52. Marry this man
CHAPTER 52
Marry this man
CALUM
I asked Pete’s permission to marry Cathie. I also asked Mum, and she was overly excited to give her blessings. But with all of that, my anxiety builds. I pace the entirety of our room, my sweaty palms closing and opening. Cathie is with her friends. Mace is with his grandparents.
The phone on the bed rings. I flinch. Fuck. I take a deep breath and stalk to the bed to pick it up. It’s a missed call from Lucas. A text enters, and I roll my eyes at the words on my screen.
Luc: stop worrying. She will say yes.
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Cathie has no choice. She’s my wife. Walking to the front of the mirror, I smoothen my tux and adjust my tie. My hair clings to my scalp, thanks to the gel. I massage my clean-shaven jaw, and the same hand slides to the back of my neck.
The last time I dressed this formally was at our formal dance in the Greene’s beach house. The door opens. Cathie sashays into our room, a black dress clinging to her curves with her blue-purple hair curling down her shoulders. My arms drop. It has been a week since the hair change, but I’m newly fascinated. She makes the colours work. I grin, and she reciprocates.
My heart remembers how to function again, and it gallops. She approaches me before I wipe the shock off my face. I clear my throat twice, but words refuse to form. She laughs. “Hey.”
I loop my arm around her waist, drawing her closer until our foreheads touch.
“Hey, baby,” I reply.
“You look edible,” she murmurs through red, sinful lips that will look good on mine.
The thin straps of her dress look easy to tackle. The material dips at the front in a sharp V to show the swell of her boobs. I brush my fingers over her cleavage. She giggles and steps back.
“You look better,” I finally say.
The pink on her cheeks makes it impossible to tell if it’s makeup or she’s blushing. I stay quiet as she circles me, watching me like I am a prey she wants to devour. Stopping behind me, she traces a finger around the ink hidden by my hair. I always forget about that tattoo.
When she stops touching and kisses the spot, my heart clenches. “Did it hurt?” she asks.
Cathie rounds to a stop in front of me. Back then, I wanted the scar covered, and the artist did a great job inking the chorus of Tangled sheets . It felt right to have those lines from the chorus, even when I didn’t understand. But now, I have a permanent reminder of her with me.
“It didn’t hurt,” I say. My thumb hitches up to her lips, and my nails scrape a corner, almost smearing her lipstick. I’m buying time. I lace our fingers, and she smiles. As I spin her, I wonder if she’s remembering our dance, but I don’t ask. “You look so pretty, Mrs Dissick.”
“And you too, Mr Dissick.”
A glance at my wristwatch reveals it’s twenty minutes to our reservation. “We should go.”
“We should,” she concurs.
As those words leave Cathie’s lips, she grabs her purse from the bed and slides her free hand into mine. The thud of her heels against the floor echoes through the room. As far as she is concerned, the team is having their last dinner in Manville to celebrate her signing and the success of the tour before leaving for our next destination. She’s officially a part of the label.
We cover the short distance to the elevator in silence. Once inside the metal box, I tug my girl close and kiss her. She groans against my lips, mutters something about smeared lipstick, but locks her arms around my neck to stop me from freeing myself. Our ragged breaths fill the quiet when we separate. She grins, opening her purse to retrieve her lipstick and reapply it.
The elevator slides open, and I take her hand in mine. We step into the parking lot. There’s a black car waiting for us. I open the backseat door. I had to ask Scott to send a driver. Nerves won’t let me hold the wheel steady. I settle in after Cathie, and she drops a hand on my knee.
“Cal? I don’t understand why they wanted us to come separately,” she murmurs. The makeup around her eyes makes them appear bigger and bluer. I can get lost in them, and I might have if she didn’t snap her fingers in my face. “Calum? Rockstar? Did you hear anything I said?”
“Maybe,” I reply.
Cathie frowns at my outfit, and I swipe damp hands over my pants. Good thing I took Lucas’ advice to keep the ring with him. They would send it through the server.
“You’re acting weird,” she comments.
“Am I?” I say, laughing.
Punching my arm, she nods. “Very weird.”
Her head relaxes on my shoulder, and her hands tighten around my bicep. The car jerks to life, and the ride to our destination begins.
“Scott says I’ll start recording as soon as we get back to New York,” Cathie says, her tone flat. Her lips purse, and I can’t help stealing a kiss from her. “Does the man even rest?”
“Nope.”
“He needs to,” she says. The joy in her voice belies the annoyance she tries to portray. She’s happy to do this. She has written two songs and is working on her third. The second one isn’t my favourite since it’s hateful and talks about the evil ex. I’m not cruel, but as a musician, I understand our pain, old or new, can be our inspiration. “We need a holiday after this tour.”
The only thing I can do is nod since I don’t have the guts to tell her the band gets a vacation. After the Europe tour, we have the next few months to recharge. Many people liked the Pretty Angel song. Following the hype, Scott wants it on all streaming platforms as fast as possible.
“We all do, baby,” I murmur.
