Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
Lincoln
N erves twisted in my stomach as I drove out to Morgan and Slade’s wedding. Erika had spent the night before at Slade’s parents’ home, preparing for the big day. The Abbotts had graciously offered their sprawling estate on Long Island as the wedding venue, and even from the driveway, I could see it was going to be a grand affair.
Michael had handed me a letter the day before, tasking me with delivering it to Morgan. The temptation to read it had gnawed at me, but I knew better. Whatever my brother had to say was his business, not mine.
A valet in a crisp black uniform stepped forward as I pulled into the paver driveway. I handed him the keys to the white SUV, double-checking that I had my card for the happy couple. As I approached the towering black iron double doors with frosted glass panels, they swung open before I could knock. Another uniformed man greeted me, his expression impassive as he ushered me inside.
The house was as grand as I’d imagined, every detail meticulously elegant. White roses twined around the curved railings of a marble staircase that swept up to the second floor. Overhead, an oversized crystal chandelier sparkled like a thousand diamonds, casting prismatic light across the entryway. The usher led me through the house, the noise from the backyard growing louder with each step.
Outside, large white tents dotted the expansive lawn, but the chairs for the ceremony were set under the blazing sun. Despite arriving on time, it was a struggle to find a free seat. Just as the classical music swelled, signaling the start of the ceremony, I found a spot and settled in. Bridesmaids in long, sleeveless lavender dresses began their procession down the aisle, each paired with a groomsman in a sharp black tuxedo and lavender tie.
I spotted Erika before she saw me, and when her eyes found mine, her smile lit up her entire face. I returned the smile, though I couldn’t shake the discomfort eating at me. The sun beat down relentlessly, and the humid air felt heavy against my skin. As Slade and Morgan exchanged vows, I fanned myself, grateful they kept the ceremony brief.
The moment the ceremony ended, Erika found me, and I couldn’t resist pulling her in for a hard, possessive kiss. She looked stunning, her outfit hugging her curves in all the right places, and the exposed ivory skin of her chest had me instantly aroused. Her hair was swept up in an elegant updo, soft curls framing her face. But as much as I wanted to keep kissing her, I knew it wasn’t the time or place.
“You look fantastic,” I murmured, my voice low with appreciation.
“You clean up nice, Elliott,” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Where’s the happy couple?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
Erika narrowed her eyes, a warning glint in her gaze. “Don’t start anything.”
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” I assured her, pulling out the card from my pocket. “Just want to congratulate them and give them this.”
“A gift?” she asked, sounding surprised. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”
“You’re my date. I already took care of the gift.”
“Well, consider this an extra one.”
Erika fanned herself, glancing toward the house. “Can we go inside? It’s sweltering out here.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said, loosening my tie. “I think I’ve sweated through my shirt.”
“Mmm, sweaty Elliott,” she purred, a playful grin on her lips. “I like that.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing full well I probably didn’t smell my best. She laughed, taking my hand and leading me into an air-conditioned tent where the cocktail hour was in full swing. Wait staff in white uniforms circulated with silver trays, offering an array of appetizers and drinks.
We found a high table and filled our small plates with hors d’oeuvres. As I bit into a bacon-wrapped scallop, I spotted Morgan in the crowd. She was stunning in her wedding dress, a radiant smile on her face. It wasn’t hard to see why my brother had fallen for her. But the card in my pocket felt like a lead weight, and I hesitated, unsure when—or if—I should give it to her.
Before I could decide, a heavyset woman with steel-gray hair and an overwhelming cloud of perfume approached our table, launching into a conversation with Erika. From the snippets I caught, she was a jewelry designer. Erika, ever the social butterfly, smiled and nodded, then shot me a quick glance before the woman dragged her off to meet her daughter.
And just like that, Morgan was standing in front of me, her smile dimming as she looked at me with a mix of curiosity and caution.
“You look beautiful,” I said, trying to steady my nerves as I bit into a tiny quiche Lorraine.
“Thank you. I love that suit on you,” Morgan replied, her tone polite but distant.
“Thanks.” I glanced around the room, searching for the right moment. Finally, I reached into my pocket, fingers brushing against the envelope. “I have something for you.”
She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. “That’s not necessary. I told Erika she didn’t need to get us a gift.”
I leaned in closer, lowering my voice so only she could hear. “This isn’t from me or Erika. It’s from Michael.”
