Prelude to a Wedding (28 page)

"Who is it, Bette?" Her mother's voice grew
nearer as she came down the hall.

Automatically, Bette opened the outer door to
Paul, and stepped back to let him in.

"Mother, this is Paul Monroe." What else to
say about him? My friend? Too small to be the truth. My lover? Only
one part of the truth. The man I love? Too much the truth. "From
Chicago."

"Oh. How nice to meet you." Her mother
glanced from one to the other of them. "It's wonderful that you
could pay Bette a surprise visit while she is with us. It's a shame
Bette's father isn't here right now to meet you also."

"I know it's a surprise visit. I hope it's
not inconvenient, but I was, uh, I was hoping to take Bette out for
dinner."

She didn't think she could remember Paul ever
stumbling over his words that way. It terrified her.

"Bette, remember the Thompsons are expecting
us at five-thirty for cocktails." Mrs. Wharton looked from her
daughter to this intense-looking young man, and put together a clue
or two dropped over the past few weeks to arrive at a very
satisfactory conclusion. A conclusion that involved one less guest
at the Thompsons' dinner party. "So the rest of us will be leaving
as soon as the baby-sitter arrives, about half an hour," she
finished smoothly.

Bette read the message in her mother's look,
and thanked her silently.

"So if we don't see you before we leave,"
continued her mother, turning to Paul, "I hope you enjoy your stay
in Phoenix."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wharton. I'm going to try."
Bette knew exactly when Paul turned to her mother and stretched out
a hand, because the weight of his eyes left her for the first time.
"I hope we'll see each other again."

Bette heard the words, but refused to admit
their possible meaning. They were too dangerous. They could elicit
too many hopeful, soaring ideas of "what next" if she let them
free.

"I hope so, too. If you're not in any hurry
for dinner, you should get Bette to show you around the area first.
There's a lovely view from the boathouse."

Her mother and Paul exchanged goodbyes, and
somehow Bette found herself leading Paul down the twisting path to
the boathouse tucked away privately by the water's edge.

Bette went directly to the railing and stared
out at the water, darkening with night and undisturbed by any human
traffic. The shadows under the roofed portion were deep, but she
was fully aware of Paul standing behind her.

"I had to see you—" He broke off, then
started again. "There are more things that need to be said between
us." She felt him nearer.

"I know, that's why I called you
yesterday."

"You called?" His voice was low.

She twisted to see his face, but he was too
close, and she saw only her own desire reflected there. She looked
back to the water. "I left a message at your apartment."

"I haven't been home." His fingertips brushed
her hair behind her ear, perhaps so he could see her profile more
clearly. "I needed to talk to you, Bette. There's something . . .
Something happened Thursday. There was a fire."

The strain in his voice chilled her. Turning,
she tried to read in his face what this fire had meant to him. He
wasn't injured, at least on the outside. But inside?

"A fire?"

"Dad's building."

"Oh my God—"

"No." He gripped the arms she'd instinctively
extended to him. "It's all right, Bette. He's fine. Nobody was
seriously hurt. There's a lot of damage, and it'll be a mess for a
while. For the firm. For Dad. But it's not much compared to what
could have happened."

His hands traveled up her arms and across her
shoulders, finally coming to her throat. He spread his fingers
under her hair to caress her nape with warmth while with his thumbs
he stroked the line of her jaw. In the shadows, wavering with the
water's reflection, she saw his eyes just as surely caressing her
lips.

"I learned something from that fire, Bette.
Afterward Dad talked about his life, and my grandfather, and I
started to see— I've been wrong. Wrong and blind and stubborn.
That's why—" he dropped a kiss on her mouth as light and powerful
as a laser's beam "—why I came here." Another kiss. "I had—"
Another kiss "—to see you, to tell you . . ." Desire flared between
them without lightening the shadows around them. "Oh, God, Bette. I
need you."

