12. Memory Lane
twelve
Memory Lane
Nash
Nash descended the opulent staircase, his feet moving quietly down the steps. His mind still lingered on Iris's supple form beneath the silken sheets, her dark hair fanned across his pillow, just where it should always be. He felt himself harden at the sight of her cheeks flushed from arousal.
It was the hardest thing he had ever done, leaving her there. Wanting him. But, it wasn't the time to sate his hunger for her. No, her injuries were too severe. He would wait. Not to mention, he had things to do. Things that could not be delayed any longer.
Carson stood at the base of the stairs, waiting for him in his tailored suit, his bald head reflecting the daylight streaming in through the windows. "Daisy and Dahlia are comfortable in the pool house," he reported, his voice a deep rumble that reverberated through the spacious foyer.
Nash nodded, a fleeting image of Dahlia’s curly brown tresses and Daisy's angry, steadfast gaze crossing his mind.
Knowing they are safe could only help ease Iris's mind.
He knew she'd want them here with her. "And what of Iris's brother and sister?
" he inquired, an edge of authority sharpening his words.
"They've been informed," Carson said with a slight tilt of his head, a glimmer of annoyance in his dark eyes. "We told them we would notify them when to come once a date for the wedding was set. They were irritated about I would not tell them more."
Nash snorted dismissively, the sound echoing off the marble floors. Those bastards were lucky he was allowing them into his fortress at all. "If they wish to witness their sister's wedding, they'll abide by my terms." He fixed Carson with a piercing blue stare, making sure Carson understood him.
Carson merely nodded, unfazed, and turned away, his heavy footsteps fading into silence. Nash's gaze followed him for a moment before he pivoted sharply, striding purposefully toward his office. A hectic energy was abuzz under his skin.
Inside his office, surrounded by dark woods and leather, Nash reached for an old binder hidden away in the top drawer of the mahogany desk.
It was well-used; the edges fraying slightly from excessive handling, but it held fast against time's assault.
He ran his fingers over the cover, where the names "Ricky and Iris" were written in a delicate, feminine script.
A small huff escaped him as he took in the hearts that were playfully doodled in the margins.
That felt like a lifetime ago. Watching her toil away in that notebook, planning and dreaming up their wedding.
He felt his lips turn up as an unfamiliar smile graced his lips.
It had been too long since he felt any happiness.
Her leaving took everything good in his life away.
Some days, he had convinced himself she never cared for him at all.
But, this binder was a physical reminder that she did.
It proved how excited Iris had been to marry him all those years ago.
It was only a matter of time before she was again.
He'd make sure of it. He flipped the cover open and took in the first page.
Nash's fingers darted over the checklist, his eyes scanning each item with meticulous care.
The binder creaked softly as he turned the pages.
He paused when his gaze landed on the floral arrangements; white Picasso Calla Lilies and purple roses entwined with iris flowers—the addition he chose.
Ever since he saw her walking across his lobby all those years ago, irises had been his favorite flower.
But, as he stared at the flowers, his mind conjured up the pictures his private investigator sent him from her time in Arizona.
Her smiles were brighter than any he had ever seen.
Her skin tanner. Not to mention the weight she gained gave her delicious curves.
They did nothing but add to her beauty. He barely stopped himself from calling out a hit on her bitch of a mother when he learned of what she had done.
Starving her own child was a crime he would never forgive.
"Lily," he murmured under his breath. The name carried more weight than a mere flower should be able to.
But it was so much more than a flower. It was who she tried to make herself into.
He hated how happy she seemed in those photos.
Hated 'Lily' and everything she represented.
How she was happy without him. How she thrived without him.
Iris was beautiful, always. Before, he tried to distance himself, to make sure she never learned of his true self. Someone as pure as Iris would have been destroyed by the darkness in a man like him. But, by distancing himself, he allowed himself to miss things he never should have.
Like how her mother truly treated her. He didn't know her insane dieting was all because of the cold-hearted Augusta Blackworth.
He assumed she preferred to be slim, as many women did.
Had he been less concerned with hiding his dealing from her, he would have known what was going on in his own house.
