Daniel…” I pause and then gesture him closer with my fingers, “Ian thinks you can read minds,” I say, watching his face closely.

All I get is an enigmatic smile. “Hmm, if that’s the case, he’d better watch what he thinks about around me.”

“I’d better, too, I suppose,” I say suggestively, to see if there’s any reaction. Nope. Maybe I’m okay? I press my luck. “I would hate for someone to read my mind because sometimes I have naughty thoughts.” Again, my eyes are glued to his face.

“We all do at times, Ella, some more than others. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He gives me a warm and beautiful smile and moves over to where Olivia is now standing.

I think he knows, damn it. What’s more, I think he knows that I know and that I know he knows what I was thinking. He’s trying to tell me it’s okay, that he doesn’t hold it against me… which is great, but I’m still utterly mortified. What would Olivia think if she knew about my lascivious thoughts about her husband? And then I think of having a husband who could read your mind all the time. Poor Olivia.

Halfway through our party two things happen. The first is when I duck into the kitchen to get another bottle of white wine I’d chilled earlier and find Mariah and Mason engaged in a hot and heavy liplock. Score.

The second is when Ian’s two brothers arrive—separately, of course: one came from San Francisco and the other,
Seattle. Quentin lives on a little, crooked block in the Mission district of S.F., and Nathaniel lives in Seattle in a converted warehouse he renovated himself. Our quiet little party rockets into warp speed when the three Blackmon brothers together in one room coalesce into an undeniable force. The music gets louder, the people get drunker, and laughter drowns out conversation. I see more people arriving, as well—people I don’t know. By eleven, I say goodnight to the people we invited and sneak away to bed. I don’t want to look exhausted tomorrow for my wedding and I need to be up early to meet up in my mother’s hotel room where I’ll get ready for the wedding.

I take one last look at myself in the long mirror. Is that really me? The reflection shows a beautiful woman, dressed in silk and taffeta. My make-up is astonishing, done by an expert. It barely looks like I have any on but all my features are accentuated. Zoe is attaching the veil so I try to hold still in my high-heeled satin shoes.

The dress makes me look even more slender than I am. My hair is swept back in a loose chignon and the veil sits just above it. Right before I exit the room, my mom and I discuss the merits of putting the veil over my face.