Playing For Love (9 page)

David trailed close behind as I made my way to the dressing rooms.

“Is this dressing room okay, Miss James?” the woman standing in the dressing area asked. I guessed she was Marie.

“Uh, yeah,” I finally responded. Abruptly, I said, “I want to try on other dresses first.”

Marie, my mother, and David all looked at me like I’d just spoken a foreign language. I watched as David's expression shifted, hardening, but the panic was clear in his eyes.

“You don't like it now?” my mother asked, her voice giving away her suspicions that something else—not at all dress related—was wrong. 

“No, I like it. I just don't want to pick the first dress I try on. I'll wonder if something else would've been better. Could I just try on others first?” I finished, my frustration showing. 

“Yes, of course. If you'll follow me, Miss James.” Marie walked back out to the main room.

David and my mother stayed behind, which at the moment was perfect.  

David

Sitting heavily in one of the chairs, I watched as Austin walked out, her back rigid and tense. When Mathew called, she'd started using her camo voice—that's how I thought of it. It belonged to someone younger, with a lot less life experience. It made her seem innocent and shy. It was camouflage. She was trying to hide her stress which was quickly turning into anger. I took deep breath and looked to Evelyn, who was already sitting in the other chair watching me.

“I'll talk to her. It's probably just Mathew.”

“It's fine. Whatever it is, I'll deal with it,” I assured her, wanting her to know I could take care of her daughter.

Evelyn looked at me out of the corner of her eye grinning. “I'm surprised she is doing this. I didn't think she'd ever get married,
not after the previous bailed engagements.”    

My eyes darted to the floor, trying to cover my discomfort. That statement didn't hurt nearly as much as before, but it still stung. When I glanced back up, Evelyn looked as if she was recalling a bad memory, one I thought I could guess.

“Actually, her bailing didn't surprise me at all. Her going through with it does.” She paused and I realized why Austin didn't want me around her mother—she was an open book. Straightforward and unable to hide her emotions. “But a really happy surprise. She didn't have an easy childhood,” she hedged.

“Her abuse.” The words escaped my mouth in a breath, words that I hadn't intended to say to her mother the first time I met her, and certainly not on my wedding day.    

Evelyn went still. Then she hesitantly asked, her voice somewhere between shocked and horrified, “She told you about that? About what those two did to her?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I knew already. Not the specifics of course. She's strong, but everything she carries... I could see it. My father abused me—physically and emotionally,” I tried to explain. “I don't know... I could just tell.”

A look crossed her face, as if she was just realizing something. “That makes so much sense now. She wasn't big on hanging out with people, having friends, but the few she did have over the years, all had very traumatic childhoods. I never thought too much about it when she was younger. But looking back, it was like they were drawn to each other. Like maybe they could
recognize
it in each other. Was it like that? Like you could recognize it?”

“Yeah, it was instinctive. Knowing.”

“It makes perfect sense for her to be willing to marry you.” She grinned like she had a secret. “So was it an instant connection? She just told you everything?”

“For me, yes. For her, no. I asked. I pushed. I needed her to tell me, open up to me, give me some of her burden... I'll take all of it. Just gotta get her to give it up.” 

“I know,” she said, sounding exhausted by the knowledge. “I took her to therapy for years. She never cracked. Never cried.
I
did all the crying. She just retold the story over and over. No emotion. Like she was describing a movie... They said she has PTSD,” she continued, going through a mental check list, “emotional dissociative defense mechanism disorder, sleeping disorder, emotional behavior disorder, and the flashbacks on top of all that.” She took a deep breath. “Has she been having nightmares since you met?” 

“No.” Then I realized what she was asking. “She still has flashbacks?”

“Yeah, that's why she's never let anyone spend the night or stayed with
anyone—
along with her trust issues. She doesn't trust anyone.” She looked at me pointedly before saying, “She acts like she does. She'll
pretend
like she does, but she doesn't. I don't think she completely trusts me. I can't blame her. When I think about those two holding her down, taking turns raping my little girl,” she whispered thickly.

My stomach dropped. Then a strong, violent urge rose up. I focused on taking slow deep breaths.

It wasn't a surprise she didn't tell me everything.

She didn't want to talk about it or deal with anything that reminded her of the traumatic event itself. I couldn't blame her. I had never spoken to anyone about my abuse. I kept my “friends” at arm’s length. I couldn't really understand them and they certainly didn't understand me. No one did.  

Until Austin.

I'd felt connected to her instantly. I couldn't explain it really. I just knew I never wanted anyone until I saw her. She made everything make sense for me. Why I was damaged...
So I can take care of her. Understand her. Be with her. 

