Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
Five minutes later, we reappeared in the living room. Judging by the disapproving sniff from Mom and the smirk on Roo’s face, they knew we’d been doing more than talking.
“Porter wants to say something,” I announced, completely throwing him under the bus.
Mom inspected him over her reading glasses. “Yes?”
“Beth and I are going to elope,” he said, his tone was one hundred percent don’t-fuck-with me and as edgy and intense as I’ve ever heard it.
She stared at him for a long moment, then waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. Now, Beth, sit down. We absolutely must go over who’ll be in your bridal party.”
I implored him with a look.
He shrugged and mouthed, “I tried.”
“Try harder,” I mouthed back.
He focused on Mom for a long moment.
She raised her head and stared him down like a four-star general. “Anything else, Porter? ”
He debated and then slowly shook his head. “Nope. I’m on my way out. Take care of my bride for me.”
I shot hate-daggers at him and mouthed, “Traitor.”
He laughed out loud, which caused Roo and Mom to look up from the binder.
“Sorry.” He reached for the door. “Leaving now.”
Five hours later, I laid exhausted on the couch. The front door open, and Porter stuck his head in.
“They’re gone,” my voice was tart.
He swung open the door and stepped in.
I sat up. “You bailed on me.”
“Sorry.”
“You fed me to the wolves. What happened to standing up to my mom for me?”
He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to pull out a beer. “I was taught that sometimes retreating is the best defense.”
“You’re a SEAL. It’s one socialite,” I chastised.
He pointed his beer at the door. “Your mom is not a job for a single SEAL. I’m not sure an entire army could stop her.”
Amused, I slumped back on the couch. “I know.”
“So, what did I miss?”
I exhaled. “We’re having six attendees each. You don’t know five of your best men, but after a near temper tantrum, I managed to secure the coveted roles of the matron of honor and best man for Emily and Jackson. Our engagement party is next Friday. And I fought a long and hard battle over not having smaragdine as our theme color.”
He looked interested. “What color did you pick?”
“I wanted pink. A soft, petal pink, like a dahlia.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I lost that battle. ”
“What color is smaragdine?”
“Emerald green. I hate emerald green.”
Our eyes met. His regretful expression said, ‘I am sorry you feel like shit, but I’m way over my head on this chick stuff.’
“This is completely out of control,” I moaned into a pillow.
“I hear you.”
“We need a plan.” I reached one arm up to him, my tone dramatic. “Please help me.”
He laughed. “Come on. Get your shoes on.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you out for dinner. We’ll talk strategy.”
We sat in a booth at a cute fresh food bistro.
“How are you holding up?”
I pushed my hair off my face. “I’ve had it wrong my entire life. I thought my dad was the bossy one, who needed to be in control, but I think he might be the puppet for my mother, the puppet master.”
Porter laughed. “Now I know where you get your spine of steel from.”
I snorted. “Hardly.”
“You’re tougher than you look.”
“I lost every battle I fought today. Which is stupid to even be fighting in the first place, since it’s over a wedding that’s never going to take place.”
He studied me with soft cashmere grey eyes. “How do you want to do this?”
“You mean our break up?”
“Yeah.”
“You could allegedly cheat on me.”
He winced. “Try again.”
“We could fight over money. ”
“I don’t give a shit about money. You could be the one to cheat on me.”
I shuddered. “Never.”
“You could stand me up at the altar?”
“You mean a runaway bride?”
“Yeah.”
“My mom would never forgive me.”
We shared another look.
I slowly spoke, “You could leave me at the altar.”
He held my gaze. “Seriously?”
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“Any idea would be better than that one.”
“Like what?”
He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Maybe we can stage a break up right before the wedding.”
My brain went there - that plan would maximize our sex time.
It might have been the worst reason in the world to delay ending this charade, but I couldn’t be held responsible for my train of thought. “That could work.”
“And we would have some time to come up with a plan on how to do that.”
“I like it.”
