~11~

“I can't see you,” Tate whined.

“How about now?”

“I see nostrils and chin.”

“At least they're sexy nostrils.”

“No such thing.”

“Okay, how about now?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, there's that beautiful smile.”

Nick Castille laughed, raking his hand through his hair. It was midnight in Tucson, Arizona. Which equaled ten in the morning in Hong Kong. Nick had texted her, asking her to make some time to Skype with him. He wanted to see her, he said. It had been a long time. So he agreed to stay up late if she got up early.

They had kept in touch. She would always have a special place in her heart for Nick. Sure, in a way, he had tried to subtly come between her and Jameson – as Jameson was fond of pointing out. But Nick had also been ridiculously understanding, beyond forgiving, and he'd always allowed her to do her thing, with no questions and no judgement. When she had picked Jameson over him, Nick hadn't even gotten that upset. He had wished them well.

Over the course of the last two years, they had managed to see each other. When he was in Boston for the baseball season, sometimes they would all go out for lunch. When Sanders had lived at home, she would drag him to baseball games. Jameson wasn't exactly in love with Nick, but he wasn't threatened by him, either. Still, the devil didn't take kindly to men who had tried to steal his succubus, so it would be a long time before Nick was welcome in the Weston house. Most of Tate's interactions with Nick were limited to online.

“So how are you?” he asked, sipping at something in a coffee mug.

“Good, good. It's been fun here,” she assured him.

“That's good. When do you think you'll be coming home?” he continued.

“I don't know, probably soon. Jameson came here to see his lawyer, who was actually in another city. They got together yesterday – Jameson's actually with him right now,” Tate explained. “So I guess as soon as they're done doing whatever it is they're doing, we'll head home.”

“Awesome. Sounds good. How's Ang?”

Tate snorted, resting her chin on her hands. She was laying on her stomach on the floor, in the middle of the suite's living room. She had a laptop opened in front of her, within arms reach.

“Good. Kinda weird, actually. We went out last night, and before I got back to my room, he got all, like, emotional, or something. I thought he was gonna tell me he had cancer,” she recapped.

“Nah, he's probably just glad to be back with his buddy again. You're a hard person to miss,” Nick assured her.

“Pfffft. You don't miss me,” she teased.

“I miss your jokes.”

“My jokes are horrible.”

“Yeah, they make mine look better in comparison.”

“Speaking of better looking, is there any chance I can get a peek?” she asked, smiling big, hoping that would butter him up.

“Tate, it's midnight here,” Nick pointed out, but he had trouble holding back his smile. He had a horrible poker face.

“I know, I know, but you know I love it,” she begged, pouting her lips.

“Yeah, yeah, you only talk to me for one reason anymore,” he grumbled as he leaned out of the camera's view.

“At least it's a good reason!” she laughed. The Skype's feed blurred with the movement of Nick's arm. Just pixels filled with dark and light. Then a shape moving behind Nick. Another blurry shape coming into focus as it was held in front of him.

“Hold on, watch this,” Nick's voice said, and then the camera cleared.

“Dadda.”

Tate squealed and waved her hands at the plump baby that was looking back at her. The little boy had his daddy's big brown eyes and mop of thick brown hair. The little tyke said the word several more times before Nick pulled baby Jake back from the camera and sat him on his lap.

“Is that his first word!?” Tate exclaimed.

“Yeah. Clearly a smart boy,” Nick explained.

“I don't know where he gets it from, I must've said 'mama' a million times to him!” the blur behind Nick laughed. Then it leaned over his shoulder, came into the light and focus of the lens.

“He's a boy, there's no accounting for taste,” Tate assured Nick's wife, Laura. The other woman laughed.

“Very true. I guess I should just be thrilled – he's only ten months old, pretty soon to be saying anything. Maybe he'll be a genius,” Laura said, smoothing her fingers over the baby's hair.

“As long as he knows how to throw a ball, I don't care how smart he is,” Nick added. Tate and Laura snorted in unison.