He held her face between his palms and sank
into her mouth. She felt the need, the tension in him. She felt
confused, uncertain— Why had he come? What had this fire meant to
him? What was this change in him? But those were questions for the
future, because beneath the confusion and uncertainty, she also
felt the sure steady beat of her love for him. He needed her now.
He wanted her now. Now was the moment she had. She'd take it, and
she'd give it.

Instinct led them to the wide cushioned seats
that edged the back of the boathouse, because in the inky darkness
they couldn't see anything. Not even each other. But touch led them
where their eyes could not, the way to ease the ache, the way to
fill the needs, the way to love each other.

And even in the dark, she could see the face
of the man she made love with, the man she loved. She would always
see his face. It was her fantasy, more powerful than any schoolgirl
could imagine. Yet it also haunted her, because it lacked one
element—the love, the deep, committed love of the man making love
to her.

"Bette?"

She didn't answer. She didn't want him to
know she was crying. He had come after her, but why? He might have
followed one of his impulses, the desire of the moment to see her,
be with her, make love with her. Or he might have felt her speech
in his office had been an ultimatum, designed to close him in, trap
him, bind him. Tears would only add to that impression.

"Bette, there's something I have to ask
you."

She held her silence like a shield,
protecting him from her tears, protecting herself from his
questions.

No, not a shield, a restriction. She was
doing what she'd sworn not to do, holding back from him out of
fear.

"Bette. Do you really love me?"

The tears slipped loose.

He'd just made it all very simple. She hadn't
planned it. It had just happened. But she did love him.

"Yes. I really love you."

Her voice flowed with love, but also with the
tears. He shifted, putting a palm under her chin to lift it and
levering himself above her to try to look into her eyes.

"Bette, don't cry." Paul's hoarse plea made
her cry more, and his fingers, gently rough, couldn't stop the
flow.

"God, Bette—"

"It's all right, Paul." She'd known what he
could give her, and she'd risked it anyhow. She'd lost her heart,
but by losing it she'd also found it. This time she had to tell him
that side of it, too. "I knew . . . I knew . . ."

"You knew what?"

"How it would be, but it doesn't matter
now—"

"How what would be? You're driving me crazy
with these elliptical comments, Bette. I don't know what you're
talking about, but experience tells me I'd hate it like hell. We've
got to talk. Really talk. That's why I came down here. To talk to
you, to tell you—" He broke off as if suddenly struck by the
difficulty of expressing what he was about to say.

"To tell you . . . things," he finished
lamely. The emphasis he put on the last word indicated it had great
meaning, but she couldn't begin to fathom it.

"Things?"

"Aw, hell. I can't tell you here. Not with
this, and with you crying and thinking what you're thinking. I know
you, Bette, and you can't tell me you're not looking seven steps
ahead and coming out on the totally wrong path."

She felt slightly stunned by the spate of
words, and more than a little confused. "Now who's talking in
elliptical comments?"

"I am. And it's going to stop. Starting now,
we're going to take this one step at a time. And the first step is
to tell you— No. Better yet to show you."

"Show me?"

"Yeah. C'mon, I'm going to show you exactly
what I have in mind for the first step."

* * * *

"Paul, this is the airport."

"Boy, I sure am glad I didn't get bus tickets
then. We'd have been in a lot of trouble."

He sounded odd, almost giddy and a little
nervous. Not at all like himself.

"Paul. Just this once. Answer me straight.
What are we doing here? What's all this about a first step, and
showing me?"

"I'll tell you. But not until we're
inside."

She couldn't sway him from that as they
turned in his rental car and made their way to the main entrance to
the airport.

"Okay, we're inside," she reminded him. "Now
tell me what this is all about."

"See Gate B23?"

She scanned the monitors for B23. "Departing
for Las Vegas," she read.

"Right."

"We're going to Las Vegas?"

"That's right. I bought a pair of tickets for
this flight right after I landed here."

"I don't understand. You want to gamble?"

"I hope what I have in mind is more along the
lines of a sure thing."

The husky timbre of his voice sent a thrill
down her backbone. "What is it you have in mind, Paul?"

"I have in mind getting married."

