Authors: Corri Lee
And that was when it all started to make sense
— my friends peculiar behaviour the night before, their knowledge of his plans and Chris' evil overlord demeanour. They knew about this. The trip into Birmingham had been for this ring. Esme, Daniel and Jonathan had immediately launched into frenzied romantic visions of summer weddings and Parisian honeymoons and Chris had thought I'd panic and run a mile. It was all suddenly so clear.
"The promise," Blaze clarified, "is that I'll always accept you for who you really are, and by agreeing to wear it, you're promising to accept yourself and to never try and change to match someone else's expectations." Then he shrugged and reclined, folding his hands behind his head, unintentionally flexing every muscle in his torso and breaking the severity of the gesture. "Besides, if you wear it on just the right finger, it might repel some of that pesky male attention you so hate."
I ignored the mean chide and lifted the box into the light. The hue of the stone was a close match to his eyes and I suspected it was intentional. "This wouldn't go unnoticed," and I didn't just mean because the stone was huge enough to send green sparkles across the sheet when it caught the sun, "people will make assumptions."
"Let them. We know what this is."
We did. More than a promise. This was exactly what people would assume it was. Did the idea of being bound to him like this scare me? No. Did it matter that we'd only known each other a couple of months and I hardly knew him? No. Did I care what anyone else thought? No. I only cared about what Blaze thought and the expectations he had of tethering me, but I loved how he got that if he'd dropped to his knee and tried to take the traditional route, it might have been enough to send me jumping out of the closest window. That was probably why he'd looked so distracted, knowing where he was going and what for. He was thinking of the most backhanded way to give me this
ludicrously beautiful ring that reminded me of him in so many ways.
I hoped the assumptions I was making about the situation were right.
"I know what you're doing," I muttered, pulling the ring from the box and passing it to him. If he was going to make these kind of assertions, he was damn well going to make sure I didn't make a fool of myself by misinterpretation. "Something to the same effect as pissing up me?"'
"Ah," he tugged at my hands gently until I was persuaded to snuggle under the sheets with him, "that obvious, is it? What can I say? My mother never quite convinced me that I should share my toys."
So the ring came with a promise of acceptance and exclusivity. "So which finger is the 'right' finger?" I heaved myself over onto my side, propping my head up with my hand so I could look at him, daring him with my eyes to be bold. "Why don't you blast some of that infamous Blaze honesty at me and tell me where
you
envisage this... ridiculously extravagant proposition?"
"Emmeline." He quickly flipped me onto my back and nestled between my legs, trapping my lip between his teeth. "I want it wrapped around your heart so you feel it there with every beat. But instead, I'll settle with wherever is going to keep you with me the longest."
The loop slid onto my left ring finger— a perfect fit— weighted but comfortable, something I'd soon adjust to. In a strange way, wearing it made me feel settled, like the open edges around that Blaze shaped space in my heart fused shut around him and kept him locked in. It was an unusual kind of serenity that had never occurred in my life before but would live on as long as the man who kissed me like his life depended on it kept his Saturdays free for the little nerd who could.
PINCHING my temples, I shook my head at the hand wrapped around my fresh mug of coffee. Blaze had started out sweetly, gently rocking my soul with sweet love-making, but quickly lost control and turned back to the white knuckle, breath-taking screwing we were so good at, and then honoured his wish to not let me fall asleep. It was a revelation. I got to see how he glowed. For the first time, I witnessed the kick he got from seeing me recover from mind-blowing sex— the pure joy he got from seeing me quivering from the orgasms he'd induced. I wanted to collapse face first into my coffee and snore.
"Jesus H. Christ. Mrs
Emmeline Lundy."
He snorted behind me and set a plate down in front of me that was giving off the most amazing meaty aroma. I looked up and saw that it was a thick, hearty beef broth he'd obviously made from scratch. "Let's not inflict that on you. Eat."
Reluctantly, I picked up the spoon and took a small slurp of the soup, groaning when the flavours hit my palate. There was
nothing
the man couldn't do well. "You might be worth keeping."
"Is that right?" Smiling, he picked up his own spoon and held it over his bowl. His gaze strayed to my hand and the ring looking quite at home on it. "You know, that ring comes with a matching dress."
"A dress?" I gaped up at him in alarm. "Is it white?"
"What? White? No, it's
— Oh. Ohh..." He laughed and shook his head. "Give me some credit, Emmeline. I've seen how fast you can run, I'd never catch you if I hit you with
that
dress. The ring is enough... for now." He caught the frantic glint in my eye and winked. "Anyway, the dress I meant is green. Very modest and demure but very sexy. I have great visions of peeling it off you after tonight."
My eyes narrowed slightly. "What's
tonight?"
"We have invitations to my photographer friend's mixer tonight
— the friend I was helping last night. It's back down at
The Roses
again."
I frowned, put off by the idea of spending another Saturday in the venue he didn't know I owned. "That's kind of a big place for a mixer, right?"
"That's Nelly. She likes to mix. It's a pretty long guest list full of business types and big cheeses. It's an open bar." Despite thawing a little, I couldn't help but feel like it was all a little high profile and too risky, crammed full of Henry's associates.
"I can't come. It'll be too crowded and I'll get overwhelmed, then my sweaty panicked face will be all over the tabloids tomorrow. You'll be known for having flaky dates, and worse, there'll be a ring on my finger. That could go either way."
"It's a masquerade mixer." He crossed his arms and arched a brow at me like that nugget of information should have made a difference. It did, sort of. "I won't leave you on your own in a room full of strangers. I won't even leave your side. Your sweaty face will be hidden, you won't have to talk to anyone beyond a polite hello, and I'm more than happy to clear up any speculation over that ring." He heaved himself up and crept around the table towards me, slowly and cat like. "And afterwards, I'm going to screw you to sleep before you have a chance to undress. It'll be rough, because I'll have waited all night and spent the evening looking at you dressed in silk that clings to that great rack of yours and skims the legs I'm quite fond of being between."