Two years ago, when Tate had left Nick in Tucson, she never would've guessed that a year later he would meet the woman he was going to marry. Or that they would immediately get pregnant and have a baby. It had been quick, but it was clear that the two really loved each other. And Tate got along great with Laura – another reason why she wished she could visit Nick more often. His family felt like an extension of herself. Laura was almost like the sister Tate wished she would've had, and baby Jake was her nephew. She loved them.

“When are you going to have a little Kane running around?” Laura teased. Tate made a gagging sound.

“God, can you imagine Jameson with a baby? It would shi-, er, ahhhh, need a diaper change, and Jameson would pass out. Or try to sell it for a clean one,” Tate joked.

“I bet he'd surprise you. But speaking of dirty diapers,” Nick said, holding Jake away from his lap. Laura groaned.

“Does it ever end? Good seeing you, Tate, come visit us soon!” she called out as she carried the baby away from the camera.

“I'll try! Give him kisses for me!” Tate yelled. Nick laughed.

“Seriously, I bet he'd be great with kids,” Nick went back to what they'd been talking about.

“Jameson? Have you ever seen him around kids? He looks like he wants to puke,” Tate pointed out.

“What about you? Do you want kids?”

“Well, yeah, someday.”

“Then he'll want kids.”

“You sound so sure.”

“Tate, the man lives to see you happy. The moment you're ready to have kids, he'll step up to the plate,” Nick assured her. She smiled.

“Thanks for having faith in him,” she said softly.

“You're very welcome.”

“Why did you want me to call you?” she asked. Nick shrugged.

“Just missed your face. Sometimes it feels like time is moving so fast, and next thing I know, something else big has happened. I just …, didn't want to miss anything,” he tried to explain. Tate frowned.

“What would you miss with me? Still the same ol' Tate and Jameson over here,” she pointed out. He nodded.

“I know. But like I said, sometimes things move fast,” he repeated himself.

Tate wanted to question him further, but she was interrupted by the door to the suite opening. She propped herself up on her hands and by the time she looked over her shoulder, Jameson was halfway across the room, taking his jacket off.

“Where were you all morning?” she asked.

“Who are you talking to?” he ignored her question and asked his own.

“Oh, Nick wanted me to call him, say hi,” she said, lowering herself and rolling to the side so Jameson could see the computer screen.

“Oh god,” he groaned.

“Hi, Jameson!” Nick's voice called out. “Still a little ray of sunshine, I see!”

Jameson gave him the finger.

“You boys,” Tate said in a teasing voice, rolling back so she was in front of the screen again.

“I'll let you go. I just wanted to say hi, really. Have a good trip, and be nice to him,” Nick instructed. Tate guffawed.

“Are you joking? I'm always nice to him,” she said.

“Lies,” Jameson called out from behind her.

“I know how you are, so stop bitching all the time and just appreciate the good stuff,” Nick told her. She gasped.

“I take back every nasty thing I said about you,” Jameson added, and Nick laughed.

“Okay, yeah, this conversation needs to end before something weird happens, like you two becoming friends,” Tate grumbled.

“It was good talking to you. Keep in touch,” Nick said. She nodded.

“Always. Give my love to Laura, and big sloppy kisses to Jake,” she told him.

“Give my love to Laura, too!” Jameson yelled. Nick snorted.

“I'll talk to you later.”

Tate blew him a kiss, then the screen went dark. She sighed and closed the laptop. Laid her cheek against her hands. She hummed to herself, lazily kicking her feet in the air while she thought about their conversation. “Sometimes things move fast,” he'd said – but why? Why was everyone being so weird?

“He just wanted to say hi?” Jameson asked from behind her.

“Mmmm hmmm,” she replied.

“That's nice. I guess.”

“What've you been up to?” she asked with a yawn.

“Picking up these contracts from my lawyer. What we came here for,” he told her.

“Does this mean we're going home?” she guessed.

“Not quite yet.”