Her smile faded instantly, replaced by a flicker of something unreadable. “Keep it,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m married now.”
“I promised him I’d deliver it,” I insisted, feeling the weight of my brother’s request. “He’ll kill me if I don’t.”
Morgan sighed, her resolve weakening. Reluctantly, she accepted the plain white envelope, slipping it into the bridal money bag she clutched tightly. The gesture was swift, almost as if she wanted to forget it had ever happened.
Just then, Slade approached with a drink in hand. His easy smile and relaxed demeanor made it clear he hadn’t noticed the exchange. He handed Morgan the glass, and she took a small sip, her expression smoothing into one of practiced calm as Slade turned to me, initiating casual conversation.
As we talked, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Morgan’s mind. The envelope might be hidden away, but its presence hung between us like a silent specter.
Erika yawned, the leather seat beneath her creaking as she shifted. The weight of the day hung heavy on her eyelids.
“Tired?” I asked, glancing over at her.
“I’ve been up for hours,” she replied, stifling another yawn. “We should’ve gotten a hotel room in Southampton.”
“I would’ve agreed,” I said, sharing her regret. “But it was a lovely wedding.”
It was despite the heavy heart I had for my brother. He would forever love Morgan and now she was married. I feared that he would spend the rest of his life pining for her while she moved forward.
She eyed me curiously. “What did you give Morgan?”
“A letter from Michael,” I answered, watching her reaction.
Erika frowned, her tone slightly chastising. “You shouldn’t have.”
I had to give it to her. I promised my brother and I wouldn’t lie to him. Whatever Morgan chose – to read it – not to read it – was her choice but she needed to know how Michael felt. He would always be waiting in the wings.
I cleared my throat. “She didn’t have to take it.”
“She did. Morgan isn’t rude. What did it say?”
“I have no idea. I wouldn’t violate Michael’s trust by reading it.”
Erika smirked. “I could always ask her.”
“He loves her,” I admitted, my voice softening.
“But she’s married,” Erika protested.
“He knows that, and he’d never interfere. She has to come to him.”
Erika yawned again, her exhaustion catching up to her. “She won’t. She loves Slade.”
There was a pause, a tension in the air. I broke the silence, trying to steer the conversation back to us. “Are you coming to my place tonight?”
“I’ll go wherever you bring me. I’m so tired,” she murmured, her head resting back against the seat.
I smiled, recalling a moment from earlier. “I liked when we slow danced together.”
“Where did you learn to dance?” she asked, her interest piqued.
I smirked. “My mother made all three of us take dancing lessons. They’ve come in handy over the years at the many functions we attend,” I explained, a touch of nostalgia in my voice.
Erika chuckled, reaching over to ruffle my hair, her fingers threading through it. “Breaking hearts with your dancing skills?”
“You gained some admirers today, too,” she added, teasingly.
“Admirers?” I echoed, playing along.
“Female guests at the wedding.”
I hadn’t noticed because I couldn’t take my eyes off Erika the entire time. She enthralled me. I was caught in her web and there I would stay.
I turned to face her, sincerity in my gaze. “I was only interested in one female guest.”
She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “I saw your jealousy spark.”
“I was calm,” I insisted, though I knew it wasn’t entirely true.
“Not when I danced with my partner, Robert,” she pointed out, her voice gentle but firm.
I couldn’t help but defend myself. “He was holding you too close.”
“That’s what you do when you slow dance,” she countered. “Besides, he’s engaged.”
“I don’t care. You’re very desirable.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “Will you ever get over this?”
“No,” I replied honestly.
She sighed, her tone softening. “If I had a ring on my finger and Mrs. before my name?”
My heart skipped a beat. I looked at her, trying to read her expression. “Do you want a ring and Mrs. before your name?”
“Someday,” she admitted.
“Soon? I’m willing to offer that to you.”
“Weddings make me sentimental,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You know my intention is to be your husband,” I said, my voice steady and sure.
“And that could be many months from now,” she replied, her tone growing distant.
My heart sank. I wanted her to be my wife a lot sooner than months from now or years…and I had a feeling her experiences would drive her to push our relationship on and on until I gave her an ultimatum.
“Why are you so adverse to marriage?” I asked, the question lingering between us.
“You know why,” she said, her voice trailing off.
“When will I meet your family?” I pressed, hoping to break through her hesitation.
“I don’t know,” she answered evasively. “My brother, Jim, is off somewhere in Australia surfing.”
