Undetected (37 page)

She sipped the chocolate. She would need to tell Daniel soon, before he found out from someone else. She owed him that much.

Gina knocked and then walked into Mark's home the next morning, carrying his Saturday paper. “I picked up bagels as promised,” she called.

“Blueberry?” he called back from the kitchen.

“I remembered.” She found Mark at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the kittens' bowls, then pouring fresh milk. It was so much like him, taking care of the details without being asked. She set the sack she carried on the kitchen table and went over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. She rested her cheek against his back and whispered, “I love you.”

She felt his body go absolutely still. She'd had no plans to tell him this way, this soon—the words just came out, her heart so full they had to be said. His hands settled across hers, and he slowly, carefully, turned around, not letting her step back from the embrace. She was startled to see there were tears in his eyes. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice husky.

“I love you, Mark Bishop, and I would really like to marry you.”

The joy that filled his face took her breath away. His hug enveloped her. “Thank you,” he whispered, choking up. “When?”

“Soon is good,” she whispered, thinking about how fast May was going to be here. He would be gone on patrol for three months.

Mark rested his forehead against hers, and she felt him relax against her. The last weeks hadn't been easy on him, she knew. He sighed, tipped up her chin and kissed her. “I love you, precious.” He lifted her hand, slid the ring from her right hand, and gently put it where it belonged on her left. “It looks good there.”

“I love the ring.”

He kissed the back of her hand.

She smiled at the gesture. “Thank you for asking me, Mark. It was a beautiful proposal, and I'm grateful for it, and the ring. I really am honored that you asked.”

He rested his arms across her shoulders. “The honor is mine. Don't get embarrassed and formal on me now.” She caught his gaze, and he smiled at her, this man who would soon be her husband. “I leave for patrol in May. If we get married soon . . .” He stopped and studied her. “What are you thinking?”

She knew where her heart was. “I'm not sure what you'll think of this idea, but I was wondering if maybe . . . would you be okay with two weddings? A private ceremony as soon as possible, and a larger church wedding after your patrol—when Jeff's back onshore and all your family can attend—and maybe have it in Chicago?” She'd thought it all through the night before, and she didn't want to wait. A quiet marriage ceremony to begin their life together held a lot of appeal for her. She saw the surprise on his face.

He gently ran a hand along her arm as he thought about it. “You're worried about your words locking up on you.”

She reluctantly nodded. “If I've said the vows in a private ceremony, the marriage will already be legal, so if there are problems when we have the bigger wedding with everyone there and watching, I can mouth the words and everyone will think I'm simply speaking too softly for them to hear.”

He traced her cheek with the back of his hand, and she leaned into the warmth of the touch. “That makes sense, Gina. A private wedding here, and soon. Knowing my mom, my sisters, they will be overjoyed to help with a church wedding in Chicago and take over as much or as little of that coordination and planning as we like.”

“We'll talk it over with them. A date in August might make sense.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, my precious.” His voice held so much emotion, Gina felt her own tears fill her eyes.

Mark Bishop was going to be her husband. She could feel the emotions overwhelming her, the impact of all it meant for her to say yes, to wear his ring, the forever-different life ahead of her. Ahead of him. He must have sensed it because his
arms gripped her in a tighter hug, and she could feel his chin resting on her head. “We're going to have a good life, Gina.”

She nodded against his chest. “I know.”

He tipped her chin up again and smiled. His kiss held a promise that was gentle and soft and even kind, which also hinted at the passion that was waiting for her. “I love you. When the doubts come, remember that. You have nothing to worry about,” he promised.

She wiped a tear away even as she smiled. “I know. A good life.”

He nudged her toward the kitchen table, pulled out a chair for her. “Do you have a preference on where you would like to go for a honeymoon? Hawaii sound good? If we get married within a week, I can still find us a few days someplace and arrange leave before the
Nevada
is back in port.”

