Текст книги "I Do"

Автор книги: A. J. Pine

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“It’s okay. You’re actually adorable,” she added.

She pulled her small camera from her purse and snapped a picture of him before he could object.

“Here,” Maggie said. “So you remember the moment you decided to follow your heart.”

Miles grabbed the photo and then took in a deep breath.

“So I’m doing this?” he asked, and even though she nodded, he didn’t need her to answer. Maggie wasn’t responsible for his happiness. And neither was Alex, for that matter. He still had a lot to learn about taking a chance on it, but he was the only one responsible for that.

He kissed the top of her head.

“I love you, Mags.”

“Love you, too.”

The image on the photo started to take shape as he began to walk.

He laughed hard when his form came into focus—a version of him he’d never seen before. A complete and utter mess.

He was tired of neat and pretty, of putting on a show. Alex just had to take a chance on the real him, the one who was done with the act. But Alex wasn’t in the restaurant. Miles even snuck into the kitchen, but he knew what he’d find when he got there. No Alex. He was no longer on the clock, and it was New Year’s Eve.

Alex could be anywhere.

Chapter Thirty-One

Duncan

How many people could they possibly know? Duncan had lost count four tables ago. And never mind the people who never sat down and just milled about. They didn’t make the list. According to him, if you weren’t seated you weren’t greeted. Oh bloody well.

“One more,” Elaina said. “And then we get to eat.”

Duncan groaned until his eyes fell upon the familiar faces at this final table where they had to put on the bride and groom show. He collapsed in a chair next to Jordan, who sat with her feet resting on Noah’s lap.

“You’ve got the right idea, Jordan.” He watched Elaina dutifully kiss her American guests on each cheek, then patted his thigh with his palm. “Come sit, wife. I beg you. I can’t stand anymore.”

She obliged, sinking onto his lap and draping her arms around his neck. She kissed him, and he wished that when he opened his eyes, the party would be over and they would be alone in their hotel room bed.

No such luck.

“Do you know that’s the first we’ve kissed without someone else asking us to do it?”

Sure, he’d been kissing her all night, but only on command when someone tapped a spoon against a glass or brandished a phone or a camera. This was the first kiss that was for no one else but them—and the four others at the table watching.

Elaina slipped her tongue past his lips, and bloody hell, Duncan couldn’t give two shites that they weren’t alone. She was his wife, and he would never refuse her lips on his.

When she did pull away, he felt light-headed, drunk even, and he hadn’t had a single sip. He heard quiet laughter and finally opened his eyes.

“Maybe we should leave you two alone,” Jordan said.

Duncan nodded. “Aye. Would it be inappropriate, though, to consummate the marriage at the table?”

Jordan was still giggling. “You do have easy access with the kilt.”

Elaina raised a brow. “Not my husband. He wanted to be a gentleman instead of a true Scotsman. How would you say it? Oh, yes. Access denied.”

Maggie joined in the laughter, and Duncan looked from Griffin to Noah, who were both eyeing each other and shrugging.

“No,” Duncan said. “Please, lads. Tell me I didn’t cover up just so you two could…”

Jordan had her hand on her belly, laughing so hard she began to hiccup.

“Duncan is the only man at this table wearing something under his kilt?” Elaina’s smile was replaced with a set jaw and pursed lips. She stood. “Come. I need to speak to you alone.”

Duncan didn’t have to be told twice. He was standing in a fraction of a second. Food could wait a little longer.

“Better hurry,” Jordan said. “It’s almost midnight. You don’t want to miss the countdown!”

“We will see you for breakfast, yes?” Elaina asked, but she didn’t wait for an answer from any of them. Instead she stalked away from the table, Duncan’s hand gripped firmly in hers, and she pulled him straight out of the restaurant.

She led him up the outside staircase, which led to the back apartment entrance. In seconds they were in her room, the one he came to this morning to make sure she would still agree to be his wife. And now here they were. Married.

“Take it off,” she commanded, nudging the door closed with her beautiful arse.

“Wha’?” It wasn’t as if his John Thomas wasn’t standing at attention. But this was his wife’s only wedding night, and he wanted everything to be just right.

“Take it off,” she repeated. “The kilt. The fucking tartan knickers.” She took a step toward him. “Take…” Another step. “It…” One more. “Off.”

Elaina was close enough to touch, yet she seemed to have a few ounces of restraint left. Duncan’s was quickly waning.