“What does he do for a living?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation.
“Nothing. He made plenty of money as a stockbroker, and now he travels the world doing what he wants.”
I nodded, then gently pushed again. “I’d like to meet your parents then.”
“It’s too soon,” she said quickly, almost as if she’d rehearsed the response.
I reached across to hold her hand but she pulled away and it hurt.
“Are you ashamed of me?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
“Are you serious? Why would I be ashamed of you?” she shot back, her eyes locking with mine.
“You must have told your parents about me,” I said, searching her face for answers.
“They don’t even know we’re dating,” she confessed, her voice barely audible.
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t find the right response. The car fell silent, the only sound being the faint hum of the engine as we drove on.
“Why?” I pressed, leaning in slightly, my eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation.
Erika glanced away, her fingers idly twisting the strap of her purse. “I don’t want to tell them,” she finally admitted, her voice tight with frustration. “They already give me enough grief about settling down. If I tell them I’m in a relationship, they’ll be on my ass about everything that comes with it.”
“Like what?” I asked, though the tension in my chest was already answering the question for me.
“Marriage. Children,” she listed, her tone sharper now. “They don’t realize they’re the reason those things are a turn-off for me.”
My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my tone steady. “You don’t want children?”
Erika’s gaze flicked to mine, a shadow of uncertainty in her eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“Do you?” I pressed gently, leaning back slightly to give her space.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping as she finally admitted, “Eventually. Why?”
“Because I want them,” I said, the words coming out more intensely than I’d intended. “And I don’t want to convince you to have them if you’re not interested.”
“I am interested,” she insisted, her voice softening as she turned her gaze back to the window. “Just not now. Why are we talking about this? We have such a long way to go before we even consider children.”
“I was just curious,” I murmured, sensing the tension in her body and wanting to ease it, even though I couldn’t shake the knot tightening in my stomach.
Erika sighed again, this time more deeply, as if she were letting go of the conversation entirely. She shifted in her seat, curling up slightly and leaning her head against the cool leather. Within minutes, her breathing became slow and rhythmic, and I realized she’d fallen asleep.
I glanced at her every few moments, the flickering lights from the highway casting fleeting shadows across her face. Her expression was peaceful, but the weight of our conversation lingered heavy in the air.
As the miles passed, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was heading down a path that would lead me to the same lonely place as my brother—longing for something I couldn’t have, or worse, losing something I’d already found.
Erika was asleep when we arrived. I carried her upstairs to my apartment and undressed her without her stirring. Once she was snuggled under the covers, she mumbled something…Foster.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I said, carrying a tray of coffee and buttery croissants into the bedroom. Erika was curled on her side, her hair tousled, but as I approached, she slowly opened her eyes and yawned.
“What time is it?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
“Just after ten,” I replied, placing the tray on the bed beside her.
“I slept a long time,” she said, sitting up. The white sheet slipped down, revealing her full breasts. I knelt beside the bed, unable to resist nuzzling her soft skin.
“I worked out and made a few phone calls,” I said, my lips brushing against her chest as I spoke. “You needed the rest.”
She sighed contentedly, her hand finding the back of my head as she scratched at my scalp. “I love everything about you,” she murmured.
I pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. There was a sleepy, vulnerable quality to her expression, her face still puffy from sleep. “You were restless last night,” I observed, studying her reaction.
“I was?” she asked, taking one of the steaming blue mugs of coffee from the tray.
“Yeah,” I said, watching her closely. “You were talking in your sleep.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? What did I say?”
I waited until she took a sip of her coffee, then, keeping my voice calm, I said, “Foster.”
The color drained from Erika’s face, and I noticed the slight tremor in her hand as she set the mug back on the tray. “Foster? That’s odd,” she tried to play it off, her tone unconvincing. “I don’t know a Foster.”
I kept my gaze steady, watching as she busied herself by tearing a small piece off a croissant and taking a dainty bite. It was clear she was hiding something, but I didn’t push the issue—at least not yet.
Instead, I took a deep breath and asked, “Want to do something today?”
“Can’t,” she replied quickly, the tension still evident in her voice. “I have some paperwork to finish and need to call a few clients. My phone is full of messages.”
“God forbid you take a few days off,” I teased, rolling my eyes.
“You know how it is,” she said with a weak chuckle. “I have a full schedule this week.”