Our surrounding is a blur. I’m in this world with Cathie, and nothing can tear me away from it. That is, until the car jerks to a stop. I step out first and stretch my hand to her. She accepts it with a look of confusion and suspicion. The restaurant is empty, as planned. She walks in, and her steps falter. Her hand slides out of mine, and she edges forward to assess the place.
Music plays in the background at a low volume. The songs are from a playlist of all the songs we ever sang together and the few I wrote for her and us. Even our duets made it to the list. There’s a large screen on the wall that will play a mix of our pictures and the video of Mace she made for me when the time is right. Once the screen goes black, the question will pop up. The boys should be around here, waiting for my signal. Everything must be perfect for her.
“Why is it…” Her words die on the tip of her tongue. She sizes me up. “What’s going on?”
“Scott wanted us to have dinner without the nosiness of other diners.” It’s a lie I tell easily. Nudging her away from the entrance, I point at a table at the back. “Come, let’s sit there.”
A bouquet of fresh flowers is on the table with three candles and pink petals scattered on it. She darts me a wary look. I shrug and pull out her chair. She sits first, and I slide in after her.
Her hand covers her mouth as she bursts into a laugh.
Is something wrong? I look around. It’s as I discussed with the planner. “What is it?” I ask.
“You say we are meeting everyone here, but this is a table for two,” she tells me. Right. Why didn’t I think of that? Nothing sensible comes to mind. “It’s small. What are you up to, Cal?”
“Nothing,” I blurt out. She squints, and I almost confess the truth. “You’re right. But we can change tables later.” She attempts to stand, but I pull her down by the wrist. “Not now. When they arrive. I want us to have a moment to ourselves first. We haven’t had a date in months.”
Her face softens. She leans in and kisses my lips. “You’re right. I miss our dates.”
“Not me. Well, not so much.”
Her head raises. “Why?”
“We were always hiding,” I remind her.
Her silence wraps around me. She drops a hand to my knee and squeezes. “They were still the best dates of my life. We created beautiful memories, Cal.” It’s always about the memories. I taught her that. I should never forget it. “It didn’t matter if we were hiding.”
She looks out the window. It’s one-way. No one outside can see us. I place my hand over hers. I love the shift in her perspective. She has grown so much, and I’m glad to be a part of it.
A server walks to our table to get our orders. I ask for their special wine, and he smiles. As soon as he leaves, Cathie clears her throat. “Why did he smile? He was so checking you out.”
“He was?” I tease.
The wine is the signal for them to get ready. She points a finger at me. “You’re taken.”
Jealous Cathie is cute. But I’m not in the right state of mind to tease her. I shift the topic to something less daunting. “I wrote a song,” I say. It’s on the playlist. Her eyes pop. “Yep.”
The server returns with a food trolley. He places the wine on the table, and Cathie refuses his help to pour it into the glasses. Uh-uh. This is not good. What if she’s not drinking now? He drops our food on the table and leaves. I reach for the wine, but she covers my palm with hers.
“Wait. Can I listen to the song first?”
Right. Of course. I pull out my phone to show Cathie the lyrics. It’s about us. She uncaps the wine and empties small quantities into our glasses. I almost die from relief. Thank God. I am too nervous to drink or eat anything, but I wrap my hand around the stem of the glass. It’s almost time. She finishes the first glass, and I pass mine to her. The server had the good sense to drop the box at the bottom of the trolley, so I pick it up without calling her attention to me.
“You are not drinking,” Cathie says. She swirls the content in her glass and lifts it to her lips. I pour myself a glass I won’t be drinking now and raise it. It’s time. The song changes, and her brows scrunch. “Wait. Cal, is it just me, or that’s you singing in the background?”
“Hey, Mama,” comes from the large screen. Mace.
Cathie forgets her question and gawks at the screen. Mace appears for only five seconds, but capturing those moments was the longest of our lives. It works at grabbing her attention. By the time the last picture slides in and the screen goes fully black, I’m on one knee and ready.
“I can’t wait to spend forever with you,” I say alongside the song playing in the background. It’s the demo. I’ll record it properly when we are in New York. Without looking back, I know the screen is still black. The question will appear when I bring out the box. “I can’t wait to give you my last name, Miss Cathie Jenkins. To love you until I have no more breath in me.”
A tear drops from her eye when I place the box on the table. My hand trembles as I open it. A diamond-encrusted ring sits inside. It was so tough getting her size. Taylor and Rose did all the work in that regard. I’m trusting that the boys have the important question on the screen.
“Marry this man,” I tell her. The tremors in my voice transfer to my hand. I take out the ring, and she steadies my hand. I laugh, and she smiles. “Give his life meaning because without you, Cathie, my life has no rhythm. Will you marry me, Miss Catherine Valentina Jenkins?”
Cathie nods, already on her feet.
“You need to use your words,” I whisper.
“Yes,” she says. “I’ll marry my stepbrother.”
My ribs hurt from laughing so hard. I slide the ring into her finger. She palms my face and smashes her lips against mine. We communicate without words, our hearts already in sync.
“I’ll marry you, Cal,” she says. “I want to spend forever with you, rockstar.”