Their Wicked Wedding (19 page)

And Calder supports me, the way I know he’ll support me for the rest of my life.

* * *

Walking in a wedding dress can be complicated. Walking in a wedding dress while blindfolded? A lot damn harder.

“Are we almost there?” I ask. My foot catches on the lining of my skirt, and I almost trip—but someone catches me. I giggle as I right myself. When I imagined my wedding night, it wasn’t quite like this. At least, I assumed that if I was going to be blindfolded, it would be Calder’s doing. Not Lou and Ward’s.

Calder, for once, is blindfolded as well. I reach out and grasp for him, and a moment later, I find his arm. We manage to lock hands as Lou and Ward continue to lead us through the house’s winding hallways.

“If your surprise is a sex dungeon, then I think it’s only fair to warn us first,” I say.

That gets a laugh from everyone.

“It’s not a sex dungeon,” Ward says. “But you’re giving me some ideas for future renovations.”

Behind us, I can still faintly hear the music playing in the gallery. Toward the end of our gorgeous, amazing, exhausting reception, Calder and I said our goodnights to our friends and family to head upstairs—only to be confronted by my new sister-in-law and told that it was time for our surprise. Ward appeared a moment later with blindfolds, and now here we are, being led through the hallways like cattle. Well-dressed, slightly tipsy cattle, but cattle nonetheless. And I swear, this place feels even bigger when you can’t see where you’re going.

Finally, we stop.

“Okay,” Ward says. “You can take those off now.”

I imagined we’d find ourselves in a room with a giant bed and a bunch of rose petals. What we get is even better.

Ward and Lou have led us to the spa. I’ve never been in this part of the house before—considering it didn’t exist back when I was here the first time around—and it’s so beautiful that I gasp as we step into the atrium. The walls are covered with glass tiles of every shade of blue and arranged in wavy, swirling patterns, giving the impression that we’re deep in the sea. Lou and Ward have decorated the entire room with candles, and the dancing light cast by the warm, flickering flames make it seem like the waves are actually moving. There’s a small, trickling fountain in the middle of the room, and rose petals float on the surface of the water.

“Ward’s been working all week to get it ready,” Lou says. She’s beaming.

Ward actually looks a little sheepish as he rubs the back of his head.

“It was close to finished when the place passed to me,” he says. “It wasn’t exactly part of the house’s original design, but my other option was to tear it down, and I just couldn’t bear to do that. But I’ve made a few artistic changes that I think suit this place a little better.”

“It’s remarkable work,” says Calder.

Coming from him, after everything that’s happened this week, he might as well have said it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever seen. And everyone in the room knows it.

Ward grins. “Well, I’m sure you two are ready to be alone.”

“And I could do with another piece of cake,” Lou says. “Make sure you explore a little before you rip each other’s clothes off. It’s really beautiful.”

Ward shakes his head in amusement as he grabs her hand and pulls her toward the door. And just like that, we’re alone.

Calder pulls me toward him immediately. He crushes my body against his and kisses me breathless.

“I’ve been dying to do that all day,” he says.

I smile up at him. “You could have kissed me anytime you wanted, you know. People expect that sort of thing at weddings.”

“Not the way I wanted to kiss you.” And he demonstrates by kissing me again.

When I’m good and lightheaded, he finally breaks away.

“I have a surprise for you too, you know,” he says.

“You do?”

He nods, and his eyes shine. “It was the least I could do after the way I behaved this week. I know this wasn’t quite the escape we planned.” He takes both of my hands in his. “I booked us a trip to Paris for this summer. I thought we should have a proper honeymoon.”

“Paris?” I’m pretty sure it’s more of a squeal than a word. I grab him and squeeze him, and he laughs and holds me close.

“I hoped you’d like it,” he says. “I think you deserve a little romantic getaway.”

“Thank you,” I whisper in his ear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I kiss him on the neck, then the jaw, and then I pull back so I can kiss him properly on the lips. I’ve never been to Paris, but it’s been on my dream list for as long as I can remember. I can’t wait to experience it with the love of my life.

And I can think of one way I might show him my appreciation.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s explore.” I take his hand and pull him toward a door at the back of the atrium, deeper into the spa.

The next room is just as stunning as the atrium. Again, the walls are covered in blue and aqua tiles, but this room also features a huge gilded fountain on the far wall. It looks just like something you’d see in the gardens of some European palace, and a dozen streams of water flow from the mouths of stone water nymphs into the soaking pool below. And ah, the pool! It’s the main feature of this room, and steam rises from the surface of the water.

I lift the skirt of my dress, slip off my shoe, and dip my toes into the pool.

“It feels good,” I say. “Care for a dip?”

“There’s something else I’d like to do first.”

I look up at him. “What’s that?”

A wicked smile widens across his face. “Undress you.”

He’s undressed me a hundred times before, but tonight is different. Tonight we’re man and wife.

“But not here,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere where I won’t have to worry about ruining your dress.” He takes my hand and leads me to a small door to our left, which we discover was probably designed to be a dressing room. I feel as if we’ve stepped into some French nobleman’s boudoir. In here, the blue tiles give way to tiles of ivory and silver, and there are several large, silver-framed mirrors on the wall. The left side of the room features several curtained stalls, presumably for changing, and there are a couple of wide, cushioned chaises in the center of the room.

Calder leads me to the nearest mirror and then stands behind me. In our reflection, we look like wedding cake toppers—at least until you get to our eyes, which burn back at us with searing heat.

