Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3 (26 page)

“Awww, Christ in heaven! Not my mum too!” Ben growled at the dance floor where Simon was now doing a very lewd rumba with Mrs. Clarkson for a cheering crowd.

“Go get ’em, Ben.” Ethan and I laughed at Ben’s retreating back as he went off to rescue his mother from Simon’s undulating hips.

“As insane as Simon looks right now, that crazy boy can dance,” I said, still laughing. “I am not quite over the fact that you hired him to do our photos.”

Ethan snuggled into me a little deeper. “Don’t remind me, please. He blackmailed me, you know. Said he would forgive the whole mess if he could secure the wedding photos for us. I figured that would be okay, so I agreed. Then he sent me the contract. Trust me when I say that your friend Simon has been well compensated for his services today. He even sent me the bill for a fucking bespoke suit made in Milan!”

I nearly choked from laughing. “Oh my God!” I pointed at Simon slithering behind Ben’s mom in his shiny green silk. “There you go, baby. Money well spent, I say. Simon looks soooo happy.” I laughed some more.

“They’d better be fucking museum-quality photographs,” Ethan muttered.

“I saw you dancing with the local beauty with the penchant for ice cream a little while ago,” I said, hoping to divert attention to something more pleasant.

Ethan’s whole face changed immediately. “She’s so amazing. I hope our little peach is just like her if we have a girl.” He put his hands over my belly. “I can feel peaches now. Your belly is hard, and it wasn’t before.”

“Yep. Peaches is in there, all right.” I put my hands over his.

“I love your dress. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“You’re pretty hot yourself in that tux. You got a purple vest just for me. I love it. We are very matchy-matchy, Mr. Blackstone.” And we were indeed. My cream lace dress had a purple belt that tied in the back, and I wore the amethyst and pearl heart pendant around my neck. Ethan had his violet striped vest and a deep purple lily on his jacket. My veil was long and simple, but I loved it because of the pictures I had taken wearing it. Pictures only for Ethan’s eyes. I wanted him to see. “I have a gift for you,” I said.

“That sounds very nice,” he said with another nuzzle against my neck, “but everything about you is my gift.” He held my face with both of his hands as I loved him to do. “How does Mrs. Blackstone feel about leaving here and getting started on the wedding night?”

One second later . . .

♥
“Mrs. Blackstone is so onboard with that plan.”

He held out his arm for me. “My lady, shall we?”

“Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy your gentlemanly manners? Such a contrast with that filthy mouth you’ve got, but man, it really works for me.”

Ethan got a very pleased look in his eyes. “Well, that’s really good to know, baby. I think I can walk that line for you.” His eyes hooded, he drew my hand up to his lips. “I’ll make sure of it tonight.”

Thank sweet baby Jesus.
“I have to run upstairs to our room and get my gift for you, okay? I’ll just be a moment.”

He kissed my hand and swirled his tongue in a circle, just above where my ring sat next to the wedding band he’d slipped on my finger during our vows, before letting me go. “I’ll be waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down. I just have to tell Hannah that we’re escaping,” he purred at me.

“God, I love you so much,” I said to him.

He gave me a rare Ethan smile and said, “I love you more.”

“Highly doubtful,” I called over my shoulder, “but I’ll take it!”

I hurried to get the package from our bedroom and was coming back down when I sensed a warmth of feeling. It touched me, wrapping around my body like a cloak in a comforting way. I stopped on the landing where the magnificent Mallerton of Sir Jeremy and Georgina hung on the wall. I loved looking at this painting, and it wasn’t just the subject matter or the execution, which was stunning, it was the emotion expressed in it. There was great love in this family. Sir Jeremy with his blue eyes and sandy hair looked to his lovely, fair Georgina with an expression that just exuded his deep love for her. I don’t know how Tristan Mallerton managed to get it down in paint, but he most certainly had captured the moment between these lovers from so long ago. And it just took my breath away in its pureness.

And then there were the children—an older boy and a younger girl. The little girl sat on her mother’s lap, but she had eyes only for her father. I imagined how he must have entertained her during the long hours of sittings for such a portrait as this. My art training gave me an understanding of the time involved to create a painting of this scale; it would have been immense. A child didn’t look like that unless she felt it. This little girl had loved her daddy, and been loved very much by him in return.
Just like me.

I love you so much, Daddy . . .

As I turned away from the painting to go down the rest of the way, I could see Ethan waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. Just waiting patiently as if he understood I was having a moment and needed my privacy. Ethan seemed to recognize my moods at times like this. And if I really thought about it, Ethan had been the greatest gift my dad had ever given to me.

Thomas Bennett, my precious and loving father, had sent Ethan Blackstone to find me in London so he could rescue me. I now had the rest of my life to be thankful for that fact.

