The Rebel's Own (Crimson Romance) (14 page)

“Have you told her that?”

“Yes, at the championship party before a truck almost flattened me,” he teased. “What I did to her in high school was wrong. What
we
did in high school was wrong, man. Being popular and accepted wasn’t worth what we did to those girls.”

“I was there too, Ry. I feel terrible.” Matt dropped down on the sofa. “But she’s forgiven us. I look at your family and I can’t help but feel jealous. You have a wife, a son, and twins on the way. I have my Ferrari to go home to.”

Ryan stretched out his leg as it began to throb again. “Alright, you didn’t just come here to convince me to throw a birthday party, did you?”

“Actually, I just have some endorsement contracts for you to sign. I was hoping you wouldn’t be opposed to doing a commercial with your crutches.”

He sighed. “Forget about it. Contracts are for another day. Today, we eat cake.”

• • •

It had been two weeks since the party, and Ryan had finally gotten his brace off that morning. Ryan knew exactly how he wanted this night to go. He also knew he wanted it to end with Kennedy in his bed. Today, he was closing the world out and focusing on just him and Kennedy. He had even sent Riley to Rebecca, hoping that allowing her to spend time with her grandson would prove that he wasn’t such a monster.

He had set up catering, ordering food, non-alcoholic wine to be served by waiters. He even had a tuxedo on, and had laid a dress out for Kennedy. This was going to be a night out of the pages of a romance novel. Ryan shifted his weight around, trying not to exhaust his healing leg. The doctor told him not to overdo it. It was a good thing the only thing he was going to overdo didn’t require him to be on his feet. When he heard the front door open, he felt his heart shoot from his chest and into his throat.

“What’s going on?” Kennedy asked, as she slowly walked into the room, her feet carefully skirting the rose petals that littered the floor. “I hope you know how to use a vacuum cleaner.”

Ryan laughed. If Kennedy had said anything else, she wouldn’t have been his Kennedy. “I thought that we should have a romantic night. Just the two of us.”

“The four of us you mean,” she said, as her hand rubbed over her growing belly.

Ryan stared at her stomach, imagining how his babies must look now. They would be beautiful, he knew that. As beautiful as their mother. “Well, we can’t really tell them to leave can we?”

Kennedy laughed and the sound of it squeezed his heart like a fist. “No, I guess not.”

“I thought we could have dinner and music, and maybe we could talk about us.”

Kennedy nodded, not moving from where she stood. She looked around the room and Ryan appreciated the awe in her eyes. At least they were getting off to a good start.

“Alright then, but first of all, lose the jacket and the bow tie. We both know you have that monkey suit. Then, let’s move this to the family room. We can sit on the rug in front of the fireplace. Then, and this is not up for discussion, lose the wait staff.”

“I am trying to be romantic!”

“I just want you to be you, Ryan. And romance is in the tiny details.” Kennedy walked towards him and put her hand on his chest. “You are my husband. I’d think you were romantic and a major turn-on even if you were covered in dirt from head to toe.”

“Are you sure you just want me, without the dirt?” Ryan wondered how the hell he had managed to snag a woman who knew him better than he knew himself. Oh, right. He got her pregnant. Twice.

“When are you ever going to see how special you are?” Her whispered tone was full of endearment.

“I see it now, in your eyes. The way you look at me, the way you smile at me. You make me feel like I’m more than I’m worth.”

“And what are you worth, Ryan Carville?”

“What am I worth to you?” he asked, confused.

Kennedy shook her head. “To yourself. What are you worth to yourself?”

“I don’t know.” He answered honestly. No one had ever asked him that.

“Well, I know you are worth everything in my eyes, in our son’s eyes. I know that—” he watched as Kennedy swallowed hard, her eyes misty, “I know that you are worth our children’s love and…and my love.”

Ryan felt like he could have been knocked over by a feather at that point. Who said a man couldn’t have everything he wanted in the time span of a second? “Get out, all of you,” he shouted to the caterers. And once the house was empty, he pulled Kennedy into his arms and kissed her senseless.

“Are you hungry?” he asked in between kisses, praying that she would say no.

