Without protest, he opened his wallet and handed me every piece of green paper in it. I inhaled deeply. Ah, the smell of real money.
"That's eight hundred dollars. A little more than you're asking for on your list, but you never know if something will cost more than estimated."
He trusted me with his money, the dear, sweet man. "You'll notice that I need to make a down payment to the caterer as soon as possible so we can concretely reserve the desired date. However, I can't do that until you've decided on a location. Which brings me to my next point of business. Location. Have you chosen yet? The sample invitation is printed and ready for approval." I pulled my notebook from my bag, flipped it open and lifted the invitation. "All it's missing is the address."
He took the sample from me and gave the burgundy coloring and gold lettering a thorough inspection. "Wow. You're good. My mother will like it, too," he added, knowing I'd ask. "As for the location, I don't know yet."
"Why not?" I shoved to my feet, fearing his next words.
"I want to visit a cabin in Oklahoma."
"Out of the question. It's too late in the game."
"We leave in four days. I've already made arrangements."
"But-but-"
"Don't worry. We'll have fun."
"I'm not flying again. I won our bet in Colorado, and you swore I wouldn't have to step foot in another plane. Is that correct?"
"Yes. That's correct."
"Then I don't have to go to Oklahoma. You can't make me."
His lips lifted in another slow smile, this one a wicked grin of pure pleasure. "I can make you. We're driving. It's only a three-hour drive, sweetheart."
I crossed my arms over my chest. I did not want to rough it in some primitive cabin. How sexy could I look then? "My answer is still no."
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice. I'm paying you triple, remember?"
"I refuse to go. Do you understand me?"
"Great. Try to be ready by three on Friday."
Chapter Seventeen
An apology is a curse word to a Tigress. By admitting guilt, you are saying your actions were wrong. A Tigress is never wrong.
I spent the next several mornings shopping for table centerpieces. Finally I found shiny, to-die-for "magic" lamps. I bought bags of fake gemstones and planned to glue them around the lamps' bellies.
In the afternoons, I waited at Jonathan's office and followed him on his lunch hour. He and Nora had lunch together only once, and they hadn't done anything sexual, hadn't even kissed. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to snap his neck for that or hug him. Whether he was cheating or not, I just didn't know anymore. Why continue to lie to my mom, though, if he was an innocent man?
I had tried to listen to his conversations with Nora, but I just hadn't been able to get close enough to them.
Wednesday afternoon, I followed Jonathan to a nearby park. He met his daughter, Rachel, and his granddaughter there. I recognized them from the photo I'd found. The three of them I played and talked and laughed, appearing to all the world like a happy family. But seeing them together made me sad. I'd never had that with my real dad. He'd lived and died a bastard. I'd never really had that with Jonathan, either, because, even though I loved him, I'd always set myself a little apart from him.
The next day I actually met Rachel in person at a nearby park.. As trees swayed around us and children laughed and played on the swing set, we sized each other up. Jonathan sat on a bench, silent (for once), letting us have this moment to ourselves.
"So," I said. I eyed her. She had dark hair and a vivid emerald gaze. Pretty, conservative. Every man's dream daughter. Gag. "How'd your mom hook up with Jonathan?"
"They went to school together," Rachel said stiffly.
"And she never mentioned you to him?"
"No." Now she sounded defensive. I think she was as happy to meet me as I was to meet her. "But we're together now, and that's all that matters."
"I'm glad for you," I said. And I tried to mean it when I really wanted to say, "he's mine!" Kind of. I guess.
She bit her lip and glanced away. "My mother passed away a few months ago and left me a note about him. I hunted him down and you know the rest."
Hearing that she'd recently lost someone dear to her, I softened. "I'm sorry for your loss."
She softened, too. "Thank you."
For a long, silent moment our gazes met and held, gray against green. "I guess this means we're sisters now." To be honest, I'd always wanted a sister. Someone to talk and laugh with. A playmate.
"I've always wanted a sister," she said wistfully, parroting my thoughts. I grinned slowly. And that was all it took.
After that, we were able to relax around each other. To really talk. We spent more than an hour together, discussing our culinary likes and dislikes, the men in our lives (she was a single parent), Jonathan's therapy sessions and promised to stay in touch. Jonathan beamed the entire time. I left the park feeling lighthearted, like I truly had made a new friend. A friend I hadn't wanted but had, perhaps, needed.
I spent the evenings all that week on the phone with Royce, caressing my BlueJay as if it were my favorite toy. I never asked, and he never asked, but I wanted him to come over. Needed him to come over and rock my world again. But every phone call was the same.
Me: I think we should have sex again.
Royce: Bad idea.
Me: Why?
Royce: I want more from you than sex.
Me: Goodbye, you prudish bastard.
We'd switched rolls, Royce and I. He was the waiting-for-marriage woman and I was the let's-hop-into-the-sack man. This morning, while I lingered in the hot, steamy shower, I realized my only recourse was to talk him into being my-God, I felt juvenile saying this-boyfriend. We'd try that out, see how it went. It wasn't marriage, but it was close to it. That's what he wanted (kind of), and I wasn't so selfish (I hoped) that I couldn't at least try the give-and-take thing. We talked on the phone every day, anyway. Why not spend the holidays together? Why not go on romantic dates?
We'd have lots and lots of exclusive, amazing sex. I wouldn't tell him I loved him or anything like that, but I would try-try, mind you-to act like a proper girlfriend.
Friday arrived too quickly and not soon enough.
As we soared down the highway, I found myself buckled in yet another car of Royce's, this one a plush, dark blue Jag. "Are you sure you don't want to have sex with me?" I asked. "We could pull over and do it right now. I'm willing."
He flicked me a heated glance, and that glance lingered on my bare thighs. I'd purposefully worn a short pink skirt I'd borrowed from Mel, knowing it would rise every time I sat down. I wasn't without my wiles.
"I want to make love to you." His voice emerged hoarse, a little raw. "Believe me, I'm close to combustion."
"But you tell me no every day." Could I sound any whinier? "And you haven't made a pass at me this last week."
"Remember what I told you before I left for Florida? Remember what I told you on the phone? I meant it. No sex until we're committed."
"I'll be your girlfriend, okay, and you'll be my boyfriend," I grumbled. "That's a commitment."
Everything went still, silent. He kept his eyes on the road, but I noticed his hands were ultra-tight on the wheel. "What about being my fiancee?"