Thank you, Daddy.
I looked at the little girl in the painting and felt the connection with her, even with centuries between us. I hoped that Sir Jeremy Greymont’s daughter had enjoyed many long years of knowing her father. Twenty-five years was the amount of time I had been given with mine, and I must accept it with grace for the priceless gift it was.

I refused to be sad in thinking of my dad on my wedding day. He was only a happy thought for me now. He loved me and I loved him. He was still with me somehow, and I was still with him, and nothing could ever take that away from either of us.

♠
“Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them, okay?” I parked the car and went over to Brynne’s side to help her out. “No peeking, Mrs. Blackstone, I want to do this right.”

“Eyes are closed, Mr. Blackstone,” she said, standing before me. “My package. Give it to me, please.”

I retrieved it from the seat and placed it carefully in her hands. It was light, just a flat black box tied with a silver ribbon. “Ready?”

“I am,” she said.

“Okay, keep them closed, and I’m going to pick you up and carry you.”

“Sounds very traditional,” she said.

“I like to think of myself as a traditional guy, baby.” I scooped her up, careful to arrange her dress so it wouldn’t drag, and started walking up the gravel drive of Stonewell Court. The rocks crunched under my feet and you could hear the sound of the waves on the rocks far below us. It looked amazing and I hoped she liked it. The whole place was lit with torches in old urns, and candles glowing inside glass luminaria on the ground. Even the upper suite was lit up from the inside. Our wedding-night suite.

“I can hear the ocean,” she said up against me, one hand on the back of my neck lightly caressing back and forth.

“Mmm-hmm.” I stopped at what I felt was the perfect place for the unveiling. “Okay, we have arrived at our nuptial destination, Mrs. Blackstone. I’m going to set you down so you can get the full effect,” I warned before tilting her down to stand on her own. I faced her toward the house and covered her eyes gently with my hands.

“I want to look. Are we sleeping here?”

“Not sure how much
sleeping
we’ll be doing . . . but we will be here tonight.” I kissed her on the back of the neck and took my hands away. “For you, my beauty. You can open your eyes now.”

“Stonewell Court. I thought this is where we were. I remember the smell of the sea and the sound of the gravel when we walked here. It’s so beautiful I—I can’t believe all this.” She opened her arms. “Who did this for us?”

She still doesn’t understand.
I brought my hands to her shoulders and kissed her neck from behind. “Hannah, mostly. She’s been trying to work a miracle for me.”

“Well, I think she has succeeded. It takes my breath away.” She turned to face me. “It’s the perfect place for us to spend our wedding night,” she said, leaning into my body.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her softly, surrounded by the glow of torches and the ocean breeze. “Do you like it?”

“I more than like it. I love that we get to be here.” She turned back around and leaned into me again and looked at the house some more.

“I’m very glad about that, Mrs. Blackstone, because after we were here together I couldn’t get this place out of my head. I wanted to bring you back here. The inside needs some attention, but the bones are good and the foundation stone-solid, perched up here on the rocks. This house has been here a long time and hopefully it will still be here a long time from now.”

I slipped the small envelope from my pocket and brought it around to hold in front of her so she could see it.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s your wedding present. Open it.”

She opened the flap and tipped the odd assortment into her hand—some modern, some very old. “Keys?” She turned around, her eyes wide with shock. “You
bought
the house?!”

I couldn’t hold back my grin. “Not exactly.” I turned her to face the house again, drawing my arms around her from behind and resting my chin on the top of her head. “I bought us a home. For you and me, and for peaches, and any other raspberries or blueberries that might come along later. This place has plenty of rooms to put them in.”

“How many blueberries are we talking here? Because I’m looking at a really big house that must have a lot of rooms to fill.”

“That, Mrs. Blackstone, remains to be seen, but I can assure you that I will give you my very best efforts at filling a few.”

“Ahh, then what are you standing out here for? Hadn’t you better get cracking?” She asked smugly.

I swooped her up, and started walking. Fast. If she was ready for HoneymoonLand then I was not the fool to be delaying matters. Again, not a moron.

My legs swallowed up the rest of the path quickly, and then the stone steps of our new country house. “And the bride goes over the threshold,” I said, pushing the heavy oaken door with my shoulder.

“You’re getting more and more traditional all the time, Mr. Blackstone.”

“I know. I kind of like it.”

“Oh, wait, my package! I want you to open your gift too. Set me down. The lighted foyer will be perfect for you to see them with.”

She handed me the black box tied with silver ribbon, looking very happy, and very lovely in her wedding lace and the heart pendant sitting at her throat. I had a small flash of the memory of what she’d endured that night with Westman, but I pushed it down and far away. There was no place in this moment for anything ugly tonight. This was a time for joy.