I removed my veil during the reception, so there’s nothing between him and the buttons of my dress but my hair. He sweeps his hands through the loose curls and brings them forward over my shoulder, then leans forward and kisses the bare nape of my neck. I shiver at the touch of his lips, then again when the tip of his tongue flicks against my skin.

Slowly—torturously slowly—he begins to undo the buttons down the back of my dress. There are probably thirty of them, all lined up in a row, and he takes his time with each one. Every once in a while his knuckles will brush against the bare skin of my back—and even that accidental touch sends a frisson of sensation through me—but for the most part, he touches only the dress. One button and then another, all the way down my back.

The column of buttons ends right at my tailbone, right where my body starts to curve out. His fingers touch me through the lacy fabric of my dress, and I press back against him. He gives a warm, throaty chuckle and leans forward to kiss my neck again.

Now that I’m undone, he can peel the dress off of me. He keeps his eyes on the mirror as he slides the lacy sleeves down my arms, watching his progress in the reflection. The front of my bodice falls, revealing the ivory silk bra I chose for today, and in the reflection I can see his eyes roaming over the curves of my breasts.

His fingers touch the newly revealed skin at my waist—briefly, just long enough to elicit a soft moan from me—and then he carefully pushes my skirt down over my hips.

In the mirror, I watch him unveil my body inch by inch. When he’s done, he takes my hand and helps me step out of the pool of fabric. Then he takes my dress and carries it over to the nearest chaise, where he carefully drapes it across the cushions. I watch him in the reflection, admiring the masculine lines of his body—which are made even more obvious by the cut of his tux—and the strong, graceful way he moves. When he turns back around, he catches me watching him, and the desire on his face is plain. Our gazes are locked in the reflection, and his eyes seem to burn through me as he approaches me again. When he reaches me, he drops his head and whispers in my ear.

“I love you, Lily Cunningham.”

Lily Cunningham.
Just hearing that name sends a thrill all the way down my spine. I’m Lily Cunningham now. Calder’s wife.

Without another word, he picks me up and carries me over to the chaise that isn’t currently occupied by my dress. He sits down and sets me on his lap, and I hook my arms around his neck and look up into those dark, devilish eyes of his.

“I think I’m going to enjoy being your wife,” I say.

“Mm. I plan to make sure of it.” He gives me a kiss, then pulls back to look me in the eyes once more. “Lily Cunningham,” he says again.

“Lily Cunningham,” I repeat, testing the name.

He seems to like it even better coming from my lips, because he kisses me again.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he says against my mouth.

“And I’m the happiest woman.” I reach down and find his left hand, then bring it to my lips. I kiss each of his fingers one by one, but I save the one with his wedding band for last.

“Is this where ‘happily ever after’ begins?” I ask him.

He answers with one of those smiles that makes my insides turn to mush.

“Lily, my love,” he says, “my ‘happily ever after’ began the moment I met you.”

EPILOGUE

CALDER

It’s been three weeks, and I haven’t heard a word from Taran Harker.

In the end, Joe Osborne couldn’t tell me anything conclusive about the parentage of the man who suddenly appeared in my life, and unfortunately, neither could my father’s journal—which I finally broke down and read about a week after the wedding. While my father’s accounts of his travels were entertaining, they mentioned neither Patricia Harker nor any potential child. And I still haven’t discovered the identity of the baby in that photo. It might be Taran, or it might not. I still have no idea if my father was unfaithful to my mother, or if he had a child by another woman. Part of me is afraid I’ll never know.

The other part of me is perfectly okay with not knowing.

I’d like to think that my father was a good man, but I’ve come to accept that I might never know the answers to some of my questions. Saint or sinner, Wentworth Cunningham was still my father. In the meantime, I’ve put aside the photo of the baby, my father’s journal, and the file of information Joe Osborne gathered for me. If and when Taran contacts me, we’ll have a lot to discuss—
if
being the operative word. With every passing day, I’m less convinced that I’ll ever hear from him again. Maybe he’s come to accept the same thing I have—that our lives are precious and short, and that it’s better to focus on creating a happy future than bemoaning the past.

And that’s what I’m doing—focusing on the future. Which is why Lily and I have accepted Ward and Lou’s offer to move to the estate.

I have to admit—the suggestion shocked me at first, especially after my behavior toward Ward. But he and my sister raised some fine points, and even Lily surprised me with her enthusiasm for the idea. It seems like the right thing to do, especially since my sister’s baby is due any day now. The house is more than big enough for all of us—hell, we could each have our own wing, especially if we want to avoid any awkward situations like accidentally walking in on each other—but we’ll also be close enough to help as needed. We’re a family now. Why shouldn’t we live like one? And it might not be too long before Lily and I start having children of our own.

Sure, there are still some logistics to figure out. There will be some financial decisions to make, and I have no doubt there will be some growing pains as we all adapt to living together.

And then there’s the job thing—which was already a mess, given the scandal at my firm. Even a month ago, the stress from the Edwards situation might have driven me over the edge. But these days I can hardly bring myself to muster anything more than the professionally appropriate amount of concern. In fact, given my new living arrangements, I’ll probably be spending a lot less time in the office. I hope to work from the estate a couple of days a week to avoid that horrendous commute.

Lily is in a similar situation—she’s going to have to adapt her work for the Center if she doesn’t want to spend several hours a day driving to and fro. But the Center has been doing so well that she and David are already discussing an expansion into Barberville. She might have an entire new branch of the Frazer Center to manage soon.

Yes, our new life will require some adjustments, but we’ll manage. Louisa and Ward and Lily and I are all committed to making this work. The important thing is that we’re together, and that we’re a family.

And at long last, we’re all home.

~ ~ ~