Chapter 69
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Knock, knock.
Who’s there?
Hawk.
Hawk who?
Hawk-ward silence. Did I fly in at a bad time?
—From Bash’s dad joke collection
Bash
Sebastian looked at his watch—a vintage Cartier Calibre de Cartier two-tone chocolate watch Arabella had given him as a wedding-slash-Paradise gift, teasing that the color reminded her of his eyes.
He’d finally signed the elusive movie contract about a week after returning home—well, back to Brinder’s condo—from their wedding.
It still rankled that they couldn’t go back to the Cape Cod that had been the oasis of their blossoming love.
But, Sebastian had some ideas percolating.
Just needed a bit more time to work out the finer details.
Given her schedule and his—plus his profile, even with the NDA the vineyard owners had happily signed—they’d only spent one night at the vineyard’s bed and breakfast. He’d take Arabella on a proper honeymoon once principal filming for Paradise was complete.
In fact, he’d already found the perfect private villa nestled high in the scenic cliffs of St. John.
He knew his queen would twitch at being away from work longer than a couple weeks.
But, one day, he’d whisk her to Fiji. And the Seychelles.
And anywhere else that tickled her fancy.
Because he’d discovered one of the happiest joys of his life was making Arabella Remington beam with pleasure.
Speaking of…
He nervously fiddled with the box, second guessing the purchase.
The car would be arriving soon to take him to the airport, and then to Nashville, where they’d begin pre-production.
He’d travel back and forth between Tennessee and Virginia as often as possible, but they’d be apart more often than he’d like, sometimes for up to three weeks while he was deep in filming.
Three weeks he already knew would feel more like three eternities.
“You ready?” Arabella’s scintillating voice curled around him. How was he going to manage being away from her? And their bunny prince?
He swallowed past the knot of sadness in his throat. “As I’ll ever be.”
Arabella was clearly struggling with similar emotions, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better—misery loving company and all that—or worse, because he never wanted his queen to suffer in any way.
“I’m so proud of you, Sebastian. You saw what you wanted and you went for it. Laser focused.”
Bash shrugged self-consciously. “I guess even ADHD brains can focus when they need to.”
“Be kind to yourself, Sebastian. Your mind is brilliant and fabulous. It’s as curious and fun as you are.
But your heart? That’s the real treasure.
I don’t think I’ve ever met its equal.” She took a couple steps toward him.
“You’re a special man, Sebastian Wheatley.
And I can’t wait to see you rock the shit out of this role.
Don’t make me come there and kick your ass.
” She folded her arms into Arabella Stance and Bash broke into a wide grin.
“You know how it turns me on when you talk all chief of orthopedics like that, Arabella,” he growled, stepping toward her and tugging her closer, crashing his lips to hers.
Inhaling her like she was the oxygen his body needed.
Craved. Must have to survive. “Not fair to get me all hot and bothered just before I have to leave.”
“That’s what I was hoping.” Her voice was breathless, head tipped back as she accepted his kiss and returned it in equal intensity.
“We have at least thirty minutes.” She deepened the kiss, pushing against him, and then bumped into the box, which he’d tucked under one arm.
The sucker weighed about ten pounds. “What’s this?
” she murmured against his lips, working her way down the column of his neck with tiny flicks of her tongue and the gentlest of sucks.
Not enough to leave a mark. Though he rather wished she would.
Mine, he thought.
“Mine,” she echoed his sentiment aloud, brushing her nose against his. “Now is that a box in your hands, or are you just happy to see me?” She grinned at him.
Bash had vacillated mightily about the purchase, worried it might upset her rather than make her smile.
In the end, he’d decided to just go for it.
Thankfully, Jared had expertly wrapped it in shiny navy paper that matched Arabella’s eyes.
Another skill he was grateful Jared possessed, because Sebastian could barely manage a gift bag, any tissue paper included always looking like it had been through a battle and lost, despite his best efforts.
“It’s just something I thought of. I hope you like it. It’s nothing fancy. I can return it—”
“Sebastian, give me the damn gift.” She shook her head, smiling.
Bash stepped back, almost dropping the gift with his flustered butterfingers as he handed it to her.
He rolled his lips inward as he watched Arabella slowly unwrap Jared’s handiwork.
This was the first wrapped present he’d given her, and he quickly became absorbed in the precise, almost surgical maneuvering of her talented fingers under the tape and paper.
He typically tore into his gifts like a six-year-old at Christmas.
But it was a delight to watch Arabella’s pleasure in the unwrapping.
Bash laced his fingers tightly. Feeling the new platinum ring on his finger, he smiled, untangling his fingers so he could rub the smooth metal. It was a new favorite habit.
Arabella carefully eased the box open, pulling out the sculpture nestled within.
She dropped onto the couch, her expressive sapphire eyes widened in wonder, tears splashing down her cheeks.
In one hand, she cradled the sculpture of two tiny, realistic birds perched on a bronze branch.
The other was pressed against her mouth.
“Oh…Sebastian,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful. Carolina chickadees.”
Bash knelt in front of her. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever want a real bird again, and I figured we’d both have to sit our little prince down and learn his feelings on the matter.”
“Sebastian,” Arabella laugh-sobbed.
“But I found an artist and commissioned it. It’s two Carolina chickadees. One for you and one for me.”
“Oh,” she breathed out. “It’s…so thoughtful. I love it.”
Relief whooshed out of Bash’s lungs. He’d been terrified she’d hate it. That it would remind her of what she’d lost so violently.
“And it has a couple grape leaves on the branch. I thought it was fitting. Because I learned something cool talking to the vintner as I was arranging our wedding cocktail party. He told me late harvest wines are considered exceptional. Some grapes, when left longer on the vine, develop more complex flavor profiles.” He moved the sculpture gently onto the coffee table, tears now trickling down his own cheeks.
“They call a late harvest ‘liquid gold.’ There is a natural, incomparable sweetness to a late harvest. And,” he added with a wink, “these mature grapes often lose acidity as they ripen.”
Arabella laughed softly. “Maybe not always.”
“My beautiful queen, you and I…we’re kind of a late harvest. I know our profile is complex, but it’s also exceptional. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s the sweetest, and the most perfect. And I love you.”