I lifted the lid and pulled back some black tissue paper. The photographs revealed underneath stopped my heart. Brynne beautifully naked in many artistic poses, wearing nothing but her wedding veil.

“For you, Ethan. For your eyes only,” she whispered. “I love you with all of my heart, and all of my mind, and with all of my body. It all belongs to you now.”

I had trouble speaking at first, so I just stared at her for a moment and counted my blessings.

“The pictures are beautiful,” I told her finally when I could get the words out. “They’re beautiful, baby, and I . . . understand why now.” Brynne needed to make beautiful pictures with her body. It was her reality. I needed to possess her—to take care of her in order to fulfill some dominant requirement within my psyche—my reality.

“I wanted you to have these pictures. They’re for you only, Ethan. Only you will ever see them. They are my gift to you.”

“I hardly have words.” I looked through the poses slowly, soaking up the images and savoring them. “I like this one where you’re looking over your shoulder, and your veil is down your back.” I studied the photograph some more. “Your eyes are open . . . and you are looking at me.”

She held my gaze with her beautiful multicolored eyes, which surprised me all the time with their changing hues, and said, “They are looking at you, but my eyes have really only been opened since you came into my world. You gave me everything. You made me really want to see what was around me, for the first time in my adult life. You made me want
you
. You made me want . . . a life.
You
were my greatest gift of all, Ethan James Blackstone.” She reached up to touch my face and held her palm there, her eyes showing me so much of what she felt.

I covered her palm on my cheek with my hand. “As you were for me, my beautiful American girl.”

I kissed my lovely bride in the foyer of our new old stone house for a long time. I wasn’t in a hurry and neither was she. We had the luxury of forever right now and we would take it for the precious gift that it was.

When we were ready, I picked her up again, loving her soft weight resting against my body, and the tensing of my muscles as I carried her up the stairs to our awaiting suite where I would hold her all night long.
Holding on to her in order to hold me up.
The concept just made sense for me. I couldn’t explain it to anyone else, but I didn’t need to explain anything. I knew what we meant to each other.

Brynne
was
my greatest gift. She was the first person to really see inside me. Only her eyes seemed even capable of doing it.
Only my Brynne’s eyes.

A Gift for the Reader

A Christmas Story—Ethan and Brynne’s Very First Meeting

24 December 2011

London

T
he street was remarkably sparse considering it was Christmas Eve. Probably because it was so damn freezing cold outside people were smart enough to stay in. It was totally clichéd to be shopping for a gift at this late minute, but here I was pushing my way through the doors of Harrods in hopes of something really perfect for my aunt Marie. I knew I’d better get my ass in gear too, because I would be spending the day with her tomorrow and had nothing to show up with!

Marie was hard to buy for because she was so unique and unconventional; it was ridiculously difficult to top her lifestyle. She also had money enough to get anything she desired. She reminded me of Auntie Mame from the movie in a lot of ways. From the exotic travels to the rich dead husbands to the fantastic dresses in her wardrobe.

After three quarters of an hour I gave up and started to head outside, stopping for a mocha coffee in the food court first. I needed the caffeine and the warmth.

I strolled down the street and sipped as I looked into shop windows for anything of interest. The bite from the cold air was going to put some color in my cheeks for sure. At least I had hot coffee, and the Christmas carols piped out from somewhere sounded nice. Very
Christmas Carol
-ish. I’m sure Dickens would have loved to know that 168 years later, some of the same songs were still playing. I loved history and it made me smile to think that some traditions had changed hardly at all in those long years. Change isn’t always a good thing. It takes a strong character to withstand the changes of time. I wish I could be strong like that.

Some days I wondered if I would last a long time. Despite my determination to be on my own in London, I missed my parents during the holidays. The decorating, and the baking, and the parties . . .

Well, maybe not the parties. Parties were not really my thing anymore. And I seriously wondered if I’d ever step foot in San Francisco again.

Move on—change of subject, please.

I came up to a shop window that looked intriguing. Like an antiques shop or secondhand store. The name on the door was etched in the glass:
TUCKED AWAY.
And it certainly was. There were tons of these small shops in London, and some of them were beautifully arranged. This was one of them. I stepped inside and heard a bell jingle at the top of the door.

“Happy Christmas,” a cheerful voice called out.

“Happy Christmas,” I returned to the smiling face of an older gentleman wearing the Brit uniform of sweater vest and tweed jacket.

The shop smelled good. Like cinnamon. I would bake at Aunt Marie’s tomorrow and I looked forward to that. I loved to cook, but it lost something when there was nobody to cook for. I felt a sigh coming and suppressed it.