The honeymoon that followed the wedding
 . . . She could feel her face growing warm as thoughts of its intimacy filled her heart—part of why she looked forward to being married, being a wife. But to his question, she hesitated, and finally admitted, “There are going to be enough transitions happening. I'm fine with home—either here or Chicago—and no one knowing where we are. We could have a more traditional honeymoon after the formal wedding.”

“Sounds like a plan. But you're allowed to change your mind if you decide you'd like to head off somewhere.”

“Okay.”

He brushed a strand of her hair back from her face. “If this Bangor house feels too much like Melinda's space for you, we'll buy another place when I get back from patrol. I'm going to be flexible about that, Gina. I won't mind moving, if that's what you prefer.”

“We'll talk about it another time. I like your home.” She settled her hands on either side of his face. “You're sure, Mark?”

He grinned. “I'm marrying you tomorrow, Gina, if I can arrange it that quickly. I'm sure.”

It took him two days. The courthouse, third floor, was not the most romantic place to seal a promise, but Mark would rather have the words than the setting. He gently kissed his intended bride. “You look beautiful.”

Gina blushed. “You've told me that twice today already.”

“And plan to tell you again,” he said. She'd chosen a floral dress, and he'd arranged a bouquet of petite roses to match. He was in full-dress uniform. They'd agreed to mention the news to his friends only after it was official, so they didn't have a best man and maid of honor for this first ceremony. He could tell she was nervous. “I'm planning to hold your hand through the ceremony, so if you need to pause for a moment, just squeeze my hand and take whatever time you need. It's not going to bother me. Or anybody else.”

She nodded. He held open the door to the judge's chamber. “After you, soon-to-be Mrs. Bishop.”

She laughed. “You're enjoying this.”

“I like getting married,” Mark agreed. He loved her smile.

“Me too.”

C
ommander Bishop.”

Mark turned to see the duty officer for Rear Admiral Hardman heading across the parking lot from the TCC building, carrying a flat box. Mark had just left a meeting with the admiral.

“It's true, sir, you're married?”

“Yes.”

“Gold crew—”

“Doesn't know yet. It was a private ceremony. Her brother is away at sea. We'll have the formal wedding when he can be part of it.”

“That explains it. Hardman asked me to pick this up for you. He thought your wife would enjoy seeing it.”

Bishop opened the box. The Navy wedding cross. It was a tradition among submarine captains to have their wedding date inscribed on the back. It hung in the chapel on base, beside a flag signed by every man who had taken command of a U.S. submarine in the last 20 years. “Tell him thank you. I'll get it engraved and bring it back to the chapel.”

“Sir, I think gold crew knows. Your paperwork went to
personnel this afternoon. If you were intending to keep the news a secret—”

“No, it's not a secret. Simply a scheduling matter for who we told and when. I hadn't expected the paperwork to be so efficient.” Bishop pulled out his keys. “I appreciate the heads up. And given it, I'd best head back to the house.”

The duty officer laughed. “Yes, sir.”

Gina was waiting for him at the front door, his text having requested that she set aside the unpacking she was doing and meet him when she heard him arrive. He closed the front door with his foot and kissed her before gently setting her back and pushing her hair away from her face so he could better see her. “Gold crew got the word I'm married. We're about to be serenaded.”

Her eyes grew wide. “How many?”

“At a guess, about 140, counting spouses. I spotted the cars assembling at the grocery store two blocks east of here. You might want to start some coffee,” he said. “Tradition has it the groom gets tossed into the nearest body of water—and it would have to be March.”

“You're serious.”

He smiled. “Don't worry. They'll toss me into a hot shower after the river. Unfortunately I don't have time to change, which means my dress blues are about to get soaked.”

“What do they do to the wife?”

He laughed. “You get presents. Typically candy bars or bags of M&Ms, sometimes fancier chocolates like truffles and chocolate-covered cherries. It's considered good luck to give something sweet.” He heard sleigh bells in the distance.
Gold crew would arrive carrying dozens of the bells to make a nice racket as they approached.

