Chapter 8
EIGHT
They were in the car, but he didn’t want to go back to the resort.
Sometimes he felt this way when he was up in the air with nothing but beautiful blue skies and white clouds before him. The whole world looked perfect up there. No petty squabbles in the mess hall. No difficult orders to execute. No power-hungry three stars trying to show everyone who had the bigger dick.
Ariel was like that blue sky. Enveloping. Fun. Easy.
He’d known right away that he liked her.
He’d known he was attracted to her.
He hadn’t expected to start falling for her so fast.
Then again, his whole life was governed by how fast he could do something. It had been that way since Top Gun. He made lifesaving 180-degree turns when necessary. He lived minute to minute. Second to second. Had to, as a pilot. He knew when things were lining up to hit the target, and tonight, here, everything was lining up. He could see their interactions almost like a flight checklist before he took off.
Attraction? Check.
Shared values? Check.
Fun factor? Check.
Friendship? Check.
Partnership? Check.
Trust? Check.
So often on dates, he’d felt like he wasn’t getting the full story. The woman across the table from him was too packaged. Like wearing dress whites on special occasions. Not the everyday wear of life. He hadn’t liked the feeling of disconnect. But Ariel was straight up and straightforward.
Yes, she was something really special.
He glanced over as she started singing a Miley Cyrus song quietly from the passenger seat—rather badly, which only seemed more endearing—and couldn’t help but join in.
When they arrived at the resort, she broke off singing, and he noted the reason immediately as he gazed through the windshield. The Three Tornadoes were bearing down on them from the lobby, dressed in yoga pants, attitude in every exaggerated catwalk stride.
Sherlock gave a rare whine. Dax couldn’t blame him.
“Were they staking me out, sitting on the lobby’s front porch?” She groaned and gave Sherlock’s angular head a good rub. “God! You’d better get on to the cottage. I might be a while.”
He didn’t like the way they were scowling at her. Maybe it was all the garlic references—they hadn’t stopped for any despite the joking—but he wondered if her sisters went to secret vampire meetings. “I’m not leaving you alone with them.”
She turned her head, her mouth parted slightly. Yeah, even he was surprised by the sour note in his voice.
“I’ll be all right, Dax.” Her reassuring hand was as heavy as her voice. “I’ve been handling them my whole life.”
That didn’t make it right. “But I’m here now, and we’re in this together.”
Because while he’d come here with a clear mission—to get his best friend married—his new mission was her.
Someone knocked on the window, making Ariel jump in her seat. “Hey, y’all!” Terry called, waving crazy hands. “Are you getting out?”
Tiffany stood at the end of the hood, hands at her hips. Okay, she wasn’t so much the vampire society member as she was Frankenstein’s Bride come to life, he decided, what with her face stretched with tension and her platinum blond hair big and crazy in the breeze. Her mask was clearly slipping, and he wondered if Rob had noticed. Then again, his friend had been drinking more than usual, and that meant he was using alcohol as escapism, a habit that went back to his teenage days when he’d run wild before deciding to up and join the military.
“Get out of there!” Tricia knocked on the window, making Sherlock give a loud ruff.
“Want to speed off and never come back?” he asked.
“You have no idea how bad,” she told him with a sigh, “but duty calls.” Opening the door, she said, “Hey there! How was dinner at the chophouse?”
“Good!” Tricia hugged her, practically hanging on to her, likely from drinking too much. “I know you hate eating there because it’s so fancy, but you should have come. Mother told us all about your new wig. We want to see.”
“Yes!” Terry echoed as Dax got out of the Bronco. “Mom says Dax picked it out.”
“Yes, this we all can’t wait to see.” Tiffany was looking down her nose at him. “I didn’t know you were an expert on wigs, Dax.”
“We naval captains have to be experts in all sorts of things.” Inspiration struck. “Wigs are part of disguise training. If we’re ever downed in enemy territory, we have to know how to blend in. So I was the perfect person to select it. Plus, I’m a guy. I know what looks good on a woman.”
Tiffany hummed sensually. “Is that so?”