I understood her better than I even think she understood herself. I wouldn't let her push me away. Or run away. That's why I watched her carefully, to make sure I wasn't pushing too hard, pushing her away instead of forward. That's all I was doing, forcing her out of her comfort zone and into mine. Forward into a relationship. Into emotions she didn't want to deal with. Feelings she didn't want to have. Making her fall in love with me.

Or at least just love me for now.

“She's never healed—that's what he told me six months ago.” Evelyn's soft voice broke me from my thoughts. “Her psychiatrist in Denver is a good friend of mine, he said she still hasn't healed, and wouldn't because of the emotional avoidance disorder.” Evelyn looked at me, at a loss for what to do. Eventually she said, “I just want her to be happy.”

“I'll make her happy. I'll do
anything
to make her happy,” I promised. “Even if it means making her unhappy first.” 

Evelyn nodded and, from her expression, I could tell she understood exactly what I was referring too. Austin was going to have to face some things before she could be
really
happy.  

“What happened to those two guys?”

After a long moment, she responded, “Austin doesn't know, but her grandfather—he owned a ranch—sent a few ranch hands after them. They broke both their legs. Broke one's throwing arm. They both had football scholarships.”

“Why didn't you have them arrested?”

“At the time, I just wanted them dead. And...they washed her”—Her voice was barely a whisper.—“messing with her more while they thoroughly cleaned her... There was no DNA evidence left.”

I felt sick remembering how thoroughly I cleaned her, on more than one occasion.

Fuck, I did it today.
   

“You haven't really met her yet. She can be
so
cold.” She shook her head. “And she has a nasty temper, David. You're getting the
public appropriate
version of her. Do you think you can handle the unfiltered her?”

“I can handle whatever she throws at me.”

The look Evelyn gave me clearly said I had no idea what I was in store for.

Voices approaching, stopped me from commenting, knowing it had to be Austin and the sales woman. Or women, I realized as three women entered carrying two dresses each.

“Mom, I found a couple of dresses for you to try on,” Austin said to Evelyn then looked at me. “You have to leave.”

“Really? You're serious? I'm looking at the dresses right now. I've already seen 'em.”

“David—”

“I know every inch of your body. Do you honestly think I don't know what those dresses are going to look like on you?”

She walked past me to a door. Opening it, she pointed inside and said, “Go in here and keep the door shut.”

I didn't know why I felt like I was in trouble, I didn't do anything. She was anything but traditional, so I didn't think a groom not seeing whatever the fuck had anything to do with her attitude.

Unless she's tired of people telling her what to do… Fucking Mathew.

There really wasn't room in our lives for him at the moment. Maybe later, after she'd worked through some issues…

No.

There was no room for him.

She'd been completely manageable before he called. This was a tricky situation to get her through without that self-centered fuck putting his bullshit on her.

“Whatever you need, sweetheart,” I relented, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then turning, I went to my appointed “doghouse” for the time being.

I knew she just needed a minute. She would refocus herself and get her emotions under control—like always—and move forward. That, I was confident of. And if she couldn't, I would help her get there.

We were getting married, no matter what happened today.  

CHAPTER SEVEN

Austin

I didn't know what had come over me. Maybe it was hormones, maybe it was something deeper. I didn't want to think about it. I just wanted it to go away.

“Why are you punishing him?” my mother asked, catching me off guard, though I wasn't surprised by the question. She was always direct.

“I'm not.” I sighed, deflating. Then I admitted, “I don't know. It makes me feel better.”

“Being mean to him is like kicking a puppy.”

“He's nothing like a puppy.”

“He will take any attention he can get from you. Even if it hurts. And he will keep coming back for more... You're not mad at him. You wouldn't be trying on wedding dresses if you didn't want to be. So what is it?” 

“I don't know.”

“Stop living your life in fear, Austin.” She looked at me, taking in my expression. “It's true and you know it. You're here for a reason. I assume you let go a little and trusted David, right?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“So what happened?”

“I don't know.” My eyes shifted to the floor. I honestly didn't know. I just knew how I felt, not the reason behind it.

“You looked happy when I first saw you. The most shocking part was that you looked like you. No new wardrobe or hair color. No odd behavior—other than your
own
normally odd behavior. Just you. Happy. Never thought I'd get to see
you
like that around a man.”

I took a moment to think about her words. About the truth in them.

“Yeah,” I whispered, looking up at her. “This is huge, isn't it? For
me
.”

“Yes, it is.” She grabbed my hands, gripping them tight. “He can handle it, Austin. He
wants
to.”

“He doesn't know everything.” I gently pulled my hands free. “He hasn't seen the extent of my issues.”

