Authors: J.C. Grant
I hadn't noticed the towels before.
“Come on, sweetheart.” David walked back toward me.
My wet dress slowed my progress as I started up the stairs. David wrapped a towel around me before I was fully out of the water, running his hands over me, drying me off.
“David, were those towels out here—?” I started to ask.
“I honestly don't know.” His voice was quiet as he gently wrung my dress out.
After quickly disposing of my discarded tampon and taking the opportunity to laugh at my reaction, David scooped me up and carried me into the house, easily navigating the two long, white, leather couches and went straight upstairs. He put me down once we were in the shower—still clothed. I was grateful we didn't run into Byron on the way. I didn't know if he saw anything, but I wasn't quite ready to face him.
David undressed us both and gave me a mini massage as we quickly showered. Dressing in a black maxi dress and nude platforms, I couldn't help but watch as David pulled on his worn jeans, hiding his heavily muscled thighs, then his white tee from earlier, slowly concealed that obscenely defined eight-pack from my view. He slipped on flip-flops and his black hat.
Damn, crazy hot and already fucked me twice today.
“Let's go downstairs. I think your surprise is here,” David said mischievously.
“What surprise?” I asked as he ushered me out of the room.
He didn't answer, but I heard voices as we made our way down the stairs. One voice I knew well, but couldn’t possibly be here.
This is David.
I hurried down the stairs into the kitchen to find her sitting there chatting with Byron. Casual as can be.
“What are you doing here?” I half yelled as I rushed across the large space.
“Hi, baby.” She turned in her chair, facing me, the jagged mocha brown pieces of her asymmetrical bob fanning out. “Mr. Taylor over there” —she nodded in David's direction as she stood up— “made all the arrangements.”
Growing up, my friends loved my mother and wanted her for their own. She was fun, easygoing, and she took us everywhere, even the places you would be too embarrassed to have your mom take you. People always thought she was my college-aged friend. And she hadn't changed much over the years. She always wore black and always sported an edgy hairstyle. She looked sleek in her black-linen jumper, and appeared twenty years younger than her age of fifty-two.
When I reached her, she wrapped me in a tight hug. Holding me, she whispered, “Are you happy?”
“Yes,” I whispered back, not wanting David to hear for some reason. Maybe because I was selfish and didn't want him to ever stop trying to make me fall in love with him.
“You look happy. You look like you,” she said cryptically, pulling back to look in my eyes. I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but I wasn't willing to start a conversation that would no doubt reveal parts of my past I didn't want David overhearing.
I watched as my mom exchanged pleasantries with David, him properly introducing himself for the first time.
“I'm so happy to meet you, Ms. James.”
“Call me, Evelyn,” my mother insisted.
David was apologetic; I could take a guess what for. With how short notice this whole thing was, I imagined he wasn't the sweetest when he asked her to come out here. After a brief lull in their conversation, David suddenly said, “Ready to go, ladies?”
“What?” I asked.
“Yes.” My mother spoke over me.
I looked at her, then David. He responded first, “She's going to help you find a dress and get something for herself,” he said to me, before looking to my mother. “Right?”
“That's the plan.” Her voice was chipper, as always.
A plan.
They made a plan behind my back...
On one hand, I loved it. On the other, I didn't want him getting too close to her. She knew everything about me, things David didn't need to know.
Ever.
“Okay. Let's go then.” My voice gave something away from the way they both looked at me.
I went to grab my bag, mostly to prevent their searching eyes from finding anything. Being with two people who could read me so easily had never happened before. I tried to choke back the anxiety building inside me. I needed to learn how to handle being with both of them—the two people who I couldn't hide anything from. The two people who could pick and probe and dig up extremely painful emotions. I was fine one-on-one, but two-against-one was overwhelming already, and we hadn't even gotten in the car.
Byron opened the front door as I approached, well ahead of David and my mother.
Am I running away already?
Maybe.
“Austin.” David was quickly closing the distance as I approached the waiting car. The driver opened the back door and David's hand closed around my bicep. His voice was hushed as he spoke behind my ear. “Let your mom get in first.”
When she got in, I looked to him.
“Calm down. There's nothing that will change the way I feel about you. You're
mine
.” His voice was soft but fierce. “We both would do anything for you... If you want me to keep my distance from her for now, I will. Just tell me.”
That made me feel small and pathetic. My fear was irrational. I knew that in my head, but I couldn't shake the feeling.
Just ignore it.
“No, David, I'm okay. It's fine.”
“No, you're not. This is a lot for you—opening up like this. And now me meeting the only person who really knows you. You are
not
fine with this.” His voice was soft and sweet, making my eyes sting.
“I will be,” I countered quickly.
He studied my face for a brief moment before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Okay, sweetheart.”
*****
“Should I expect celebrity treatment whenever you're around, David?” My mother inquired when the town car pulled over to the curb in front of another seemingly empty store with the shades drawn.
My mother had no filter and wasn't shy in the least bit. That's exactly why I was nervous about her and David being around each other. She didn't know how to keep a secret, and she would tell David anything—since I was marrying him. And David was nosy when it came to me. So the two of them together was basically my worst nightmare.
“You're not like famous, famous. Why are they closing stores for you?” I asked, directing the conversation to him.
“Ummm… he kind of is,” my mother interjected.
“Not really,” I argued, knowing he was.