Tate was about to question him further when something landed against her lower back. She lifted herself onto her elbows, trying to look over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a dark green folder laying on top of her. She could also see Jameson walking away from her, heading back into the kitchen.

“What is this?” she grumbled, reaching back behind her and trying to get ahold of the folder.

“Something you need to look over, before tonight,” he said as she swung around into a sitting position, crossing her legs. She glanced at him. He was standing in the kitchen area, drinking from a bottle of Perrier.

“Your contract stuff? Why do you want me to look over it?” Tate asked with a laugh, opening the folder and flipping through the pages. A couple words jumped out at her and she stopped laughing. Stopped flipping. Moved back to the first page.

“Because, we need to talk about it. It's the reason why we came here,” he told her simply. Tate's eyes flew over the words.

“But …, you said you had to talk to your lawyer …, about a merger. Your will,” she reminded him. Reminded herself. She was so confused. She skipped to the next page.

“I did. My will is over here, you can look at it next,” he promised. She swallowed thickly and slowly stood up, her hands starting to shake.

“Jameson,” she said his name slowly as she flipped to the last page.

“Yes?”

“Is this what I think it is?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you think it is. Your brain is one of the weirdest fucking places I've ever been, I have no clue what you're thinking,” he laughed.

It wasn't funny.

“What the fuck is this!?” she demanded, skipping back to the middle of the document. Terms like “property division” and “life style” and “mutual assets” leapt out at her. Swam around in her vision.

“I told you, it's what we came here for,” he repeated himself. She stared at him.

“Jameson, this is a goddamn prenup.”

“I know.”

“Why do you have a prenup?”

“Because I'm not fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, but why are you handing it to me right now!?”

“Did you wake up stupid? Why are we even having this conversation? Oh, you need a pen. Here, you can sign at the bottom, on the back,” Jameson informed her, walking towards her with a pen in his outstretched hand. She slapped the Mont Blanc away.

“Are you fucking shitting me!? Who are you marrying? Cause it sure as shit isn't me,” she snapped. He rolled his eyes.

“Okay, before you flip out, just let me talk to yo-,”

“You flew me all the way to Hong Kong so your lawyer could draw up a prenuptial agreement? That's your idea of marriage!?” Tate demanded. She was breathing so hard, she felt like she was going to hyperventilate.

“No, that's my idea of what's necessary before marriage. A marriage involves other documents, which are in the folder with my will. It also requires a certified officiant and witnesses, so sign the fucking prenup so we can meet up with them and get this bullshit over with,” Jameson growled.

“Oh my god. This is really your idea of a proposal, isn't it?” she gasped. “Is this a fucking joke?”

“You're certainly turning it into one.”

“I can't believe you! Two fucking years, and you just hand me a contract? Sign here, then let's go sign another piece of paper!? Is this a fucking joke!?” Tate was almost shrieking.

“Calm the fuck down.”

“You calm down! Jesus, Jameson, am I just another business deal to you!? A 'merger'!?” she hissed at him. He glared down the length of his nose at her.

“More like a hostile takeover,” he corrected her.

“You did this because you thought I wouldn't go for it,” she suddenly blurted out.

“Excuse me?”

“You thought up the absolute worst way possible to propose, the most dickheadish way possible, so I'd say no, didn't you!?” she demanded. He laughed.

“You give me too much credit.”

“Get fucked.”

“That's your job.”

“You know what, fuck you. You think you can pull some shit like this!?” Tate started shouting, searching around for the pen he'd offered. She spied it on the floor and scooped it up. “I am gonna sign this stupid thing. I'll sign your fucking contract, complete your fucking merger.”

“Nobody's twisting your fucking arm, Tate. Wouldn't want to put you out,” he said in his scary soft voice.

“Nope. Too late,” she said in a sing song voice as she placed the prenup on a table and leaned over it, signing it with a flourish. “Can't take it back now, asshole. A fucking prenup. Not even a 'good morning'.” She was mostly grumbling to herself as she stomped around the suite.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. She grabbed her sandals, hopped around as she slipped them on.

