Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
EMMA
“I, Cassandra Grace Elliott, take you, Derek Richard Sinclair, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forth.”
There’s a lump in my throat as she stares at her almost-husband, who’s also crying like a baby. Brooks slides his hand into mine, then leans across to kiss the soft skin beneath my ear.
“Can’t wait for that to be us,” he murmurs.
A weird jolt pulls at my chest. I know he’s just playing for the audience. At least I think he is. But it still feels like I’m in some kind of paralell universe anyway.
Cassie has gone for a traditional ceremony, mostly because she was wary of the vows Derek would write if he had to do it himself. Or rather, she was worried the best man would do it for him, which would have been carnage.
“If he tells me I’ll always be his second girl after Bess, I’ll kill him,” she said as Mia put the veil on her hair.
“Who’s Bess?” I asked, slightly concerned that Cassie was already being cheated on. And even worse, she knew it.
“His dog. His parents brought him over yesterday. She has him wrapped around her little finger, or she would if she had any. Around her toes. Whatever.” Cassie grinned at me. “Anyway, that’s what would happen and I’m not having that today.”
Bess is next to Derek’s feet as he leans forward to kiss her. She has a little bow around her neck, like she’s another groomsman. And sure enough when Derek’s lips press against Cassie’s, Bess starts to bark like there’s an intruder trying to break into her house.
I guess to her, there is.
The audience chuckles as she starts to jump up against Derek’s legs. He pulls his mouth away from Cassie’s long enough to give the dog a sharp command, and to everybody’s surprise Bess lays down on the floor and he goes back to that first married kiss.
She’s as good as gold as she follows them back down the aisle, along with the bridal party. Then the rest of us get up and follow them. I can feel Brooks’ warm palm against my back as we walk and as soon as we’re outside he grabs a glass of champagne for me, pressing it into my hand.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask him, smiling. “Because where you’re concerned I’m a sure thing.”
He brings his gaze to me. His eyes are amused. And I realize I like this side of him best of all. When he relaxes and lets himself smile. When he doesn’t look like he’s fighting against the world.
“I’m just trying to look after you,” he tells me. And it’s weird, because I can feel that in my bones. This man wants to look after me. I’m not used to it.
But I like it.
After we eat – barbecue again, of course – the guests spill out across the meadow. Brooks is my shadow, his hand always on my back, as he actually schmoozes his way through the afternoon and early evening.
Everybody seems to know him – or at least his family – and a lot of people make it their mission to come over and say hi.
“I saw your dad on the golf course last month,” an older man says. “He beat me, of course.”
Brooks rubs his thumb against my back. “He beat me a couple of months ago if it makes you feel any better.”
“I swear the man never slows down.” The older man tips his head to look at me. “And who is this beautiful lady?” he asks.
“This is my fiancée,” Brooks says without hesitation. “Emma Robbins, this is Arthur Dalgleish. He and my father were at Harvard together.”
“It’s a pleasure,” I say, holding my hand out. Arthur takes it and smiles.
“Did you say fiancée?” he asks Brooks. “Your father didn’t mention that when I last saw him.”
Brooks doesn’t miss a beat. “We got engaged this week. I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet.”
Arthur starts to laugh. “Oh, I love that I know before he does. I’ll never let him live that down. I think I’ll tell him around the thirteenth hole the next time we play. Should put him off his game completely.”
“Do me a favor,” I say, leaning my head against Brooks’ shoulder. “Please don’t tell him until we get a chance. I haven’t met them yet and I want to make a good impression.”
“Of course, beautiful lady.” Arthur winks at me and I feel myself start to relax. “Well I’d best get back to the wife. It was a pleasure to see you again.”
When he walks away I turn to look at Brooks. His expression is so serene it jolts me.
“Shouldn’t you follow him?” I ask.
Brooks tips his head to look at me. “Why?”
I widen my eyes frantically. “Because he thinks we’re engaged,” I whisper. “And he’s going to tell your father. You need to explain the truth to him.”
“But we are engaged,” he says calmly.
“No we’re not, we’re…” I look around to check that nobody’s listening before lifting the ring for him to look at. “Not,” I say again, because I’ve no idea how to explain what’s going on between us right now.
“If it’s the ring you’re worried about, I’m planning on getting you a real one next week.”
“No you’re not.” My eyes widen.