“A. Rod?” my mom searched for a comparison to David aloud.
“What's he look like?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Too old,” David interjected dismissively, trying to discourage my interest. And surprisingly able to keep up with the unusual way my mother and I held a conversation.
“Mmmm, no. David Beckham famous,” my mom added thoughtfully.
“Really? Beckham famous?” I looked at my mom and David, looking for confirmation.
“And Austin wouldn't like A. Rod.
Not
her type.
At
all
.” David seemed to enjoy my mother's unfiltered bluntness.
“Really?” David and I asked.
“Baby-faced. Too pretty,” my mom elaborated in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Eww,” I instinctively responded.
“All right ladies, let's go in,” David laughed, knocking on the glass, looking genuinely happy. I wasn't sure why. Maybe from a sense of being part of a family, which he missed, or he could be pleased that I wouldn't find A. Rod attractive. It could be either or both. But I couldn't tell.
The driver opened the door and we exited, my mom, David, then me. David helped me out, searching my face for signs of stress.
“David, I'm fine,” I whispered, in what I hoped was a reassuring voice.
He didn't say anything as he pulled me close, leading me to the open door of the boutique where four employees waited, two holding the double doors open as we entered.
“Mr. Taylor. It's a pleasure to meet you,” someone said, but I was too captivated with the elaborate wedding gowns spread out before me.
I pulled away from David, drawn to a display. My mom followed me, knowing exactly which dress I was headed for—the one dress that looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale. Layers of tiny silk flowers—ivory of the palest pink and sage green—covered the bodice of the strapless gown, becoming sparser as they trailed down the full, ivory, skirt. It was decadent, with tiny crystals glinting at me here and there and far too elaborate for the private wedding we were having. But I wanted that dress.
Really
wanted that dress.
“Thanks. You too. Just take care of whatever she needs, please.” I heard David's voice drawing nearer. Then his hands were on my hips and he whispered, “Any idea what you want me to wear?”
I stilled. I hadn't given his clothing a single thought. “Give me a minute?”
Looking at this dress, I didn't know what would make sense for him to wear next to its grandeur.
“Take as long as you need,” he said, using his sex voice—gravel over velvet. His lips brushing my ear, his possessive hands on my hips. After a moment, he whispered, “I love it. It'll be perfect on you.”
“I would be happy to get your size in this particular dress if you like, Miss James. Marie will be waiting to help you put it on,” someone else said from behind me. “And for you, Mr. Taylor?”
“Whatever my girl wants me to wear,” was his only response.
This was one situation I could really use his take control-ness. Someone needed to figure out what he should wear, and I didn't want the fact I hadn't given his attire a first thought, much less a second, to come to light.
I stared at the dress almost hypnotized by its beauty.
“Austin, come on. David's waiting for you to decide. You have to pick yours before he can pick his,” my mother spurred me into gear.
“Yeah,” I responded to her, then patted David's claiming hands and tried to pull away. “I'll be back soon.”
“I'm sure there's somewhere for me to sit back there.” David's voice was part pleading, part coaxing as his breath warmed my neck.
Before I could respond, I felt my phone buzzing in his pocket pressed against my ass. I looked at him over my shoulder as he dug it out, watching his face as he checked it.
“Who is it?” I questioned.
He glanced up from the screen to me but didn't answer.
“David?”
He let out a deep sigh before he answered, “Mathew.”
“Here.” I held my hand out, still looking at him over my shoulder. “Let me answer it.”
“Just text him later. You need to try on dresses.” His hand on my hip tightened.
“I forgot about lunch. I'm not going to let him sit there and wait on me, David,” I explained, not feeling like I should have to.
He looked at me for a second, and I swore I saw his eyes roll as he placed it in my hand.
“Hello? Mathew?” I answered as David pressed in behind me.
“Hey. Where are you?” Mathew asked distractedly on the other end.
“I'm
so
sorry. I'm out of town. It was a last-minute thing.”
“What do you mean you're ‘out of town’?” He made no attempt to hide his irritation. His treatment of me had been increasingly possessive and it was getting on my nerves.
“We got on a plane late last night and flew out—I'm with David and my mom right now,” I explained to someone I shouldn't have to explain myself to.
“
Oh
. Okay. Hope everything is okay.” He sounded relaxed suddenly. He seemed to have a different attitude with the knowledge of my mother being with us.
Seriously, if he thought there was something wrong, wouldn't he at least ask? Wasn't that what friends did? Seemed he was only concerned about me being alone with David. Or David taking his pre-scheduled allotted time. The more I thought about it, the more upset I got.
What if it was serious? What if someone died?
He didn't care about me. He cared about getting what he wanted from me.
“When will you be back?” Mathew asked, quickly getting to the point.
I gritted my teeth, holding back a nasty remark.
“Monday. Tell him Monday,” David whispered in my ear. I knew he was close enough to hear the entire conversation—still pressed behind me. And obviously he was listening. Intently, no doubt.
“Monday,” I repeated.
“Ah, okay. Call me as soon as you get back,” he insisted, escalating my irritation.
“Sure. Talk to you later.” I tried to keep my voice light, but failed. Ending the call before Mathew could respond, I blindly handed the phone over my shoulder.
I felt David's eyes on me, watching me closely as he pushed the phone back into his front pocket. Reluctantly, he let me pull away, seeming aware of my mood shift.