“Getting ready,” she growled.

“Ready to do what?”

“Shopping.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You want to get mergered? Then one of my contractual stipulations is that I need a fucking expensive white dress,” Tate informed him, struggling to pull on her jacket.

“Tate, just calm down and talk to me, we need to talk about this,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Too late for that! You had all this time to talk to me, but apparently making a fucking deal and drawing up a fucking contract was more important. So when is this magical merger going to take place?” she asked, throwing her purse strap over her head.

“We need to be there at six o'clock,” he told her, glancing at his watch. She gaped at him. He was really serious.

“Eight hours. You gave me a contract and eight hours,” she said softly. He reached for her.

“If you'd just let me finish tell-,” he began to say, but she yanked away.

“And a ring!” she suddenly yelled, heading for the door.

“What the fuck are you talking about now!?” he called out from behind her as she stepped into the hallway.

“I'm going to buy a white fucking dress, and a big goddamn diamond ring, you asshole!” she shrieked at him before slamming the door shut.

A contract. Two years. A contract. A fucking contract. Two fucking years.

Tate stormed down the hall, took a turn, then stopped in front of another door. She knocked on it till the occupant opened up.

“Is everything alright?” Sanders asked, looking startled.

“C'mon, let's go!” she yelled, walking back down the hall.

“Excuse me?” he replied. She heard the door shut, then he was right beside her.

“You knew, didn't you!?” she demanded, hitting the down button once they got to the elevator.

“Knew what? What's happened?” Sanders sounded flabbergasted. The doors slid open and they went inside.

“Knew what he was doing,” she said.

“What was he doing?” Sanders continued, looking bewildered.

“His lawyer! Those stupid contracts he went on about! 'Mergers'! How could you not tell me!?” Tate asked, turning on him as the elevator started its descent. Sanders winced.

“I'm terribly sorry, he asked me not to,” was his answer. She let out a frustrated shriek, making a choking gesture at his throat.

“Are you kidding me!? How many times have I told you, told both of you, that I fucking hate that shit!?” Tate yelled at him.

“You have mentioned, several times, that you -,”

“Shut up. Just shut up. Talk about a bad fucking idea. A contract!? Did he think I'd say no, is that why he did it? Well, fuck that noise, he wants to pull some bullshit like that, I will marry him, just to piss him off,” Tate threatened, striding out into the lobby when the elevator opened up.

“Um, okay,” was Sanders' only response.

Valet brought the car around. Tate sat in the backseat, wanting to keep distance between herself and Sanders. She still had the urge to strangle him. She instructed him to take her to the nearest, nicest, shopping center.

They shopped around for quite a while. Tate didn't buy just one wedding dress – she bought three. She also bought a diamond encrusted necklace and a tiara. A tiara. She forced Sanders to sit in a lingerie shop while she picked out corsets and bustiers and stockings and garters.

“Are you having several weddings?” he asked. She glared at him.

“I wouldn't know, would I? No one asked my opinion,” she snapped back, then spent even more money.

“Where to now?” Sanders sighed, loading her purchases into the trunk of the car.

“I want you to find the most expensive jewelry store in all of Hong Kong,” she ordered him.

“Of course.”

They drove for a while. Tate stewed in the back seat, glaring out the window. Fucking Sanders. Fucking Jameson. She just couldn't get over it. When she'd been a little girl and had imagined getting married, had imagined a man proposing to her, it certainly hadn't been like how Jameson had done it. She pictured someone proposing with a ring, not a with a prenup. Proposing down on one knee, not by dropping a contract on her. Proposing with poetic prose, not legal jargon. Proposing with …,

Jameson proposed to me. It was fucked up and all kinds of wrong. But he proposed. Jameson Kane just proposed to me. Jameson Kane wants to marry me. Jameson Kane wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Jameson Kane just proposed to me.

“Sanders, pull over,” she breathed.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Pull over,” she said it louder.

“Tatum, we are on a freeway, I can't just -,”

“Pull over, or I'm gonna puke in this back seat.”