Never again. There would be no distance.
No mistakes. He would know everything about her life. Her thoughts, what she ate, everything.
She escaped him once before because of his negligence. Never again.
Feeling anxiety take root in his chest, he pulled up the security feeds on his computer. He ignored all the perimeter feeds and zeroed in on the only one he cared to see.
Their bedroom.
Iris was laying in bed, the books left abandoned on the table beside her.
She seemed tired, but that was to be expected.
Nothing more than normal after her ordeal.
Her body needed to heal, and so she slept often.
She was fine, he tried to reassure himself.
But, unable to shake the need to see her, he left the feed up as he pulled out his phone, the device cold and impersonal in his hand.
He waited impatiently for the call to connect.
"Mr. Nash!" the wedding planner's bubbly voice chirped through the speaker, her enthusiasm barely contained. "The vendors are all practically trembling with anticipation for your big day. This wedding is going to be the talk of the century. All we need is a new date and I'll handle the rest."
"Add lilies to the floral design," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. His command sliced through her gaiety like a knife, causing her to sputter slightly. He didn't care. He was paying her to arrange Iris's dream wedding, nothing else.
"Mr. Nash, I—I'm thrilled you're taking such an interest, but with the deadline we have, and the changing date, new location, it would mean a complete redesign. It's quite—"
"Make it happen," Nash cut in, his voice grinding out like gravel. Power thrummed in his veins. "I am paying you to plan the wedding I tell you to. I expect you to do so without excuses." He heard the brief hesitation, the intake of breath on the other end of the line, before she acquiesced.
"Of course, Mr. Nash." She tried hard, but she wasn't able to mask her irritation fully. Hearing it, set his teeth grinding. Bloodlust running through him.
"That's what I thought," he responded tersely.
His chest swelled as he tried to tamp down his anger, the world bent to his will.
He made sure of that three years ago. And at the center of that world was Iris—his Iris—who he would reclaim fully one day.
One way or another. And she was going to be happy.
He would make sure she was. And the first step in that plan was her dream wedding. Some uppity wedding planner wasn't going to ruin that.
Nash lowered the phone, satisfied with the conversation, and held his thumb hovering over the end call button. But before he ended to connection, the wedding planner's voice trickled through, tinged with a nervous energy that grated on his nerves.
"Mr. Nash, while I have you on the phone, do you have a date in mind for the ceremony? The last cancellation... well, it cost us several deposits," she ventured, her words laced with a careful optimism that faltered under his silence.
He grunted, a non-committal sound that spoke volumes of his impatience. His mind was not on dates and deposits; he had bigger issues at hand. That's what her job was about.
"Um, any idea would really assist with ensuring everything is perfectly arranged in time," she pressed on, her voice wobbling as she attempted to navigate the awkward pause that followed. "Just a ballpark idea?"
His grunt cut through the quiet again, a low rumble of controlled frustration. "How long will it take to get everything delivered and set up?" he demanded, the authority in his voice leaving no room for argument. His eyes flicked up to the monitor, locking onto Iris asleep in the bed.
Good, she needed the sleep.
"Well, the longer the better," the grating voice of the planner interrupted his perusal of his soon-to-be wife. At his charged silence, she hurried to continue. "But, a week. Once I have a date, I'll need a week to have everything made, transported, and then set up at the venue."
"You'll get three days." She spluttered at his words. "When I'm ready, I'll give you three days."
"Three days?" Her voice rose yet another octave. "But, Mr Nash. That is impossible. Three days is simply not enough time."
He closed his eyes, rage rising up. His hand clenched, he opened his mouth to snarl at the dense woman, when movement on the screen stole his attention.
Nash's eyes locked on the screen. Iris was tossing and turning.
Her face contorted in a fear. His legs tensed, ready to dash up the stairs and wake her up from her nightmare.
The nagging voice of the wedding planner prattled on, but he paid no attention to it. Just as he went to stand up, Iris rolled over and his eyes were drawn to the black material her wadded up in her hand.
His shirt? When did she bring that—