“So do I,” I said, leaning back on my heels. “I have a big client coming in from Texas. He’s looking to purchase a property for when he travels.”
“Another six-figure commission for you?” she asked, her tone lightening slightly.
“If I can sell him something,” I replied with a grin.
“The life of a real estate agent,” she mused, but there was a distance in her voice, like her mind was elsewhere.
We finished breakfast and made love in the shower—my second of the day. Despite the closeness of our bodies, a sense of unease lingered between us, fueled by Erika’s reluctance to open up about Foster. I hoped she would eventually be honest with me, but I knew better than to press her now. If I did, we both knew where that would lead.
Afterward, we spent the next two hours working—me in my office and Erika at the kitchen table with her laptop. By the time I emerged just after two, I was ready for a break.
“Want some lunch?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“I’m not really hungry,” she replied without looking up.
“You haven’t eaten much since yesterday,” I pointed out.
“I ate enough at the wedding to last me several days,” she said, her tone dismissive. “The cake was scrumptious.”
“It was,” I agreed, “but since you ate almost my entire slice, I barely got a taste.”
“I don’t eat sweets that often,” she argued, finally looking up at me.
“I know, but I wanted my cake, and you ate it for me.”
“Next time, don’t get a drink when they’re serving cake,” she said with a smirk.
“The next time we get served cake, I hope it’s at our wedding,” I said, trying to gauge her reaction.
She sighed, and the playful spark in her eyes dimmed. “That’s a long way off, if at all.”
Anger bubbled inside me, and I clenched my jaw. “Why do you keep saying that? Don’t you want to marry me?”
“You’re pushing too much, Lincoln,” she warned, her tone sharp.
There it was—my first name, spoken with a chill that cut through the warmth of the moment. “I want to marry you. I want to do everything with you for the rest of my life.”
“We have a long way to go before we’re there,” she countered, her voice strained. “I should get ready to go home. I have a lot to take care of.”
“Didn’t you just spend the past few hours dealing with clients?” I asked, the frustration creeping into my voice.
“I mean things at home,” she clarified, her tone impatient. “I need to do some cleaning and laundry.”
“You have a maid for those things,” I reminded her, trying to keep my irritation in check.
“She doesn’t do my laundry, and I’m almost out of underwear.”
“I like you without any underwear,” I quipped, hoping to lighten the tension.
“Of course you do,” she replied flatly, clearly not in the mood for jokes.
Erika stood up and began packing her laptop into her briefcase. I followed her down to the bedroom, watching as she tossed off the black t-shirt she’d been wearing. It was mine, but it fit her like a short dress. I leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed, as she rifled through the drawer I’d given her in my dresser.
The silence between us was heavy, filled with the unspoken things we both knew needed to be addressed but weren’t ready to confront. I hoped she would eventually be honest with me, but deep down, I feared that day might never come.
“You don’t have to watch me,” Erika commented, glancing at me over her shoulder as she rifled through the drawer.
“I want to watch you,” I replied, my voice low and steady. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”
She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she pulled on a pink bra to match the panties she had already slipped into. She then grabbed a pair of gray terry shorts—almost identical to the ones I was wearing—and tugged them on before slipping a black tank top over her head.
“Do you want me to stay over tonight?” I asked, my tone more serious than I intended.
Erika paused, her hand lingering on the hem of her shirt as she straightened it out. “I have work to do,” she finally said, not meeting my gaze. “I won’t be able to focus if you’re there.”
I crossed the room in two quick strides, gently cupping her chin in my hand and tipping it up so she had no choice but to look at me. “Have I done something wrong?” I asked, searching her eyes for an answer she seemed reluctant to give.
“Nothing,” she said stubbornly, her jaw tightening. “I just need some space.”
I let my hand drop, the warmth of her skin slipping away as I backed off. “I’m sorry if you think I’m crowding you.”
She exhaled slowly, her breath a whisper in the tense silence between us. “We’re moving very fast,” she clarified, her voice softer now. “I love you, but I need some time.”
I nodded, trying to keep the disappointment from bleeding into my expression. “I’ll let you have it.”
Turning away, I walked out of the room, each step feeling heavier than the last. When I reached my office, I sank into the leather chair and stared blankly at my open laptop. The ache in my chest was more than I could bear, a tightness in my throat that threatened to choke me. I couldn’t lose her. Not again. The thought of another separation was unbearable, but I knew pushing her would only make things worse. It always did.