We both shared a look, more heat that humor. I dropped my eyes and played with my fork. Who was Porter? What had his childhood been like? Did he have a family?
“What’s Montana like?”
“Not like New York.”
“Well, what’s your family like?”
Those grey eyes questioned my interest. “I’m the youngest of six boys.”
That surprised me. “Is your family still there?”
“Yup, they all live there. All of my brothers are ranchers.”
“And your parents?”
“Still ranching.” This man fascinated me .
“Did you ever want to stay in Montana and become a rancher?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted.”
“So how did you end up in the military?”
Something passed across those grey eyes. “I left home the day I turned 18 to join the military.”
His eyes shifted away, letting me know that he didn’t want to talk about this. The waitress interrupted us with the bill. Porter reached out and took the billfold.
“Let me help,” I tried.
“Got it covered.”
“Well, thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
I excused myself to wash my hands and put on fresh lip gloss. I stared at my blond reflection. I wanted this man. That kiss against the bedroom door had held so much promise.
We were both sober, which meant one thing. A ripple of excitement coursed through me. I tossed my lip gloss back into my purse and turned to leave. A thick masculine arm wrapped around my neck, pulling me into a choke hold from behind.
Oh my God!
I frantically clawed at the arm, as my perpetrator half dragged, half propelled me to one of the stalls. The nauseating smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol burned my nose.
So much air cut off from my throat that my scream sounded like a wheeze. He pushed my face against the cold metal wall of the stall. His big, bulky body pressed against mine. Terror blinded me.
“Please,” I rasped. “Don’t hurt me.”
Something cold pressed against my throat. I felt a pinch and then something warm, oozed down my neck. My own blood. It took my brain a few seconds to process that the tip of a knife was pressed against the skin of my throat. Cutting me.
“Tell daddy dearest to drop out, or someone is going to get hurt,” he snarled .
I nodded frantically. Terrified. The metal of the knife dug deeper, and I immediately stopped nodding.
“Are you going to tell him that?”
“Yes!”
“Don’t turn around.” He lowered the knife. “If you see my face, I’ll kill you.”
My eyes squeezed shut. A lone tear trickled down my cheek. “Okay.”
He stepped away from my body, and I heard the sound of the heavy bathroom door swing open, then gently bump shut. I staggered to the mirror above the sink.
In shock, I stared at my reflection. A lone rivulet of blood trickled down my throat and created a red stain on my white blouse. With trembling hands, I pumped out a paper towel and tried to blot it.
My face was a white mask with dark and prominent eyes. I must have walked back to the table, but I didn’t remember moving. Porter stood, grabbed my shoulders, and took in every detail.
“What the hell?”
“He’s gone,” I croaked. My throat closed so tight, I was surprised I could breathe.
Porter’s nostrils flared in rage. His high cheekbones colored with emotion. He appraised the restaurant, suddenly a soldier, assessing all threats. “What did he look like?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see his face?”
“No.”
“Color of his hair?”
“No. Nothing. He approached me from behind.” I took a deep breath. “He’s gone, Porter.”
He turned like he was headed for the restroom.
Terrified of being left alone, I begged, “Please don’t leave me.”
He focused back on me. Two warm hands—so soothing, so safe—touched my neck. “I want to see your cut, okay?”
Eyes wide, I let him pull the paper towel away .
His eyes studied my wound. “Your cut isn’t too deep.” Grey eyes clashed with mine. “Did he touch you anywhere else?”
I shook my head, fighting tears.
I will not lose it here.
I will not cry.
“I’m going to call the cops.”
“No,” my voice came out strong. Stronger than I felt. “No police.” Surrounding patrons watched us with interest. “Not here.”
He put his hands up, cupping my face, his eyes filled with a flash of rage that would scare the average person. “I’m going to kill the fucker who did this, okay?” he promised.
I shook my head. I was going to lose all my composure if he kept this up. “Can you stop being so nice? It’s going to make me cry.”
He put a protective arm around me and then started to steer me out of the restaurant. “I’m taking you to the hospital. No arguments.”