“What about the room? Didn’t your cousins decorate it or something? I thought they’re supposed to parade us off to our bridal bed.”

He may have spent a bit too much time Googling Greek wedding customs.

“Shit, Duncan. I don’t live in a small fishing village one hundred years ago.” She paused for a moment. “Okay, if they are all drunk enough, they might parade us to the hotel, but that doesn’t matter. You said it. We make our own luck.”

He swallowed. “Aye. We do.”

Her face broke into a magnificent grin.

“Then take it all off. Please. For me. For your wife.”

He obeyed. For his wife. Aye. Anything for her.

He started with the jacket. The tie and shirt soon followed. They could hear music below, but this wasn’t a dance. No more performing. Just a man about to make love to his wife. Next came the sporran—not a purse—then the socks and shoes followed.

“Stop,” Elaina said, but her voice had lost its authoritative tone. This was more of a plea.

Maybe he hadn’t done too much research. Maybe this was Elaina realizing they should play by the book, follow tradition, and let the wedding guests pilot them off to the true marriage bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he reached for his shirt, but Elaina tugged it gently from his hand.

She pressed a palm to his chest, and then the other.

“I just want to look at you,” she told him. “A minute to look at my beautiful husband.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Aye,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “Look.”

She raked her fingers down his chest and up his back.

“And touch,” she added.

He nodded. “Touch.”

She kissed him, her tongue flicking out to tease his lips. Then she was sprinkling tiny kisses over his chin, his cheeks, and that damned bruised eye.

“Does it hurt?” she asked him.

He laughed. “Probably, but I can’t concentrate on the pain when you’re this close.”

“Good.”

She took a small step back, still facing him, and found the zipper on the side of her dress. She guided it down, and he saw her silky skin peek out from the parted fabric.

“Shite, Elaina,” he growled, and this only made her smile.

The zipper was over her hip now, and Duncan practically choked as she stepped out of the dress and laid it over the footboard of the bed.

There stood his wife in nothing put a pair of strappy high-heeled shoes.

“Where are your knickers?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“I wanted to know what it would be like to be a true Scotsman.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. Duncan was done waiting. He wriggled out of his tartan briefs, his erection altering the way his kilt rested over his legs. Then he pulled her to him, kissing her with wild abandon as she pressed her body against his.

“Like this,” he said, kissing her jaw, her neck, down to her breast before taking her firm peak into his mouth. “This is what a true Scotsman is like.”

Elaina called out his name just as they heard the clamor below.

“Ten!” The countdown had begun, and Duncan felt a sense of urgency take over. He grabbed Elaina’s hand and placed it on the belt of his kilt.

“Take it off,” he said, echoing her own words at her. And she did. Then Elaina led him toward the bed, pushing him down on his back as she climbed over him and slid up his length.

“Nine! Eight! Seven!”

Bloody hell. After making love to his wife, Duncan wanted to snog whoever invented the oral contraceptive.

She teased herself with his tip, and he added women to the list. Whoever invented women was getting one hell of a snog after this.

He looked up at this beautiful woman who had promised to be his for the rest of her life, and he had to bite back something resembling a sob.

“I love you, Elaina McAllister.”

She hummed. “Say it again. My name.”

His back arched as she slid down and then up again.

“Elaina McAllister.”

This time she let him push her open, and she sank over him, blanketing him in her warmth, and Duncan knew he was home.

“Duncan McAllister,” she said as he swirled inside her.

“Aye.”

“I love you, too.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Griffin

“Ten!”

Griffin grabbed Maggie by the hand and pulled her from the dance floor.

“Where are we going?” she asked in a fit of laughter.

“Outside. I have a feeling about something.”

So they ran out Ambrosia’s front door.

Noah

Noah pulled Jordan onto his lap.

“Nine!”

“I’m sorry I injured you with my not a proposal.”

She stroked his cheek and ran her fingers through his hair.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Eight!”

“Guess we wouldn’t be us if there was no accidental bodily harm involved.”

He’d be full of scars by the time they were old and gray, and Noah chuckled despite the danger that lay ahead.

She kissed him on the cheek and smiled. “No. We wouldn’t be us at all.”

Miles

Guess the saying was right: you always found what you were looking for in the last place you looked.

Miles had walked the nearby streets for hours, the cobbled paths lit with bright lights as late-night revelers spilled out of clubs and cafés. He’d stood by the white tower as a horse-drawn carriage circled by carrying another pair of newlyweds. From the moment he stepped onto an airplane, people in love had surrounded him. And he’d had a shot at love himself.