I gravitated toward a section of soft knits. These were obviously a consignment of some sort. Not antiques. Scarf-and-hat combos in so many colors. I pulled out a dark-purple set and fingered the scarf. It felt like cashmere, it was that soft. Probably lamb’s wool, though. I checked the price and raised a brow. But I wanted it. Hell, I needed it on a day like today. I looked at the price again and decided it was okay to splurge on myself. It was Christmas, after all.

Who in the hell are you kidding, foolish woman? You still have nothing for Marie.

I think I was starting to panic a bit. I sighed and kept looking.

I drifted around and found nothing and decided it was time to leave. I stepped up to the counter to pay for my hat and scarf and saw the display of costume jewelry under the glass. Now this caught my eye. It was very pretty stuff, for one thing—vintage bohemian fit Marie’s personality like a leather glove.
Score!

One piece stood out clearly to me and it was perfect. A dove pin. Silver with seed pearls on the wing and tail, a black crystal eye and a tiny heart charm dangling from its beak with a blue crystal in the center. A dove symbolized peace, and God knows the world could certainly use some of that. The best part was that I could picture my aunt wearing this pin. I knew she’d love it.

I paid in a rush, almost giddy to have struck gold in my labors of gift-buying angst. Checking my watch, I knew I needed to get going and saw it was a bit of a walk to my Tube station.

It was cold.

Frickin’ frigid.

Cold enough that I pulled on the new hat and wrapped the scarf around my neck right then and there on the street. I checked my face quickly in the window of a parked car, just to make sure there wasn’t something stupid-looking in my appearance—not that I cared too much when it was so freezing.

I walked another couple of blocks until I couldn’t stand the cold another second, and pushed into the first place that had a door with a
WE’RE OPEN
sign. Fountaine’s Aquarium. I was in a pet store. Or more correctly, a tropical fish shop. Worked for me. It was warm and quite dim inside, the humidity rising from the tanks making it a pleasant change from where I’d just been. I unwound my scarf and wandered around, stopping by each tank to observe and read the names of the fish.

The saltwater section reminded me of a trip I took to Maui when I was fourteen. I’d gotten to snorkel and see some of the same fish that were in these tanks. I didn’t know it at the time, but that vacation had been the last one I’d take with both of my parents. My mom and dad separated soon afterward, and there would never be another trip for all of us as a family unit.
Sad.
They had to fight to be civil to each other now.
Well, isn’t that the perfect oxymoron . . . “fight to be civil.”

I stopped at one particularly interesting fellow. A lionfish. Lionfish are something else up close, with all their spiky colored fins making them look unreal. This guy seemed curious, and came right up to the glass and fluttered at me as if he wanted to have a conversation. He was cute. I knew they were poisonous to touch, but still captivating to watch. I imagined that a saltwater aquarium was a great deal of work to maintain.

“Hey, handsome,” I whispered to the fish.

“Can I help you with anything?” a young guy asked behind me.

“Just admiring. He’s really a beautiful fish,” I told the store clerk.

“Yeah, he’s been sold, actually. The owner is coming to pick him up today and take him home.”

“Ahhh, well, I hope you’re happy at your new home then, handsome.” I spoke to the fish again: “Hopefully it’s someone who’ll spoil you with treats.”

The clerk agreed with me and chuckled.

I turned away from the tank, deciding it was time to brave the outside cold yet again and head home to my flat. I still needed to wrap Marie’s gift and I had plans to bake tonight—some sugar cookies that I would take over there tomorrow. It was a little tradition we’d started, and it was really fun piping on the frosting and adding sprinkles to decorate them. My favorites were the snowflake ones.

I headed for the door to leave, adjusting my hat and rewrapping my scarf around my neck and halfway up my face, when someone entered the shop. I stepped aside to let him pass and was impressed with what looked like a tall person and a nice coat, but I didn’t look up at him. My eyes were focused on what lay beyond the open door of the shop.

Snowflakes.

It was snowing on Christmas Eve in London!

“It’s snowing?” I muttered in amazement.

“Yeah . . . it is,” he said.

I stepped out into the white and caught the most appealing scent on him as we passed each other. Like some exotic spice mixed with an indulgent mix of soap and cologne.
It was nice when a man smelled so good,
I thought. Lucky girl, whoever was getting to smell that all the time.

I went up to the window of a black Range Rover HSE parked on the street and checked my hat in the window’s reflection as I’d done before when I’d started out. I didn’t want to look like a dork on my walk home.

The snow had started falling more heavily now, and I could see some flakes beginning to settle on my new purple hat, even just in the reflection in the Rover’s window. I smiled under my scarf as I turned to go.

I was cold on my walk home. Cold . . . but strangely content. Snow for Christmas, for a California girl, all on her own in London at the holidays. Totally unexpected. But I realized something on my way home. The small things in life are sometimes the most precious gifts we are given, and when you recognize them when they arrive, then you are truly blessed.