“I’m eating for three. I’m always hungry!” Ryan stepped back with a disappointed frown, and she laughed. “But I think the babies can wait for a few minutes. I think it’s important for Mommy to play with Daddy for a while.”

Ryan growled his approval as he lifted Kennedy into his arms and walked to the family room, his lips never leaving hers. He lay her down on the rug and watched as the light of the embers danced on her ebony features. Her hair spread over the white rug like a halo around her face. Ryan just wanted to look at her, as if he was staring at the Mona Lisa. He kissed her palm as her fingers stroked his face.

Ryan moved on top of her, his fingers caressing her belly. He lowered his head to her midsection and kissed her rounded stomach. He wanted to take Kennedy so bad, but he worried he would hurt his babies. He didn’t know if he had the restraint to pace himself. It had been so long since he had made love to Kennedy and he didn’t think he would be able to take his time.

“It’s alright,” she said, knowing instinctively what he needed once again. “I won’t break. I promise.”

• • •

“Marry me.” Ryan whispered into her throat as he cuddled into her side afterwards.

“What?”

“I want you to marry me.” Ryan lifted his head to look down at her. Kennedy looked ravished and completely sated. He felt proud as his ego congratulated him for a job well done.

“I’m not sure how much alcohol you consumed before I arrived, but we are married. That’s why people keep on calling me Mrs. Carville,” she teased.

“A little chapel on the road in Vegas, with Elvis as the officiate is not a wedding. We have done everything backwards since the beginning,” he said. “We are married but we didn’t have a wedding really. I want us to invite our family and friends. I want us to get married in a church.”

“Are you sure? It would mean our mothers’ planning it.”

“What about you?”

“I’m pregnant. I’ll drive you crazy with the details.”

“I don’t mind being driven crazy.”

“You don’t huh?”

Ryan scooted next to her and pulled her into his arms. “You belong to me. You are my other half. My own angel. Marry me, please. Again.”

She smiled, happy at last. “Sure, why not?”

Kennedy paced around the large family room, her stomach in knots. Ryan was supposed to be cleared to play today. He had missed the first few games because his collarbone wasn’t ready. And at the end of yesterday’s practice his shoulder was monstrously red and unbearably painful. She had spent the whole night trying to ice it down. It was a good thing she didn’t need much sleep. Ever since the babies were born, twin girls Robyn and Riley (to satisfy her mother), she didn’t need that much sleep.

Now she paced, her fingers crossed a prayer on her lips as she hoped that Ryan would be able to play today. She didn’t think she could handle another disappointed frown this night. RJ had gone to the stadium with both his father and grandfather. Elizabeth and Rebecca were with her, each with a baby in their arms.

“Kennedy, you are making me dizzy! Sit down.”

Kennedy sat on the floor, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. “I’m so worried mama.”

“He’ll play. I know my son,” Elizabeth said confidently. “Now we should discuss some things about the wedding.”

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I don’t really care about that right now.” Kennedy’s breath hitched when the game started on television. She held her breath as the Rebels made their way into the stadium. She leaned forward, waiting to see the Carville jersey. Kennedy jumped to her feet and danced around as Ryan was introduced as he jogged onto the field. “He’s playing! Oh, thank God,” she said, and then leaned forward to turn off the television. “Now we can plan the wedding.”

“Don’t you want to watch the game?” Elizabeth asked, stunned.

“Of course not. My nerves are already shot. I can’t watch him get hit around.” Kennedy scoffed then smiled. “I’m proud of my Rebel though.”

United States, 2013

“Brian Andrews reporting for duty,” he mused, saluting as he sauntered into his New York editor’s office with his usual cocky confidence.

“What am I to do with you?” Sam Greenberg asked, shaking his shiny, bald, head at his protégé. He leaned his stocky body back into his springy, worn swivel chair.

“Try giving me a raise, Sam.” Brian flashed his disarming smile, teeth like ivory piano keys set in a square dimpled jaw.

“You have more chutzpah than I. Take a seat.” Sam pointed to a rickety wooden chair across from his chipped metal desk.

Brian slunk his lean, yet athletic frame into the creaking chair. With his left hand he pawed at the sharply pointed boar’s tooth hanging on a leather cord like a pendulum around his neck. He had a habit of rubbing it for good luck before every new assignment. The pendant, tilted felt hat, wrinkled khaki safari jacket and pants gave him more the aura of an adventurer than a reporter, an image he liked to cultivate.