“Our ombudsman, Amy Delheart, will be the one to knock on the door and offer the first gift,” he told her swiftly. “She'll stay with you and make introductions to the crewmen and their wives. I'm sorry about this. I thought I'd have another day before they could get things together.”

Gina wasn't ready yet, he thought, to take on the commander's wife role, with gold crew wives looking to her for friendship, advice, and help with Navy concerns. He'd known he would have to finesse things, lean on his ombudsman to help her out. He'd planned on introducing his wife but in a smaller setting.

Yet Gina didn't look worried. “I'm getting candy. I don't mind my side of the surprise,” she said.

“Amy won't leave your side. If you have any speech difficulties, she'll be right there and send someone to find me. She's aware it's a concern.”

“Okay.” She tugged his head down to kiss him. “Commander Bishop, who is getting me a photo of you being tossed in the water?”

“You're enjoying this,” he said with some surprise.

“Absolutely,” she said with a smile.

“That photo's going to be plastered on the gold crew bulletin board by morning.”

“You're embarrassed.”

“I'm going to look like an idiot.”

The sound of the bells grew loud, and then the doorbell rang behind them. Mark held her coat for her, buttoned it. “Remember that coffee.”

“I will.” Gina moved to open the door.

“Mrs. Commander Mark Bishop?” Amy asked, a twinkle in her eye, holding out a foil-covered chocolate bar with a bow on top.

Gina grinned. “Yes, I am.”

“I'm Amy Delheart, your ombudsman, and on behalf of
Nevada
gold, we would like to welcome you to the family.”

“I'm pleased to join it.” She stepped out to take the gift.

A song broke out toward the back of the crowd, a raucous one about sailors going to sea. Mark wrapped his arms around his wife's waist from behind and stood with her as
Nevada
gold came forward to be introduced. Amy neatly set their gifts, one by one, onto trays brought for that purpose.

“Hey, Commander. Congratulations.”

Mark's smile couldn't be contained. “Kingman.”

He was aware the 15 officers of
Nevada
gold were slowly encircling him.

Gina's hands covered his, and he felt her slide his wedding ring off, move it to her hand for safekeeping. Moments later, Mark laughed and didn't fight it as he was hoisted off his feet and carried toward the river amid the chaos and more laughter. Certain things a groom accepted with some grace, and getting dunked after his wedding was a long and respected tradition.

“What do I put in the family-o-gram to Jeff?”

Mark rubbed still-damp hair with a towel and leaned over Gina's shoulder to look at the form. He'd taken a second shower after the gold crew and families left since the chill was still in his bones. The form was short. Personal transmissions to a sub while at sea were limited. “You don't have to send
one now. You can wait for a port call when you can send a longer email or phone him.”

“I'd rather tell him now, before he hears it from someone else.”

Mark turned over an envelope and wrote down a message for her. “Send this.”

Jeff, I married Mark Bishop. Be nice
to him when you get to shore. Gina.

She smiled. “Maybe. I was thinking more like this.” She turned a scrap of paper, so he could read her draft.

Jeff,
I married Mark Bishop. Don't say it was your
idea. Gina.

He laughed. “Nice.” He took her pen and draft and marked out a few words. He handed it back. “Send that.”

Jeff, I married Mark Bishop. Gina

“Short and sweet,” she remarked. “Very sweet, actually.”

Mark kissed her. “He'll call, first chance he gets. Can I have my wedding ring back?”

She slid it off her finger and back on his left hand. “You like wearing a ring.”

“Absolutely.” He spread his fingers to look at it, then dropped his damp towel across her shoulders. “You handled
Nevada
gold just right. They liked you.”

“I like them too.”

“Give yourself time to fit into the role of a commander's wife. You'll be at my side for the commander's barbecue after the May patrol, and that will be the right time to take on hostess and commander's wife duties.” He rested his hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed. “And don't borrow trouble thinking ahead, worried there's a lot of work to do for one of those events. Most of the details are simply a repeat of what
we did the year before. Preparations are basically a shopping list and a credit card, a few calls to arrange extra tables and chairs, and some serious praying that it doesn't rain.”