But he’d blown it. So he wearily made his way back to Ambrosia. When he arrived he couldn’t bring himself to go inside. Instead he slipped behind the restaurant, ready to ring in the New Year with nothing but the waves crashing against the shore.

Yet even in the brisk December air, he picked up the sulfurous scent of a recently struck match. Alex sat in the sand just in front of the outdoor patio, arms draped over his knees and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Those things will kill you,” Miles said.

Alex laughed and bit down on the filter as he spoke. “So will a diet high in butter and cheese, but it’s my livelihood.”

“Thought it wasn’t a habit,” Miles added, lowering himself to the spot next to Alex.

“Told you,” Alex responded. “Only when I need to clear my head.”

“Baseball!” Miles blurted, and Alex narrowed his eyes. Shit. His brain was moving faster than he could speak. “I played baseball—in college. I’m bisexual, and I played baseball, and I’m trying here, Alex. It scares the shit out of me, but I’m trying to give you more than a name—more than I’ve given anyone in years.”

It was time to go big or go home, so Miles pulled the cigarette from Alex’s lips and stubbed it out in the sand.

“I know what I want,” Alex said. “What the hell do you want, Miles?”

He pressed Alex’s forehead to his. “You,” he admitted.

“Right. For the weekend.”

Miles shook his head. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

There. He’d said it. It was out there.

But Alex sat quiet.

“Look,” Miles said. “This makes zero sense. But I finish my PhD in May, and you travel, right? So…I don’t know. Maybe we see where this goes.”

Alex cupped the back of his neck with his palm.

“I want to trust you. I really do. But you’re a mess.”

Miles nodded. “I know. But that’s the thing about meeting someone who makes you reevaluate the way you’ve been living your life. Kinda makes you want to clean up your shit.”

“Seven!”

Alex sighed. “I was in New York to sign the final paperwork for my new position,” he said. “Head chef. I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t think it mattered, but I’m moving to the States.”

“Six!”

Miles felt a release in his chest, like the vise that had squeezed his heart so tight all these years had finally let go.

“Five! Four!”

“It matters,” he said. “It matters.”

Elaina

“T hree! Two! One!”

Elaina rolled onto her back, panting.

“Happy New Year,” Duncan whispered and kissed her soft on the mouth. “Elaina McAllister.”

God, she loved the sound of that name.

Maggie

Maggie shrieked with delight at the first sound of fireworks.

“I told you I had a feeling, Pippi.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.

“All in,” he whispered against her.

“All in,” she said.

Noah

“You’re really going to marry me, Brooks?”

She tucked her head under his neck and squeezed him tight.

“Only if you promise to never stop calling me that.”

Noah squeezed back.

“As you wish, Brooks. Happy New Year.”

And then he kissed his fiancée with the broken toe and scarred eyebrow as he cupped her cheek with his equally scarred hand. Though they’d marked each other permanently, Jordan Brooks would never quite know the mark she left on Noah Keating’s heart. But he’d spend the rest of his life trying to show her.

Miles

“We made it till midnight,” Alex said, and Miles nodded, not wanting to do anything but kiss this man who could have written him off but didn’t.

“We made it till midnight,” Miles added.

Alex kissed him—long and slow, each touch of their lips a new possibility.

“Thank you for finding me,” Alex told him.

“Thank you for wanting to be found,” Miles said. “Happy New Year.”

Epilogue

One Year Later

Elaina

Elaina stood in the bedroom doorway, peaceful as a picture, while Duncan ransacked the room. She rubbed her round belly, stifling a gasp at the onset of the next contraction. But even in the midst of his frenzy, her husband noticed, and he was at her side in an instant.

“How close?” he asked.

“Eight minutes. We still have time.”

The hospital was a short ride from their apartment, so Elaina was sure they didn’t have to leave yet. She let Duncan lead her to the rocking chair in the corner of the room, the one where just a couple of days from now, she’d nurse their first child.

She took in a deep breath, shaking as Duncan lowered her into the chair.

“Another one? Already? Shite. I’ll find it, dammit. I’ll find it.”

She shook her head and grabbed his hand before he could pull away. The first tear trickled down her cheek, but Elaina’s smile was unmistakable.

“The next time I sit here, it will be with our baby boy or girl.”