Sanders pulled over, putting on the hazard lights as he sidled the car into an emergency lane. Tate scooted across the seat to the passenger side and rolled down the window, stuck her head outside. She kept her mouth wide open and took deep breaths, her eyes squeezed tightly closed.

“Are you alright?” Sanders called out. She waved a hand at him and slowly sat back down.

“I will be,” she panted, rolling up the window.

“Are you car sick?”

“No,” she answered.

“May I ask what the problem is?”

Tate opened her eyes. Stared at the roof of the car. Blinked back tears.

“Did he really propose to me?” she whispered.

“Yes. Yes, he did,” Sanders assured her.

“Is it real? Are we really supposed to get married today?” she kept on with the questions.

“Yes. In three hours, actually,” he told her, glancing at his watch.

Tate started to cry.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. Sanders sighed and started to crawl over the front seat. She actually started laughing – she'd never seen him do something so awkward. But by the time he was sitting next to her, the laughter had died away.

“Do you not want to get married?” he asked, taking her hand when she held it out to him.

“No. I mean, I do, I do want to get married. I just didn't know it was happening today. I had no idea he wanted to get married,” she sniffled, turning in her seat and swinging her legs up, covering his lap with them.

“You've been together for quite a long time, surely it had to be somewhere in the back of your mind that this might happen,” he pointed out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and scooting her closer

“Well, yeah, in my mind. Jameson's mind is a little different. I thought I would have to propose,” she explained, chuckling a little.

“He would never allow that,” Sanders told her. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I just …, can't believe it. All these years, Sandy, and I still can't believe he'd want to be with someone like me,” she said, pressing her forehead against his neck.

“That's silly, if you'll pardon me saying. Most people would ask how you are able to stay with him,” he pointed out. She shook her head.

“I don't know if I can handle this. It's too much, Sanders. He's just so much,” she whispered.

They were silent for a while. She clenched and unclenched her fingers around his, praying for him to say the right thing. To say something that would calm her down. To say something she needed to hear.

He didn't disappoint.

“You know what I think?” Sanders finally spoke.

“What?”

“Maybe … maybe being in love is like staring at the sun. Exactly where you want to be and too much, all at once,” he said in a soft voice.

Like staring at the sun. Jameson Kane, just the center of my universe, that's all.

“You're always right, Sanders,” she breathed. He chuckled.

“Time doesn't change some things.”

Tate laughed as well, then lifted her head and kissed him.

She and Sanders had a very different kind of relationship. They had never been romantically involved, had never been in love, yet they had been very intimate and were close in ways she had never been with anyone else. She never knew how to explain it. Sanders said they were soulmates, and it made sense to her.

So when she kissed him, it wasn't a sexual act. At least not to them. It was very natural. And he kissed her back, his hand squeezing her own. She smiled against his lips and pulled away a little.

“Do you think he'll still let us do that, after he marries me?” she asked, rubbing her nose.

“Well, what Jameson doesn't know, won't hurt him,” Sanders suggested. Tate burst out laughing.

“Why, Mr. Dashkevich, you have become very naughty in your old age,” she teased.

“Forgive me, Ms. O'Shea, but if I am 'naughty', then it is because you made me this way.”

“Flirt.”

Sanders eventually crawled back into the front seat. Tate took some more deep breaths, wiping at her eyes. Okay. Jameson had proposed. A lot of things made sense now – that must be the reason for bringing in Ang. He would be her maid of honor, so-to-speak. That's why the night before, Ang had kissed her like it would be the last chance he got to do so. That's why Jameson had arranged dinner with her parents. That's why Nick had wanted to talk to her. Everyone but Tate had known what Jameson was planning. He had organized everything very carefully, very secretively.

“Where to now?” Sanders asked, looking at her in the rear view mirror. Tate let out a sigh, ran her hands through her hair.

“To the mall. Let's go back to a mall,” she said.

“You need more stuff?” he questioned. She smiled.

“Just a couple things.”