His gut immediately cramped like they’d eaten bad flounder, which wasn’t true. No, this was what happened when your best friend’s fiancée treated you like a piece of meat.
“I know I love a man with confidence,” Terry finished in an equally flirty tone.
“Ariel,” Tricia cried, “we’ve just got to see this wig.”
She gave a heroic smile. “I need to let Sherlock do his business, and then I’ll come find you. Will you be in the lodge?”
Tiffany strolled over and took her arm, her smile tight. “We’ll come with you. You remember our deal, don’t you?”
Her entire body went eerily still, making him wonder at the subtext. “Of course I do.”
“Well, then, we’ll come along. Don’t want you to get lost in the dark.”
“I have a flashlight.” She grabbed Sherlock’s leash as she let him out of the back and clipped it on. “Dax here had a long day. He hit every errand with me. You got my email update, right, Tiffany?”
“Yes.” Her sister didn’t let go as the group of women led Ariel along the winding path to their cottage, Dax following behind them. “I also got your suggestion for the watering cans for the sparklers, and I think that will work. Better than ugly tin cans.”
“That’s what I thought,” Ariel replied, stopping when Sherlock paused to take care of things.
Her sisters’ noses wrinkled up as she pulled a waste baggie out of her purse and cleaned up after her dog. Dax almost laughed. Bitchy and squeamish. He’d have to remember that. “I’ll run ahead and grab the wig.”
The faster these women saw it, the faster he and Ariel could move on to other things. Like some serious necking on the couch. Or wig-pong for kisses.
He sprinted the rest of the way to the cottage, hoping to grab the wig and be outside before they arrived. If those women got inside, he had a feeling they were going to be impossible to dislodge. God knows what they would ask Ariel next.
They arrived at the cottage as he came back down the front steps, wig box in hand. “Here you go. Prepare to be dazzled.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes as she grabbed the box. Ariel stepped back until she was standing beside him. He rubbed her back, feeling the tension there. The Three Tornadoes clustered around as she opened it. Terry gasped as Tiffany held it up.
“But it’s still too short!” Tricia complained.
Tiffany drilled Ariel with another bridezilla glare that would have made a puppy piddle. “The whole point of getting a wig was to have your hair be long for the wedding. Like ours. So you fit in with everyone in the photo.”
Ariel straightened her shoulders. “But I don’t fit in, Tiffany. Why pretend?”
All three women turned to her with shocked expressions before their gazes hardened. Dax stepped in and held out his hands. “Ladies, we tried on the long wig, and let me tell you the God’s honest truth.” Because he had to sell it and hard. “She looked like she’d been attacked by wolves. In a fantasy movie. It. Wasn’t. Good.”
Ariel sent him an endearing look, one that made him remember how sweetly she’d clutched him while he kissed her.
“She would break the camera with that wig,” he continued, seeing Terry’s and Tricia’s expressions shifting. What he was saying was working. “Worse, her hair was so big and wild she’d stick out in the wedding photos. Tiffany and Rob are supposed to be the standouts, right?”
Tiffany put the wig back in the box and closed the lid. “Correct. Fine. If that was how it looked…”
“It was.” Ariel took the box back. “Do you remember that horrible yellow gingham dress with the ruffles Mother put on me with the bonnet for Easter?”
Terry pressed a hand to her chest. “That bad?”
“Yeah,” Ariel declared with a nod. “Nightmare quality.”
“Thank God Dax was there to avert that ,” Tricia cried out. “Mother cut you out of the Easter photos that year when she was scrapbooking.”
Stormy had cut her own daughter out of the photo? Jesus, who were these people?
“We’ll make sure my hair and makeup people give you extra time,” Tiffany announced.
Sherlock gave a low howl. Dax wondered if the mournful sound mirrored how Ariel was feeling. Extra time? He was getting pissed.
“Tiffany, I know you want everyone to look their best,” Ariel said quietly, “but I’ve had my hair and makeup done at all the other weddings, and it’s never worked. I look terrible.”