“I am.”
There’s a strange twisty feeling in my chest. “Brooks, we won’t be engaged next week.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” he asks.
“No, I just.” I take a deep breath. “We barely know each other.”
“It didn’t feel like that when I was inside you last night.”
My throat tightens at the memory. Of how he felt as he held me in the lake. How his face looked in the moonlight as he stared down at me.
“It doesn’t work like that,” I whisper. “This is the twenty-first century. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean we have to get married.”
His brows pull together as he looks at me, as though he’s trying to work out what I’m getting at. “Are you saying you don’t want to be engaged to me?”
“I’m saying…” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I’m saying. But this isn’t how it works. You meet somebody, you date. After about a hundred years together and watching bridal TikToks and conveniently having them hang around he might decide to pop the question. But only after telling his friends nothing will change and he’ll still be him because he expects the woman to adapt to his lifestyle, not the other way around.”
“When you put it like that it sounds so romantic,” he says, shaking his head.
“But that’s just it. This isn’t a romance book, this is real life. People don’t just go around getting engaged willy nilly anymore.”
“Willy nilly,” he repeats.
“It’s an English expression.” I frown. “I read a lot. And that’s not the important thing here.”
He takes a sip of champagne. How can he be so calm? “What is the important thing here?” he asks.
“That people don’t go getting engaged when they barely know each other.”
A half-smile pulls at his lips. “But that’s the thing. I know everything about you.” He reaches out and traces a tiny scar on my left eyebrow. “I know you got this jumping off a fence, and that you cried because you bled on your favorite Cinderella t-shirt, not because you were hurt.”
I swallow, saying nothing.
“I know that you hate cats because when you were eight, you were with your parents in Spain and you were surrounded by a group of feral strays who were living in a hollowed out boat on the beach. And you had to get rescued by a local prostitute who tore your parents a new one because they left you alone.”
I can’t swallow this time. My throat feels too tight.
“I know that you love books almost as much as you love life. I know that you howl at the moon because there’s something primal inside you that you’ve spent a lifetime pushing down, but it always finds its way out.” He brushes his lips against mine. “I know how you sound when you come on my cock. And you know how I sound when I come so hard inside you that it feels like my world got turned on its axis and it’ll never go back.”
He blinks, his thick eyelashes sweeping down. “I know that Will hurt you. That he betrayed you in the worst way possible. And I can promise you that I’ll never, ever do that. So don’t tell me I don’t know you. I know you, Emma Robbins. I know things I suspect that nobody else ever has known. And I know that when I wake up in the morning and you’re there, laying next to me, that my day is going to be the best day I’ve ever had.”
My eyes are so wide they’re starting to hurt. “I…” My mind goes blank.
“So don’t tell me I don’t know you. Or that you don’t know me. Tell me you don’t want me, that’s valid. Because if you don’t like what you’ve seen this week, then I’ll walk away.”
“We could just date,” I whisper.
“We could.” He nods and for a second I already feel regret. “But I think we might be beyond that now. Tell me, do you have something against marriage?”
“No. But you do.”
He gives a little chuckle. “Clearly I don’t.”
“You said you hate weddings.”
“Maybe I hadn’t found the right person to love weddings with.”
“You said you got engaged to Lianne too soon.”
“Ten years later would have been too soon.” He looks so certain of himself. “It was wrong. This is right.”
I’m so confused. I like him. I more than like him. But we’ve been pretending for so long that I have no idea what’s real.
“I tell you what,” he says, his voice completely serious. “Give me a month before you make any big decisions. That’s all I ask. Let me prove to you that I’m for real. We can date, we can talk on the phone every night. Whatever you need to take me seriously.” He lets out a breath. “That’s if you’re interested in this. In us…”
“Of course I’m interested. I don’t have sex with guys I’m not interested in. I… like you. A lot.”
“That’s good. Because I like you a lot too.” He kisses my brow. “Now shall we go dance? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everybody has gone inside.”
He’s right, everybody has disappeared. I blink. “Okay.”
“Good.” He smiles and takes my hand and leads me into the massive series of marquees. “I’m glad we’ve got this sorted.”
brOOKS
“I didn’t know you could dance,” Emma says, looking shocked as I lead her around the dancefloor to the melodies of a string quartet. They’re playing modern tunes in a classical way. Emma tells me it’s a Bridgerton thing, whatever that is, but I just go with it.