Duncan dropped to his knees and hugged her tightly, planting sweet kisses all over her belly, the same thing he’d done when he found out they were pregnant. Though they’d both decided to throw caution to the wind after the honeymoon, discontinuing any form of birth control and seeing where that led them, Elaina hadn’t anticipated things working so quickly. She laughed now when she remembered how scared she’d been to tell him.

With his head in her lap, Duncan shouted.

“Yes! Sweet mother of God, yes!” Then he scrambled on hands and knees, reaching under the dresser and pulling out the tartan scarf Elaina had worn on her wedding day. “I knew I put it somewhere safe after I washed it. Must have fallen behind the mirror.”

He returned to her with the garment in hand and wrapped it over her shoulders—for her tonight and for the baby upon their return.

He reached for her hand once more.

“Are you ready to make our own luck, Mrs. McAllister?”

She winked at him. “Aye, Mr. McAllister.” Then she swiped her thumb under his eye. “I thought you didn’t like to cry.” She teased him, yet seeing him like this squeezed her heart, a different kind of contraction. She definitely preferred this to what was happening in her midsection.

He shrugged. “Guess I’m not so afraid of what I feel anymore, not with you.”

Elaina winced and sucked in a sharp breath. Another contraction.

“Okay,” Duncan said, glancing at her belly. “Maybe I’m afraid of that.” He squeezed her hand and grinned, and Elaina laughed through the pain. He helped her to her feet, guiding her toward the bedroom door.

And they left as two to return as three.

Maggie

Maggie rubbed the back of her neck as she tried again to get the key in the door. A migraine threatened to work its way up to that spot of blinding pain that would make this night unsalvageable. A quiet New Year’s Eve was all she wanted. And coffee. Coffee would fix all.

The door swung open before she tried the key again, and Griffin stood before her, steaming mug in his hand.

“Tough day at the office?” he asked, and she let her art bag drop from her shoulder so she could first steal a kiss and then the coffee.

“They’re great kids,” she said. “And it was a great party, but I think they’ve zapped my last ounce of energy. I’m probably not going to be much fun tonight.”

Griffin led her to their small living room, set her coffee on the side table, and let her collapse onto the couch. Lucky enough to find a job providing art therapy at a local youth center, Maggie kept hours that rivaled his.

“Smells good,” she said, closing her eyes for just a short moment.

Griffin kissed her on the forehead, then escaped back into the kitchen.

“Pizza,” he called back to her. “The kind with no preservatives.”

She smiled and opened her eyes, the rest and caffeine sure to do the trick. That’s when she saw the UNO box on the coffee table.

“Game night?” she asked, and Griffin popped his head out of the kitchen.

“Pizza needs ten more minutes. Figured you could shuffle and get it set up?”

Maggie shrugged. “You got it, Fancy Pants.”

She grabbed the box and gasped, not prepared for its lack of weight. In fact, the box was practically empty except for whatever made the soft rattling noise inside.

She took a few deep breaths. Whatever was happening, she needed to focus—not on exhaustion or hunger or anything outside this moment. Because her eyes already stung, and her heart might burst from her rib cage. There were no cards in the box, and if the whatever that was happening was the something she suspected—oh my God.

With trembling hands, she opened it, and a small diamond ring fell into her palm. When she looked up, her vision blurred through tears, there was Griffin on his knee on the other side of the table.

“Pippi…I need to ask you something.” He slapped the naked deck of cards down on the table.

She nodded, her whole body a virtual earthquake.

“I know the ring isn’t much, but if you don’t mind waiting, someday it will be more.”

She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about the size of the ring. She wanted to scream the word yes before any question was even asked, but she couldn’t do anything other than nod and try to control the trembling.

“No matter where I go,” he said, and she noticed the tremor in his voice, “you will always be my home. Tell me I can always be your home, too. Be my wife, Maggie.”

Griffin slid the deck toward her.

“Full deck,” he said. “All in…always.”

She was on her knees now, crawling around the coffee table to kneel in front of him. She raised a hand to his face and swiped away the tear that lay on his cheek. She was doing that nodding thing again, unable to find her voice, and Griffin started to laugh.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, taking the ring from her palm and sliding it onto her finger.

She laughed now, too. “Yes.” She kissed him. “Yes.” He kissed her back. “Yes.”

Jordan

Jordan looked from Noah, to Elvis, and back to Noah again.

“You sure?” he asked. “Your family’s going to be pissed.”

She laughed and nodded.

“They don’t have to know,” she said. “This is just for us, right? We changed the date so Duncan and Elaina could make it. Technically, we’d have already been married by now.”

He grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“I guess you can’t argue with technically.”

She beamed at him. “Nice outfit, by the way.”

“You as well,” he said.

Actually, they looked ridiculous, but that was part of the fun, right? Jordan in her blue sweatshirt that read Groom and Noah in the white one that read Bride. After all, she needed her something new, borrowed, and blue. The old was the Aberdeen T-shirt she wore underneath, a reminder of where and how they began.

She had suggested the Vegas idea as a joke, but you know what they say. In every joke there is a sprinkling of truth, and truth be told, Jordan wanted to marry Noah Keating today—and again in the summer. So when she opened her Christmas card from him, one that read, “This might be another proposal,” she’d tackled him to the floor with kisses and a resounding YES.

But this wedding would be just for them. Them and Elvis.

The musical trio began the first few bars of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” their cue to make their way toward the man in the bedazzled white jumpsuit who would pronounce them husband and wife.

Jordan linked her arm in Noah’s, and they took their first step. Together. And when she tripped on her shoelace, they promptly fell. Together.

“Quick check for injuries,” Noah said. He patted himself down. “All clear.”

Jordan rubbed the elbow that broke her fall but echoed his answer just the same. “All clear,” she said. “It’s a good sign, right?”

Noah kissed her and then helped her up.

“I’d be worried if this went off without a hitch,” he said and chuckled. “Now I’m sure we’re making the right decision.”

Jordan swatted him on the shoulder. “You weren’t sure before?”

He grabbed her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

“Eyes on the polyester, Brooks.”

They took another step. She nodded.

“Eyes on the polyester.”

They weren’t Beatrice and Benedick or Lizzie and Darcy or Lucy and George. They weren’t anything like the stories she’d read and loved for so many years. They were Brooks and Noah, and their tale was still just beginning. But Jordan knew, even before getting to the end—this would be her favorite story of all.

Miles

“Good night, Professor Parker. Do remember it’s a holiday.”

“Good night,” he echoed, then hit the end button on his phone. On the one hand, Miles was thrilled to hear from Professor Norton, the head of the psychology department. They’d be taking him on full-time next year. On the other hand, it was nine thirty on New Year’s Eve, and he was in his office with nothing but twenty-two ungraded term papers to celebrate with.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and he groaned. Miles thought he was the only one in the building. God, what if it was one of his no-shows from his office hours before the holiday break? That’s just what he wanted to do, argue grades with some irresponsible freshman who couldn’t be bothered to keep an appointment.

He pushed himself up from his chair and rubbed at his burning eyes.

“No office hours without an appoint—” he started, but when he opened the door, he found no student waiting for him. Instead, there stood Alex with a large shopping bag. Steam rose from the top of said bag, and Miles salivated at the escaping aroma. Lemon, garlic, spinach—he could feel the flakes of phyllo dough melting on his tongue.

“I thought you were working tonight.”

Then again, Miles couldn’t keep their schedules straight. As a first-year adjunct at NYU, he’d earned the shittiest schedule along with the shittiest office. But he was a professor of psychology at a university. And that? That wasn’t shitty at all.

Alex backed him inside. “I am,” he said. “Taking care of the deliveries tonight.”

Miles fell back into one of the two student chairs in front of his desk, and Alex took the one next to him, promptly emptying the bag onto a spot he cleared for the goods.

Miles blinked and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “But you don’t do deliveries.”

Alex stopped what he was doing and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, kissing him until all the other questions melted away.

“I missed you,” he whispered against him. “So I snuck away for an hour. I’ve got everything under control.”

Miles sunk back into his chair and let out a sigh. Alex had worked Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He’d worked nearly every holiday since Miles had moved to New York in June. But somehow they were making it work.

Alex opened a container of egg lemon soup and handed it to Miles with a spoon. He grabbed it greedily, finally aware of his hunger.

“Where’s my spanakopita?” he asked, the spoon still in his mouth.

Alex laughed and opened another container. “So demanding.”

It was moments like these that made it work. And Alex crawling into his bed each night, his arms wrapped around Miles each morning.

Moments like this—and food—and trust. Miles was still new to that last one, but it was growing on him every day.

“Happy New Year, Miles,” Alex said and kissed him again.

The happiest, Miles thought.

Alex pinched another of his savory pastries between his fingers and held it to Miles’s lips. “More?” he asked.

Miles smiled and licked his kiss-swollen lips.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

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