Tricia put a companionable arm around Ariel’s shoulder. “I have to agree. When I was putting the matting on my wedding photos to hang them in the family room, I was grateful Ariel had been at the end of the row of bridesmaids. The mat kinda covered her up.”
Dax could feel his blood pressure rising.
Ariel walked over to Tiffany and laid a hand on her arm. “Let me do my own this time, and yes, please put me at the end of the line. Easier to cover me up.”
“Or cut her out, if she doesn’t look right,” Terry added quickly with a hand to her mouth. “I hate to say so, but wedding photos are important. Sometimes drastic measures must be taken.”
Dax bit the inside of his cheek. How dare they talk to Ariel like this! Or anyone else for that matter. Why did family think they could say things like this that they’d never say to strangers? Hell, then again, her family might. He desperately wanted to give these women a piece of his mind. “I can’t imagine Ariel ever looking bad,” he said tightly, gazing down at her. “She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.”
“That’s so…sweet.” Tricia looked at Terry, as if confused. Terry shrugged.
Tiffany only smiled with so much fakeness, he was sure something inside her must be cracking. “Sweet, yes, but you’ve spent a lot of years on a carrier with mostly men, so you’re no expert, Dax.”
He stared her down, unable to keep his outright dislike of her and everything she stood for out of his gaze. She only stared back with flinty, feminine arrogance.
“I have some more wedding things to take care of tonight,” Ariel broke in, crossing to them and bussing cheeks with each sister. “I’ll email you an update in the morning, Tiffany. Good night.”
Turning from them, she took Dax’s arm and walked him up the porch steps. Sherlock ran after them—fleeing the scene, Dax imagined, because how did anyone take that kind of bullshit?
He shut the door and locked it, then made sure to close every curtain and blind. The last thing they needed was another Peeping Tom moment. Sherlock plopped down beside the fireplace on his makeshift bed. Dax looked over at Ariel, standing still as stone. “You all right?”
“I’m used to it.” She rubbed her forehead however, her shoulders slumping. “Your bit about the wig was terrific, though. I almost bought it.”
“They’re a hard sell, your sisters.” Satisfied they had complete privacy, even if those little Lord of the Flies brats had seen them come back, he walked over and put his arms around her. “I wanted to give them a piece of my mind for talking to you like that.”
“I try not to take it personally. Barbie was perfect, and even she got her hair cut by them and was re-accessorized constantly. She was never good enough. How could I ever hope to be?”
When she gestured to herself, Dax’s heart broke. “Ariel, I never imagined people being so mean. Especially to family. They’re your sisters, and don’t tell me the half makes a difference. It’s cruel.”
She wrung her hands together before letting them fall to her sides. “And yet, that’s how it’s always been. It’s not like they don’t love me. They just don’t like me.”
Her sigh was harsh, and Dax wished he’d never brought it up.
“The worst part is that I don’t like them either.” She patted Sherlock when he rose and walked over to her. “I can remember fun times together when we were younger. Back then, I think Mother was trying to get us to love her, but then something broke inside her, and she stopped trying. To a kid it was a joy ride. Giant popcorn fountains for snow as a kid at Christmas. A birthday with pet rescue puppies. Disney Princess days.”
He couldn’t imagine any of that now. At the same time, he recalled Rob telling him about all the stuff he’d done with Tiffany—over-the-top picnics, race car night, and a last-minute trip to Vegas. She’d clearly learned at her mother’s knee.
“They’re diabolically fun when they want to be. That’s their charm and the reason I felt lucky to be their sister. Everyone wanted to be their friend. All my life, I’ve wanted to be one of them. But every time I get invited to join them—like now—it’s never the kind of good time I hope for, and part of me doesn’t know what to do.”
She lifted those big baby blues to him, and his heart clutched at the agony he saw there.
“It’s not like you can quit your family,” she added softly. “They’re the only people who can’t turn away from you, right? Maybe families are like gasoline tanks, and when your relationship with them runs low, things are just harder.”