“What’s going on?” Brian asked, removing his fedora and setting it on a mound of papers stacked on Sam’s cluttered desk. He ran his splayed fingers through his thick, black hair. Sam was more pensive than usual.

“The competition is eating us alive. Without an exclusive, the magazine is in jeopardy of filing bankruptcy. I need you to investigate and uncover a biggie. This could be the story and break we need.”

“Where is it? China?” Brian leaned forward, interested.

“It’s Angelique.”

“Angelique who?” Brian asked, the name ringing in his mind. Where did he hear that name before? A magical voice from an ethereal creature on a stage long ago entered his thoughts.
That
Angelique.

“Don’t look so stunned. Remember, I gave you that ticket to her American debut ten years ago?” Sam sighed.

“Yes, I remember,” Brian answered. How could he forget? He had almost turned down the concert seat at the Lincoln Center. He had been into rock and roll, not classical, but as an intern seeking permanent employment, Brian had felt obligated to attend. After hearing Angelique he had been thankful for the opportunity.

“There’s a big mystery surrounding that woman and I need it uncovered,” Sam ordered, pounding his hand on his desk.

“Others have tried and failed.”

“Brian, you’re the best investigative reporter I have.”

“Every newspaper, magazine, and P.I. in the world seeks answers,” Brian said, caressing the boar’s tooth with increased intensity.

“I need answers,” Sam insisted. “Angelique is the world’s most beloved singer yet nothing is known about her. She doesn’t grant interviews. Her only public appearances are on the stage. Who is she? What is the secret behind her talent?” Sam roared. His voice usually bellowed when he was seeking the answers to life’s mysteries. “And what’s with that bullshit about her being found by nuns in a forest?”

Brian drew a deep breath. Angelique was certainly an unsolved mystery. “What makes you think I can succeed when so many have failed?”

“Brian, you have instinct. You have an uncanny ability to sniff out a story and get answers. You’ve proven it over and over again. You can do it, I know you can.”

“Sam?” Brian knew his editor was asking for the near impossible.

“Come on, my boy, the magazine and our jobs depend on it,” Sam said, standing, his glare penetrating.

“Okay. For you, Sam, I’ll go for it.” He rose from his seat, scooping up his hat.

“Whatever it takes. Remember, I’m on your side. And, Brian, be careful.”

“Don’t worry, angels aren’t my type.” He winked.

• • •

Angelique. The name echoed through the caverns of his mind. He sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor amid boxes of newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photographs, computer copies, and press releases strewn about. His apartment had never been neat. He was never in it long enough to do any serious cleaning. The papers just added to the unkempt disarray. With a sigh he picked up a European entertainment magazine. On the glossy cover was a photograph of the elusive Angelique. He stared at her perfectly oval face, pensive eyes, and silvery mane. There were so many unanswered questions.

He had spent the last week reviewing most of the data he had gathered from news bureaus, libraries, newsstands, and the Internet. There were always photographs, but never a biography, never an interview, never a story. Just short, pointed press releases. He pondered her photograph for a lead or at least some inspiration so he could begin his journalistic investigation.

Angelique was a beautiful creature in a unique way. She looked more like an apparition than a human being. Only her blue eyes, like pale aquamarines, made her appear human.

Brian was drawn to her eyes. Gazing into them was like looking into an abyss. They were empty, devoid of any emotion. There was no soul. Their cold lack of feeling made him shiver. In observing her overall appearance, she reminded him of a corpse.

Investigative assignments had taken him around the world. He had written reports from the refined—London, Paris, Rome—to the exotic: Bangkok, Bora Bora, the Amazon. Living out of a backpack in shabby rooms, eating weird food, seeing remote scenery and primitive people had given him an adrenaline rush. He had thrived on the adventure and had relished the nomadic lifestyle. Why couldn’t Sam have sent him to the Middle East instead of investigating Angelique? Hunting down singers wasn’t his forte. He would rather dodge bullets or bombs. Brian took a deep breath. Sam had given him this assignment and he knew he had to make the most of it if he wanted a future at
Our World.
If
Our World
had a future.