"Are you trying to entice me with the promise of sex that was already a given?"
"It's not a given if I have to go without you..."
"Oh, mean!" But effective. The threat of having to spend another night not being thrown down into bed and feasted on made my chest ache. I probably would have done anything to stay close to him at that point. "You won't make me talk to anyone? And I'll be wearing a mask? Oh jeez, alright. Who's hosting it?"
"Cornelia Alexander." I went stiff. Cornelia Alexander's mixer. Shit. One place I could guarantee to bump into people who knew me, least not Cornelia herself. And my family, oh god. What would he think when he found out about my family? What would my family think to find out I was
engaged?
"I think I'm still ill," I lied. "I need to lay down."
"Emmeline..." The way he sighed my name had an edge of irritation that reminded me of Hunter. "This is my life— my tapestry. I love my tapestry, every single thread. Especially the white ones." My breath caught at the way he projected the double meaning of that comment right at me. If I'd needed reassurance of how he felt— like the ring wasn't enough— he'd given it to me. "I want to believe that it loves me back... Enough to grow a pair and put on a pretty dress to drink some free wine with me."
"Emotional blackmail now?" I rubbed at my heavy eyes before I grabbed at my coffee, sorely wishing I'd been allowed to nap. He wanted me to go, I got it. The guilt trip wasn't necessary. "Show me the fucking dress."
THE ROSES
LOOKED otherworldly, bathed in pale blue lights rigged to temporary ceiling scaffolding and decorated in silver. I had to double take back into the lobby to be sure that this old theatre—
my
theatre— was the same one I'd stood in three weeks earlier.
Blaze urged me by the elbow into the auditorium so I'd stop bottlenecking the flow of executives and minor celebrities flowing in behind me, and I took a moment to drink him in. Even though the mixer wasn't black tie, he'd donned his three piece suit and a vivid green tie that any other man of lesser beauty might have found difficult to carry off. For the first time since we met, I felt like he might have pulled out all the stops to look like an even match to me.
Viridian satin flowed around my ankles, iridescently shimmering between green and blue as it moved. The modest sweetheart cut gown flared out into a fishtail skirt at my knees, clinging tightly to every curve up to my shoulders, which were covered by delicate ivory lace sewn into the satin, reaching down to my elbows.
The Venetian eye-mask I wore was a matching hue and decorated in trails of silver glitter, the ribbon holding it around my head causing no interference to the tumble of golden curls pinned to gather and fall over my right shoulder. Apparently the dimple that creased my cheek made my left side the best. All in all, I felt comfortably hidden but perfectly glamorous, and for once not overshadowed by the gorgeous masked mystery man at my side.
"Ready?" I blinked in reply. His black
Phantom of the Opera
mask covered half his face but really didn't dull his looks in the slightest. I was still completely dazzled. "I'll take that look on your face as a yes."
"This look?" I pointed at my face. "This fucklust stare you can't see properly."
"I can see it perfectly well, Emmeline." Gathering my left hand up in both of his, Blaze kissed the emerald set into my ring. "Don't steal my word."
I calmed a little with every step deeper into the room, giving up my mission to guess at who people were after the fifth or so little huddle of faceless socialites. The idea that if I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me, was a comfort and I took a cleansing breath to gather myself. The many clusters of tables suggested that the place would be packed out to the rafters, improving the chances of avoiding my family.
Blaze lead me to our table, right at the head of the room with the largest calla lily centrepiece. When I enquired with a frown, he pointed out the cards labelling the places for Cornelia Alexander, her two brothers and their respective plus ones, explaining that his help the night before had earned us top table privileges. Not to mention that Cornelia's brother owned the label that had signed Monday's Miracle.
I grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing drinks server's tray and passed one to him. "To complications and 'fuck it's."
"Mazel tov!"
We kept our hands linked while Blaze ambled the room, imparting perfunctory hello's and anecdotes to the mega-moguls and their wives who all fell under his spell and regarded me with looks of well-meaning envy. I lucked out with him and I knew it, and found myself falling even deeper for him as I listened to the lilting cadence of his voice. The words made no sense, just the smooth even rhythm and the way his mouth moved reminded me that I'd feel those lips all over me in a few hours— less if I got my way— and the seductive sweet nothings that would spill out of them when we got home and spent our first 'real' night together.
He didn't break the flow of his conversation when he felt me shiver with anticipation but he smirked. He knew what he was doing to me and he was damned happy about it.
BLAZE fussed when he left my side to answer a call of nature, restlessly straightening my hair and mask while he asked incessantly if I'd survive without him. An uneventful hour and too many glasses of champagne made me feel brave, and if it hadn't, the scotch I was planning on ordering while he was in the bathroom would have. I couldn't resist watching him as he walked away, blatantly checking out what
was
mine, only turning back to wait my turn in line when he was safely out of sight.
He took a while to come back. I'd suspected he'd get trapped in a few conversations en route so I didn't let it play on my mind. Instead, I traded a knowing glance with the copper haired woman sheathed in silver who leaned back against the bar next to me, red faced under a mask much like my own and shimmering with sweat.
"Scotch on the rocks." She nodded at my drink. "My kind of woman." I knew immediately who she was from her clipped, rich and brutally British accent that would have put the Queen to shame.
"Quickie at your own high profile mixer.
My
kind of woman." Her mouth dropped open for a second before she dipped down and pulled my chin up to look at my eyes. "Cornelia."