Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Martin
“Found yourself on baby duty, have you?” Isaiah asks, taking Eden’s empty seat, signaling to a passing server for a second drink.
“Yes. It’s wonderful,” I tell him, smiling down at the miniature angel in my arms before I can pull my gaze away long enough to meet Isaiah’s chestnut eyes. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
His thick black brows shoot up with surprise. “Eden?”
“Of course.” There’s no other I’ve ever considered asking, and no other I ever will. I know it deep in my soul.
Isaiah cocks his head, peering at me with intensity. “Are you crying?”
“I’m trying not to, but I can’t help it.” My cheeks ache from how hard I’m smiling. “I’m in love.”
Isaiah blows out a tired breath, leaning into his seat and throwing his arm over the back of Eden’s mother’s chair. “That was fast. Think she’ll accept?”
“Not right away, so I won’t ask yet. Her mother is wary of me, as she has every right to be, so I want to court her first.”
Isaiah suddenly leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he balls his hands together. “How do you know so soon?”
I shrug. “It’s just a feeling I have. An intuition. Meeting Eden…it was like staring at my twin soul. Like being shot through the heart with Cupid's arrow. Fate.”
“I don’t know, man. Sounds like a fairy tale.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Isaiah rises when the ladies return. “Well, good luck to you,” he says, clapping my shoulder.
“And you as well,” I say, cutting my gaze to Bailey, who looks to have been crying, entering through the venue’s back door.
Isaiah sighs. “Thanks.” He makes a beeline to the opposite end of the room, disappearing before Bailey spots him.
Once the ladies have finished their dinners, I reluctantly pass Ivy back to her mother to fetch my own plate and a slice of wedding cake for each of us. We don’t speak much, and the tension the ladies returned with hasn’t abated.
Though my heart squeezes in my chest, I eventually ask Eden quietly, “Am I making you or your mother uncomfortable?”
Instead of answering me, Eden lifts my spirit when she tells her mother, “Martin and I are going to dance again.”
Her mother, whose name I’ve since learned is Rebecca, nods and cups a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn. She stands when we do, shouldering her gold purse. “I’m going to head home. Call me when you want me to pick you up,” she says, reaching for Ivy.
Eden shakes her head, tightening her arms around her sleeping daughter. “It’s ok. I’ve got her.”
After a beat of silence, Rebecca nods. “Ok. Call me,” she reminds Eden, kissing her cheek. She casts me a look that says you’d better be on your best behavior, then takes her leave.
With Ivy carefully cradled between us, Eden and I dance slowly, no matter how upbeat the songs may be. I can’t keep my hands off her. Eden’s breath fans my neck when she lays her temple on my left shoulder as the night grows longer.
“Why did you name her Ivy?” I whisper so as not to wake her daughter.
“Green is my favorite color,” Eden says with a shrug, then kisses her daughter’s crown. “And she’s my favorite person. It just felt right.”
I file that tidbit away for the future.
“Since you never answered, how do you know James? Do you work together?” she asks.
“Yes, though I’m in a different department.
We crossed paths a few times at in-person meetings, and I overheard his phone call making plans for a game night he was hosting.
I played the same RPG, though I didn’t have a group of my own once I left college, and in a wholly opposite fashion, I introduced myself.
Found out we had more in common. He invited me next time he hosted, introduced me to Isaiah, and the rest is history. ”
“So you’re a huge nerd like James and Isaiah?”
The comment would have been a gut punch, since I was bullied relentlessly for being a “geek” and “huge nerd” as a kid—not to mention all the unoriginal jokes about my hair color—but Eden’s tinkling laughter, charming smile, and the fact that she pokes me in the ribs tells me she’s only lightheartedly teasing.
If I’m reading it right, she might even think it’s cute.
I release some of my insecurities, returning a small smile. “Yes, a huge nerd.”
“That’s adorable.”
“Really?” I cough. “I meant, thank you.”
“Maybe I’ll actually come to the next game night, now that I know you’ll be there.”
My breath stalls in my chest, and my hands tighten on her waist. Eden blushes, my voice dropping an octave, when I say, “Please. I would love to see you again.”