A few minutes later, I heard her soft footsteps pass by my door. She didn’t say goodbye. The click of the front door closing behind her was the only sound that punctuated the oppressive silence. The melancholy set in like a fog, dulling my senses, and all I could do was sit there, wondering if I’d ever be able to break through the walls she kept so firmly in place.
"How do you stand it?" I asked Michael, my voice tight with frustration. He was the only one who would understand, the only one I could turn to when everything felt like it was unraveling. I’d tried to focus on work, but my thoughts kept circling back to Erika, and I couldn’t get a damn thing done. So, I called him.
“I just do,” Michael replied with a sigh that spoke volumes. “Morgan isn’t mine.”
“But she’s out there in the world in another man’s arms,” I pointed out, the bitterness seeping into my words.
“And there isn’t a thing I can do about it,” he said, a resignation in his tone that made my chest tighten. “I’m working on accepting it.”
“Erika’s upset with me. What the hell is wrong with us Elliott boys?” I muttered, more to myself than him. “We get stuck on someone and can’t get away. Talon’s no better with Storm.”
“She’s twisting his heart around,” Michael agreed. “Our little brother is smitten.”
“Talon’s more than smitten,” I added, my hand gripping the phone tighter. “Dad sent him to the grounds a couple of days ago, but he couldn’t get his head together on the job site. That’s dangerous when you’re two hundred and fifty feet in the air.”
“Yeah, it is,” Michael said quietly. “Poor kid, but we all seem to be in the same boat. What’s the problem with Erika?”
“Commitment,” I sighed, the word heavy on my tongue. “I thought I was the one with the problem. She had a shitty childhood with dueling parents. They had an ugly divorce. She hasn’t even told them about me. We’ve been together roughly three months, and I’m a secret.”
“Have you told Mom and Dad about her?” Michael asked, his voice probing.
“Briefly,” I admitted, leaning back in my chair.
“You can’t fault her because you’re doing the same thing.”
“I know they won’t have an issue with it,” I countered quickly. “They’ll probably be happy I gave up my man-whore status.”
“Dad’s always been worried you’d knock someone up,” Michael noted, a hint of a smile in his voice.
“That hasn’t happened. I’m careful.”
He caught my gaze. “But it can happen. What do you plan to do about Erika?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed, running a hand through my hair, the tension building with every word.
Michael shifted the conversation. “How was the wedding?”
“Do you really want to know?” I shot back, knowing full well he didn’t.
“I don’t,” he admitted. “Did you give Morgan the letter?”
The look on my brother’s face was gut wrenching and my heart hurt for him. I could just imagine what he wrote in that letter.
“Of course. She didn’t read it in my presence.”
“I’m happy for her,” he said, but I could hear the lie in his voice.
I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. “No, you’re not,” I said, calling him out. “How can you be?”
“I love her, and I’d never wish hurt upon her,” he said quietly. “If she can’t be mine, at least she has someone who loves her.”
“But you wish that someone was you,” I insisted.
“Maybe one day,” he said, his voice tinged with hope and despair.
“Will you date now?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“I haven’t decided. My heart is wounded.”
“I’m right there with you,” I admitted, the weight of my own problems pressing down on me. “Getting back to my problem, what should I do?”
“Give her space,” he urged, the wisdom of experience in his tone.
“I have another issue,” I confessed, hesitating before I spoke. “She slept over last night and said the name Foster in her sleep. What do you think it means?”
“Probably nothing,” Michael replied, but there was a slight pause before he spoke.
“I hope not,” I said, my mind racing with possibilities.
“Did you ask?” he inquired.
“When I mentioned the name, she looked like she’d seen a ghost,” I admitted, the memory of her pale face flashing in my mind.
“If she didn’t offer any information, leave it alone,” he advised, but his words didn’t sit right with me.
I scratched the stubble on my chin, leaning back in my chair as frustration bubbled up. “How can you say that?” I demanded, the tension in my voice impossible to ignore.
“You want to chase her away? Obviously if she wanted to tell you, she would’ve.”
My phone buzzed with a second caller, and I told my brother I had to go.
“Take care.”
I hung up with Michael and answered the incoming call. It was Mrs. Ducane asking if I could set up an appointment to show her some apartments with rental property potential. I was in no mood for her, but I remained pleasant until I finished the phone call. Once I hung up, I let out a string of curses.