"Married?" Her mouth formed the word, but she
didn't think she spoke it. No matter what tricks her respiratory
system might be doing, her mind hesitated to accept what she'd
heard. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. I'm also sure, positive and
certain. A little anxious maybe, but also eager."

Behind all the glib words, she saw that there
was a doubt in his eyes, though, and when he expressed it out loud
she feared she'd cry in the middle of Sky Harbor Airport.

"If you'll have me. Will you marry me,
Bette?"

Twice she tried to swallow the tears. But she
couldn't stop them, certainly not enough to get out any words.
Instead, she placed her palm against the faintly bristled curve of
Paul's jaw and stretched to touch her lips against his, even as she
continued to cry.

He took her face between his hands and kissed
the tearstains on her cheeks, then returned to her mouth. Deep and
hot and dark, he still somehow managed to make the kiss tender. And
full of promises for the future. Oh, Lord, so full of promises.

They broke apart to gulp in air and smile
giddily at each other.

"I don't have any luggage."

"That's okay, I don't have much myself, only
a few things I'd left at my parents' house. We'll buy what we
need." The green flecks in his eyes heated, sharing the memory and
the anticipation. "After all, we're veteran shoppers for this sort
of trip. But first, I have to know: is that a yes?"

"Yes, that's a yes."

They stood, grinning at each other for a full
minute before Paul grabbed her hand and headed for the departure
gates. "That's us," he said as the boarding of the Las Vegas flight
from Gate B23 was announced.

Bette's head was in too much of a spin to
notice much except the compact energy of the man next to her as
they passed through security and continued toward the gate. Then,
as abruptly as he had showed up at her parents' front door, Paul
stopped.

Two strides short of Gate B23, he pulled back
suddenly on Bette's hand. She felt the smile on her lips freeze as
she looked at him. His gaze went from the gate back to her, and she
knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"I can't do this, Bette."

She pulled in a breath of pure pain. For an
instant she thought she might collapse. But she didn't. Numbness
and pride held her up. She felt only gratitude that her legs held
steady as she pivoted and started back down the corridor. Later,
she knew, the numbness would recede and the hurt would be nearly
unbearable. But she would bear it. And she would love Paul Monroe
despite the pain.

"No! Bette, wait." He caught her after two
steps, none too gently pulling her around to face him. "You
misunderstood!"

"What did I misunderstand, Paul? Your
proposal? Did I take it too seriously? Was it a joke? Were you
teasing, was that it?"

"God, no, I wasn't teasing. And I wasn't
joking. Look at me, Bette. It's a basic matter of believing. No
time to make a list or keep to a schedule or create a seven-step
master plan. You either believe me or you don't. Right now."

His demand allowed only instinct, no thought.
"I believe you."

Some of the tension went out of his hold on
her, but none of the intensity. "Good. Because I meant every word I
said. You're in my life for good, whether you like it or not, and I
want to be married to you, Bette Wharton. But not Las Vegas style.
We can't get married that way. It's not the right way for us."

"I . . . I don't understand."

"I've sworn to stop doing what my grandfather
wouldn't have wanted and start doing what I
do
want. Eloping
to Vegas was reflex action. But it's not what I want and— Hey!" His
eyes lit up with something a shade hotter than laughter before his
voice changed. "You were really willing to elope with me, weren't
you? No plans, no schedule, just hop on a plane and go get
married."

"Yes."

The single word said more than all her
explanations could have.

"What do you know about that?" His grin
tilted. "That's the nicest thing you could ever have done for me,
Bette."

He caught her closer.

"But I want the whole damn thing with you,
Bette. I want to go back to your parents' house and be introduced
as their son-in-law to-be. I want to take you home to Lake Forest
and watch my parents' faces when we tell them the good news. I want
to hear Judi squeal. I want to get congratulated by Grady and
Michael. I want to go looking for the perfect house for us to
buy—together. And I want to marry you in a church, with a minister
and flowers and a veil and pictures and a cake and one hell of a
reception. I want as many of our friends and relatives as we can
cram in to be there when we make those promises about forever and
ever."