“Let him. I think he can handle it. He doesn't seem like the average guy. And if he can't handle it... then you'll know. And you can take whatever steps are necessary.” Her hands landed on my shoulders, squaring them, conveying the certainty of her words through her touch. “He can handle it. He's strong, I can see it. I haven't seen a man with his maturity and togetherness since your grandfather. Men like that are rare. Men who can actually handle the serious shit.”

“A.k.a.
me
.” I tried to lighten the mood.

My mother wasn't sidetracked as her voice lowered secretively. “And David has money. Zack will
never
be as successful as David. And David
is
famous. He didn't even ask about the price of that Zuhair dress. And that ring....”

I wasn't surprised she'd looked him up. She probably knew more about David's career and financial situation than I did—a man's wealth always mattered to her. Sometimes it seemed more important than actually liking them. That's why I hadn't told her about the car or that I was even seeing him, it would've stirred her up, she would have been calling daily to see how it was going. Regardless, bringing Zach up was inappropriate.

“Zach isn't an option. He never was,” I whisper-yelled. 

Ignoring my reprimand, she continued, “Let David take care of you. You want it. You've been letting him to some degree.
Obviously
.” She pulled my hand up between us. My colossal ring glittered, making her point, before she let my hand fall back to my side. “What changed? I know you know. Tell me.”

Searching my emotions,
I realized I was more upset than I thought about David’s media and PR decisions. My previous experience with the media—when my ex cheated on me—was not a good one. I had a gut feeling this time would not go well either. And Mathew’s attitude was the icing on the cake.
“Mathew's attitude, I guess. Just rubbed me the wrong way. Pushed me over the edge,” I said, unwilling to complain about David, feeling protective.

“He's only around because of your connections with Zach. I've been around Mathew
twice,
and I didn't like him,” she said as if that answered everything.

When I didn’t respond she asked, “Are you on your period?” Her face was skeptical.

“Yeah.”

“It's just your hormones,” she said dismissively. “You always get melancholy during your period.” She hugged me hard, holding me a moment before she whispered, “It's okay to cry. I think you just need to let yourself cry.”  

As if on command, my eyes stung then flooded, nearly overflowing. I swallowed. I could feel my nose and face heating with the strain of holding the tears in.

My mom pulled back, taking in my face.

“This is one place that it is perfectly acceptable to cry,” she whispered. “We can blame it on hormones or the overwhelming emotion of the event or the hideousness of one of the dresses.”

A laugh that bubbled up out of me, and the tears flowed down my face. I was so happy David hadn't given me time to put on makeup. 

“Ready?”

I nodded.

“Marie? She's ready to get started.”

*****

I watched as David got his fitting—even though I made him sit in that dressing room
alone
the entire time I tried on dresses and through my fitting for the Zuhair, fairy tale dress.  

I felt bad.

I put him through the wringer today with my irrational hormones and laundry list of issues, and then Mathew interfering with our day....

David just took it.

Handled it.

No complaints.

Nothing.

My mother was right, if anyone was capable of handling the real me, it was David.  

Mom was getting her fitting in the next dressing room over after telling me I needed to spend a few minutes with David, to let him know I wasn't upset with him.  

As if I wasn't already feeling bad enough.

I studied David's face—his strong jawline, his dark stubble, his soft sculpted lips. Then my phone started buzzing on the chair next to me. David reached over the seamstress and grabbed it before I could even move. He only said a few words, before he ended the call.

“Tonight at eight thirty okay?” he asked me.

“What?” I asked stupidly, obviously he was referring to the wedding.

“The wedding, sweetheart,” he answered patiently.

“Yeah, that's good. She said the dress would be done by six.”

“Yes, Miss James. Your dress and Mr. Taylor's suit will be dropped off to you no later than six thirty,” the seamstress—who's name I couldn't remember—interjected. 

“I didn't get anyone to do your hair or makeup. I didn't think about it until just now. If you want it, I can get it arranged.”

I was a little relieved he'd forgotten something; it made me feel less... childish. I never could have pulled all this off—assistant or not.

“Yes.” My voice was small, feeling a fleeting moment of embarrassment. I was doing everything like a fantasy wedding, with just the three of us. It seemed silly, extravagant.
But I wasn’t doing it again.

Not anytime soon, anyway.

I should have the wedding I wanted, right?

David looked at the phone, then the woman kneeling at his feet—creating an image I really didn't want in my head at the moment. I had managed to ignore it until now.

“Do you know of anyone? Someone who isn't going to pack a lot of makeup on her face?” he asked the woman kneeling in front of him. 