Her feet must be aching by the time only a handful of wedding guests remain, and we’re the last ones dancing, still getting to know each other.
My feet are as well in my new, stiff brogues.
Yet neither of us complains. Nor do we part, even when all the soft venue lights are turned up to signal that the reception is over, until a staff member tells us it’s time to go.
Outside, the cicadas are putting on their concert in the trees on this humid summer night as I remove my jacket to drape it over my arm.
I carry Ivy’s heavy diaper bag as I wait with Eden for her mother to arrive.
I wish I could drive Eden and Ivy home myself, if only to extend our time together, but I can’t without a car seat.
Ivy stirs, stretching her arms out, and begins sucking on her tiny fist. Eden searches the backpack, sighing when the baby bottles she pulls from the insulated compartment are empty. “Shoot, I need to feed her.”
I move to open the venue’s front door, but it won’t budge. We must be locked out. When a staff member does answer the door after I knock, we’re told we aren’t allowed back inside.
“You can nurse in my car for some privacy,” I offer.
Eden bites her bottom lip, glancing at me nervously.
“I’ll wait outside the car.”
“Thank you, Lord Martin. You are a true gentleman,” she says, stepping forward to kiss my cheek.
Thank god she’s not a mind reader, or she’d find out just how ungentlemanly I am, my thoughts having spun wildly with fantasies of slipping Eden’s dress off her shoulders.
“This is your car?” Eden asks with the lift of her brows when I use my remote to unlock my metallic red Mercedes, its windows tinted as dark as legally possible. “It’s beautiful and—” Her cheeks flush.
“Unexpected?” I ask with a small grin.
“Yes.”
“It’s no horse and carriage, but it’ll do,” I say, sweeping open the passenger door.
“No kidding.” Her eyes are rounded as I hold her hand while she lowers herself onto the leather seat.
The car hums quietly after I turn it on so she would have air conditioning. It is by sheer force of will, and the desire not to make her uncomfortable, that I turn around and lean against the back passenger door.
She knocks on the window, only minutes later, and rolls down the window a crack. “I don’t mind if you sit with us. I know it’s hot.”
It certainly is, the temperature hovering in the high nineties. Even in the absence of the sun, sweat rolls down my spine. “If you’re sure…” I ask, giving her room to change her mind.
“It’s all right,” she says.
Delighted, I round the low hood and slide into the driver’s seat, angling the dashboard vents to cool my overheated skin.
Respectfully, I stare straight through the windshield, not allowing my eyes to so much as drift a millimeter to the right, not even when I sense movement, Eden shifting Ivy to her other breast. I’ve seen Shayla breastfeed numerous times, mostly against my will.
As beautiful as Shayla is, not once have I ever been interested in seeing her do so.
I’ve always turned away—though Isaiah and I teased James relentlessly, joking that we’d put a ring on her finger if he didn’t hurry up and do it.
But Eden is a different story. I wish it were me she was holding at her breast and not Ivy.
I swallow hard, removing my bow tie and tossing it behind me in the back seat, then unbutton my collar.
My thoughts are sinful. I try to steer them toward other subjects, like the Texas Renaissance Festival coming up in October, and how magical it would be if Eden were to attend with me.
How alluring she would be in a rich, velvety Renaissance dress, custom made to expertly drape her generous curves.
Wait, no, that’s no help, because now I’m imagining a tight bodice plumping her breasts, her ample cleavage so inviting.
I sigh and rub my forehead.
Ivy chokes and gasps, and instantly, I snap my head to the side with alarm, leaning halfway out of my seat, cupping the back of Ivy’s small head of wispy brown hair. “Is she ok?” I ask at a decibel lower than a yell.
“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Eden says, giving me merry eyes that ease my fear as she brings Ivy to her shoulder, patting her back. “Sometimes my milk flows faster than she can swallow.”
In all my relief, I drop my closely held control, my eyes dipping to Eden’s large, uncovered breasts and swollen nipples. “Merciful heavens,” I say on a harsh exhale, unable to pull my gaze away from her dark areolas where milk drips from the tips, and Eden takes a shaky breath.