There were a million retorts on the tip of his tongue, like how a car could run the same on the top part of the tank as at the bottom. Maybe the problem was her sisters syphoning off gas from her tank and draining her. Or maybe no one was contributing to the family tank, so it was going dry. His family’s tank was healthy because everyone contributed.
“You’re quiet.” She scanned his face. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”
He bit his lip. Should he say it? Fuck it. He couldn’t stop himself. “No. I hope you won’t think I’ve gone too far saying this, but your family seems to have already turned away from you, calling you bad things like that. Ariel, they’ve cut you out of family photos. If that’s not turning away from someone, I don’t know what is.”
She pursed her lips, obviously fighting emotion. He didn’t know what to do. He started by pulling her to his chest and rubbing her back.
“I hear what you’re saying, and God knows, I’ve gone over this a million times. Jeffrey’s concluded no family is perfect and you make the best of what you have while getting professional help. And using alcohol when necessary. He’s not exactly accepted either, but being gay, he likes to say it’s his cross to bear. He’s not accepted a lot of places.”
If that didn’t make him grit his teeth. He’d never understood why race, sex, or labels mattered. People were people. Good and bad. And everyone deserved at the minimum a basic level of respect. “Well, I can’t wait to meet Jeffrey. What do you want to do now? Watch A Fish Called Wanda or something else? Wig-pong?”
He rubbed her back briskly, trying to infuse good feelings back into her. But she stayed rigid in his arms.
“I was hoping we’d come back here and make out more,” she confessed, “and I hate that I’m not in the mood now. I feel like they’ve ruined something else for me. Something special.”
He tipped her head up and caressed her cheek. “You’re entitled to your bad mood. But I don’t think you should go to bed like this. I’d like to help you feel better. If you’ll let me.”
Because she had to want it. Despite having the fix-it gene, he knew a person had to make the choice. Be responsible for themselves and their emotions. He waited to see what she would do.
When she made a face at him, crossing her eyes, he smiled in relief. “I like that look on you.” He gave her one right back, scrunching his face up so tightly he felt like his eyes might get stuck that way. “What about this?”
“I’d keep a photo of you making that face.” She pressed a soft kiss to his chest. “Heck, I’d make it the screen saver on my phone.”
He felt like he had leaped out of an airplane, tumbling down through the air—the best sensation on earth other than being in the cockpit. “How about we take one together? Because I want to put it on my phone too.”
She gave him a considering look. “Talk like that only makes me like you more, and Dax… I already like you a hell of a lot.”
He tapped her nose because kissing her again didn’t feel on the table quite yet. “Ditto.”
“I like a man with brevity.” She smiled more easily and left him to grab her phone before pressing close to him. “Okay. Give me your best face. One, two, three. Cheese!”
Stretching his mouth wide and tipping his head to the right, he was sure he’d delivered. She went with strongly clenched features and an open mouth to the left. After she took the photo, she lifted it so both of them could see.
“Hideous!” she cried with delight. “I love it! High five.”
He smacked his hand to hers as he watched her put it as her screen saver. Speaking in a British accent in the hopes it would make her laugh, he said, “Text it to me. I need that, Elizabeth. Its immortal quality will always speak to me.”
“That’s a terrible accent,” she said as she sent it to him. She was laughing—a miracle. He’d roll out a dozen awful accents if they’d make her laugh. “When did Stephan become British?”
He felt his phone vibrate in his pants and dug it out. His mood deflated a bit, seeing no text from Rob. He shouldn’t be surprised. It was weird between them right now, and they both knew it. “Stephan was imitating that British guy all you chicks love in that Jane Austen flick. What’s it called? Pride and Penetration ?”
That had her erupting in gales of laughter. “That’s a good one. You’re thinking of a different version of the movie. I think we’ll go with the Keira Knightley version. Yes, you know what? Good call. I think that’s our movie choice tonight.”
He groaned. “Oh, no! You’re not going to do that to poor ol’ Stephan.”
She gave a sexy saunter as she walked over to the entertainment center. “You bet I am.”
He didn’t argue, and that’s when he knew for sure.
He’d fallen for her but good.