She smiled. “Okay. I can do that.”

He ruffled her hair. Honeymooning at home wasn't such a bad idea after all. A couple of weeks when they could sleep in would do the start of their marriage a world of good. Her hand slid into his, and she stood and tugged him toward the kitchen. He decided she'd become pretty comfortable with him in the last few days. “Dinner, then we turn in,” she suggested over her shoulder.

A month from now, that endearing blush would require more than a stray thought about their nights together, but he loved it all the same. He rested an arm comfortably across her shoulders. “How about I fix spaghetti while you box your candy gifts and put them in the freezer? It's going to take a year to eat that much candy.”

“True. But it's a nice tradition, especially if you appreciate chocolate like I do.”

He opened a cupboard and got out plastic storage containers for the candy. Gina sat down to box up the gifts. He dug out a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce.

“Mark?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you mind if I use Melinda's things?”

Startled, he glanced over at her. He thought he'd done a good job of clearing away Melinda's things from the cupboards, closets, and counters. “What do you mean?”

Gina pointed at the colored glass bottles, then at the figurine saltshakers. “She collected nice items. And I found some things of hers upstairs in the bathroom—hair dryer
and curler, bath soaps. Are you going to feel weird if I use what's around?”

He wanted to wince at the question he'd been trying hard to prevent, the collision of past and present. It wasn't fair to Gina. But he hadn't neutralized the house nearly as much as he thought he had. “It's not going to bother you?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I'm aware I'm borrowing Melinda's things, but I don't want to buy duplicates just to avoid what she chose or once touched.”

“I don't mind,” he said quietly.

“You haven't mentioned her name much lately. Has that been deliberate?”

He hesitated. “Yes.” He stopped the dinner preparations to give Gina his full attention. “When I do mention Melinda, talk about her or about my first marriage, I'm not doing it to draw comparisons between now and then, Gina. I just want you to have a sense of my own memories, a sense of how history has shaped me. I'm willing to change and adapt. I want to learn all over again how to be a good husband to you, just as I learned with Melinda. I'm sorry I didn't think of the smaller things that would still show this house had once been Melinda's place. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in your own home.”

“Our home,” she replied softly. “You were married to her, Mark, and made a good marriage. You built a beautiful home with her. And if you're asking if I want to change every quilt in the place, every photo on the wall, every knickknack just because Melinda might have been the one to pick it out, the answer is no. I've been getting comfortable here, even before we were married. I'll keep what I like, and maybe pack away what I would rather replace. I'll make this my home. For now,
I'm simply trying to read where you are in the transition from wife one to wife two.”

He took two steps to the table and leaned down to kiss her. “Loved wife one. Adore, love, and treasure wife two. All right?”

She kissed him back. “Yes.”

“It'll be easier if we find a new place when I get back from patrol,” Mark promised, thinking it needed to be a priority.

She shook her head. “Melinda had very good taste. I kind of like not having to buy every throw rug, seasonal place mat, front door wreath and Christmas decorations all over again. Give me until you're back from the May patrol before I have to make a decision on the house. If I need us to change houses, leave this one and its contents behind, I'll let you know.”

“Any hesitation, we sell what's here and move, precious. Whatever it is, from the furniture down to the kitchen towels. It's fine with me.”

She smiled. “I'll tell you.” She pointed to the last items on the tray. “Which do you want me to leave out for dessert—truffle or dipped caramel?”

“Caramel.”

She opened the freezer and stored four totes and several plastic bags of chocolate bar gifts, then opened the refrigerator. “Join me for a salad?”

“Sure.”

She lifted out the ingredients, and he pointed toward a cabinet where she'd find the cutting board. They companionably fixed dinner together. “I don't mind being wife number two,” she told him as he handed her a plate of spaghetti. He nearly bobbled the dish. His gaze caught hers.