The image they created... I felt that twinge of jealousy that was quickly chased by the feeling of betrayal. I knew it was irrational, an extreme overreaction—just like I knew when I walked into his shoot that day. I ignored it then, I was ignoring it now. But it was unrealistic to think I could spend the rest of my life pretending I didn't have these extreme responses where David was concerned.

“We have a few we recommend. Let me get Marie for you,” she said, standing up.
Finally.

“You happy?” David asked once she was out of the room.

“Yes... Sorry about earlier—leaving you sitting in that dressing room.”

“Sweet girl, come here.”    

I took his outstretched hand, and he pulled me up, out of the chair and onto the platform, our bodies flush. His fingers combing my hair back, nails running along my scalp. My chest bloomed with warmth, filling me with something I couldn't quite explain. Love? Comfort? Whatever it was, it felt amazing. My arms tucked between us, playing with the buttons of his crisp, white shirt. Entranced by those perfect lips, I watched as they began to move. 

“You could make me sit in that room 'til eight o'clock. I'd still be the happiest fucking person on the planet.” Nuzzling his nose against mine, pressing our foreheads together. “You're marrying me. This is the best fucking day of my life,” he whispered vehemently.

“Me too,” I murmured.      

His dark eyes locked with mine and after a long moment, he breathed, “Promise me, if I ever do anything that triggers you, tell me. Immediately. Okay?”

The drastic topic change threw me for a second, but I caught up. “Yes, of course. I will. But you never have,” I whispered, sincerely.

It was the absolute truth,
he
had
never triggered me. No matter how rough his touch, I never had a negative response, no fear.

His kissed me as his hands slid down my back, over my ass, cupping then squeezing. He made a low appreciative sound as his body curved around mine, creating a protective cocoon.   

My world shrank to a pinpoint. My whole being was focused on the contours of his hard body pressed against mine, his claiming hands, the sound of his heavy breath, his smell and heat enveloping me. His tongue stroked into my mouth with long, savoring sweeps. Tasting me like I was something he wanted to feast on for hours. Moaning into his mouth, I pressed closer as my clit throbbed in envy, wanting that attention.  

A dark noise rumbled in his chest and my nipples pebbled, the sound igniting a primal hunger in me. My hands moved up, gliding over his pecs, up to his neck, feeling his powerful muscles tensing. In that moment, all I wanted was his thick thigh pushing against my clit. Instead of breaking the sweetest mouth fuck of my life to ask, I arched into him, moaning, sucking on his tongue like I would his cock. Our breaths were heavy and ragged as his big hands moved lower, his fingers brushing my sex from behind. Everything inside me clenched in anticipation.  

“Excuse me. Sorry,” a female voice shattered my lust haze.   

I tried to move away, but David held me fast, gently sucking my bottom lip into his mouth before pulling back. His dark eyes pinned me. That stare was pure male satisfaction and raw carnal lust. My breath hitched and my clit throbbed violently. His fingers still brushing my sex, he looked over my head carrying on as if I wasn't on the verge of coming in front of these strangers. “You know some people for hair and makeup? They've gotta be really good.”

“Yes, sir. I believe we have someone who will suit your needs perfectly.”    

Her voice dampened my arousal completely, allowing me to quickly recover from 'The David Effect'.

I looked over my shoulder, the blonde woman in front—who had helped us carry dresses earlier—had been the one speaking apparently. She seemed unaffected by our display. The other woman, the seamstress, seemed quite uncomfortable. Didn't most couples do this during their fittings?

David must have sensed my mood shift, because his hands moved, settling on my hips.

“Natural look. Light on the makeup,” the blonde woman said. 

“Yes—” David started.

“I got this, babe,” I whispered, patting his chest. “Get your fitting done.”    

“Don't leave.” It wasn't a request.

I didn't know if he was getting the same flirty vibe from the seamstress or if it was something else. After what I did to him earlier, I didn't have a problem complying, either way.

“Can you get me the information?” I asked the blonde. “And what type of makeup does she work with? What type of makeup does she normally do?” I wasn't risking some disaster wedding makeup.

“I'll be right back with all the answers you'll need. Give me one moment,” she said, exiting the room.

I gave David a quick kiss and sat back down while the seamstress got back to work. His eyes stayed on me, a look I couldn’t quite place, but it warmed my insides and made me feel like the only girl in the world. It made me feel like I was his. And nothing had ever felt more right.

*****

I had already started the long, slow ritual of getting ready. It felt like the biggest event, even though it was just the three of us in attendance and Byron. I wasn't sure if that had just worked out or if David had planned that part as well because we needed another witness. I put lotion on as I let my long hair air-dry a bit before the beauty team arrived. They were scheduled for seven.