“Of course I can dance. What were you expecting?” I ask her, amused. I haven’t been able to let her go all night. Maybe because there was a moment back there when she seemed like she didn’t believe me. And I get that, because this whole thing between us has been completely backward.
She doesn’t trust easy. I get that too. I wouldn’t trust me as far as I can throw me. But the fact is, my feelings for this woman have hit me like a wrecking ball. I’m like a teenager experiencing his first rush of hormones. I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want this to end.
The fact she’s agreed to give me a month has given me a rush of hope. The kind I haven’t felt for a long time. It’s addictive.
“I don’t know.” She tightens her hold around my neck, her body pressed against mine. “I just wasn’t expecting you to have natural rhythm.”
“You thought the stick up my ass was going to be a problem?” I joke and she starts to laugh.
“Something like that.” Her lips curl. “I guess I like that you can still surprise me.”
“You know how else I want to surprise you?” I ask her, sliding my hand down her back and cupping her ass.
“That’s better,” she says. “Now there’s the Brooks I know.”
We dance for another couple of songs, and I keep her tight against me, our bodies moving in time to the slow rhythm of the quartet. Then they take a break and I lean down to kiss her jaw. The soft skin where it meets her ear is fast becoming one of my favorite parts of her. Along with all the others. “Want to go grab a bottle of whiskey and howl at the moon?” I ask her.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She lets me take her hand and lead her to the bar. Even though the drinks are free I insist on buying the bottle because I might be an asshole but I’m also a rich one.
“How many glasses would you like?” the bartender asks.
I look at Emma as I answer. “No glasses, just the bottle.” I feel the urge to repeat that first night we met. I want to share the bottle with her. “It’s kind of a tradition,” I say.
There are a few people dotted around outside. A couple are making out against a tree, a mother and her daughter are arguing about a rip in a dress a little further along, but by the time we get to the edge of the lake we’re alone.
“Water is our thing,” Emma murmurs.
“We have a thing,” I say, trying not to grin. Damn, I like that.
I take my jacket off and lay it on the grass so she doesn’t stain her dress. Then I sit down next to her and open the whiskey, holding it out to her.
“You first,” she says. “It’s tradition.”
“It’s also tradition that I drink it as you howl at the moon,” I point out.
“I don’t feel like howling now,” she tells me. I lift a brow. “Stop it,” she giggles.
“I can’t. I want you.” I take a long sip of whiskey then I pass it to Emma. She takes a mouthful, wincing as the fiery liquid slides down her throat. The two of us lay back on the grass, our fingers laced together, and stare up at the moon.
“I don’t want to go home tomorrow,” Emma murmurs.
A smile pulls at my lips. “Then don’t. Come with me.” I mean it. I want her with me. All she has to do is say the word.
“That’s not what I meant. I just want time to stop. For a minute. Enough that I can repeat this moment over and over again.”
“I know. But I want you with me anyway,” I tell her.
I’ve already made arrangements for tomorrow. We leave after breakfast – there’ll be a massive exodus around ten, because nearly every guest will be vacating their yurts at that point. Then we fly back to Long Island where Emma will be picked up by a driver and taken home to see her granddad. I won’t even exit the plane, since we’ll be taking off again and heading to Virginia immediately, to my family’s estate.
Emma lets out a long sigh, her thumb brushing her ring finger where I slid the engagement ring a few days ago.
“Stop overthinking,” I murmur. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I wish I had your certainty.”
I turn to look at her, taking in her wide eyes, her red hair, her creamy skin. “I wish I could give it to you.”
“It’s a rich person thing.”
“You used to be rich,” I point out.
“There’s nobody more uncertain than a person who had everything and lost it,” she tells me. And I know she’s thinking about her family. About her parents and her grandmother, and even her granddad.
As soon as I can persuade her to leave the shop and come to Manhattan or Virginia, I’m introducing her to my brothers. Hell, I’ll bring them and their families to her if I need to. I hate that she’s always felt so alone. I have more than my fair share of family. I want to share them with her.
I reach for her, leaning over to brush my lips against her soft mouth. “Is it too early to head back to the yurt?” I ask her.
She pretends to look at her watch. “No, not too early at all.”
“Excellent,” I tell her, grinning. “Because all this whiskey drinking is exhausting.”