CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Frank left me a house in Upper Nyack and I would like to turn it into a sort of dormitory for students from abroad studying at the colleges and universities in New York. There will be a staff, den mothers responsible for providing a homelike environment, and therapists to help these teenagers with the transition. I haven’t a clue where to start, but I am hoping that you will help me through it,” I say to Logan’s brothers.
After seeing Frank in his final resting place with Maggie, I am more determined to give them both this legacy. Dante and Broderick were kind enough to join me in the lighthouse to plan. To Frank, I believe that house was a reminder of what he had and lost. And though in life he never married Maggie and they were never legally bound, I want to bring their legacy together now. I told Madeline about my hopes for Dupree House. She gave me a few pictures of Frank and Maggie that I will frame and have on the walls in the Nyack house as a tribute to them.
“Absolutely, we’ll help. There are thousands of steps from here to opening the doors. Dante and I can help you through the legal and business ends,” says Broderick.
“I would like that, but I imagine it’s all very detailed. I’d hate to make it even longer for you since you’re donating your time for this.”
“Okay, we’ll take it as we go. Creating the job descriptions for the staff, the den mothers, and therapists you mentioned, that’s a good place to start. But before we do anything, you need a sit-down with the Board of Directors for the governing board of higher education for the state of New York.”
My confusion must be easy to see, so Broderick explains. “You’re looking to set up a dormitory that will house students, paying students, for the universities and colleges this board represents. You want Dupree House listed as a housing option, but off campus. That goes against most of the established rules regarding matriculating freshman. You need to pitch your idea, explain what Dupree House can offer these students coming here from abroad. You need to sell them on the idea. If they like it, you’ll qualify for funding through the state, which will help with the ongoing cost to keep Dupree House running long-term.”
“I was so excited with the idea, I didn’t think it all through.”
“It’s a great idea, Saffron, but without their approval, Dupree House will never get off the ground. That doesn’t mean we can’t try another tack, but affiliation to the universities and colleges will be out.”
“Let’s use me,” Logan says from his spot across the room.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“David Cambre, he’s an example of the kind of student you’re trying to help with Dupree House. I’ll come with you and publicly support your idea, share with them my own experiences and how I could have benefited from a place such as Dupree House.”
“But you hate all the press David gets.”
“Yeah, but this is a chance to use David’s celebrity for something good. Hell knows, I’ve dealt with the downside of it. Now we can capitalize on the good side of it.”
“You would do that?”
“For you, absolutely, but it’s more than that. Frank was a good man, and this idea of yours, it’s just plain good.”
“Thank you.” After a moment I turn to Broderick and Dante. “All of you, seriously, thank you.”
“Our pleasure,” Broderick says and adds, “besides, Logan would have kicked our asses if we said no.”
I’m in town food shopping, taking a break from the job descriptions I’ve been working on all morning. Dante called earlier and got us a meeting with the Board of Directors, so I need to start thinking about my pitch, but first I need food. We’ve been away long enough that I’m going to have to feed Reaper dust bunnies.
I see Chastity farther down the street and am tempted to duck into a store because the Seaweed Festival is coming. Though I have been blackballed, there is still the chance she’ll find something, most likely unpleasant, for me to do. The way she’s walking, unlike her normally brisk no-nonsense walk, finally penetrates. She’s almost dragging her feet. Picking up my pace, I come up next to her only to see her flushed face and damp cheeks.
“Chastity, are you okay?”
I’ve surprised her, as evidenced by the snapping up of her head. At first it doesn’t seem she recognizes who I am. “Saffron. What? Do you need something?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ve just got a ton of things to do for the festival.”
“It’s seaweed, Chastity. There can’t be that much.”
She doesn’t immediately bite my head off, her usual response when I disparage the festivals. Instead her shoulders sag. “You’re right. I don’t know why I am doing this.”
“Seaweed?”
“All of it.”
I’m momentarily lacking in words, since I can’t believe Chastity, the biggest proponent of the festivals, is questioning why we have them. “Are you serious?”
“Yes!” Now she bites off my head.
“The festivals are a lot of fun.” For some people.
“Are they? With the way people bitch about me behind my back, I wonder why I bother.”
Oops. I hope it isn’t me she heard dishing, though I haven’t bitched about her in a few days.
“Did you know I was married once?”
Wait. What? “No.”
“Married right out of high school. Never knew why he picked me, but I saw our lives together: we’d live grandly and be so utterly in love. We didn’t live grandly and we weren’t utterly in love but we were a team. Twenty years into our marriage, he left and never came back. No explanation, no warning. Just gone. I hadn’t gone to college. I’d dedicated my life to him, and suddenly the reason I got up every morning, the reason I took care of the house and gardens, the reason I learned how to cook and balance a checkbook, was gone. I woke one morning, a woman in my forties with half of my life over and what did I have to show for it?”
“So you got involved with the festivals.”
“At first it was a distraction, keeping me from thinking about what a failure my life was, but later it gave me purpose. Keeping them going means I didn’t fail again.”
“Your husband failed, not you, Chastity. And I understand what motivates you, but I think you’re selling yourself a bit short. You are a valuable resource to our community, but you push people away. You dictate like a general.”
Insecurity lingers just beneath bravado. “I don’t want to fail again. That’s why I’m so hard.”
“Ever heard the expression you attract more flies with honey? Don’t order. Ask. Engage them and I think you’ll find people will respond to it. They’ll talk to you instead of about you.”
“Have you talked about me behind my back?”
“Repeatedly.”
She stares at me a minute before breaking out into laughter. “At least you’re honest.”
After my Dr. Phil moment with Chastity, I finish my shopping and am waiting to cross the street with my bags. All those years thinking she had a partner only to find out she really didn’t—it’s sad. In the next second, car brakes squeal just as I’m about to cross the street. A strong hand pulls me back, and a familiar voice says, “Are you okay, Saffron?”
A car zooms off down our small street.
It’s George. “Yeah, I guess I just lost my balance.”
“Good thing I was here. That was awfully close. Here, let me help you with your bags.”
He takes a few and walks with me to my car. My hands are shaking, so it takes me a few tries to get the key in the lock. George deposits my bags and looks me over. “You okay to drive?”
“I am and thank you.”
“Drive safe.” He starts off down the street, and my thoughts turn to what nearly happened. I probably wouldn’t have been killed, but I would have definitely gotten a few broken bones. It isn’t that, though, that’s bothering me. It’s the fact that I didn’t lose my balance. It felt like someone pushed me.
It’s been two weeks, but now I’m sitting in the office where the Board of Directors meets, officially waiting to pitch Dupree House. Broderick is here as my legal counsel, which is fortuitous. Logan waits at the back of the room, while Broderick and I touch on a few last points.
I’m nervous, but Dante has put together a fantastic packet of information citing other states with similar housing options and the success of their programs. He has stats on the acceptance rates of overseas students and the actual numbers who attend our universities. There are even a few e-mails from parents of foreign teens accepted into our schools, but who declined because the biggest obstacle for their children was the separation and distance from everything they knew. If there had been the option of housing like Dupree House for their children, they would have been more inclined.
I don’t know the specifics of how he’s acquired all this information, but I do know it was very good advice from Logan to recruit Broderick and Dante. The way they are able to work the system is amazing to watch.
“How are you doing?” Broderick asks once we finish our strategy session.
“Nervous, but I’m ready.”
“Between your pitch, Dante’s research, and Logan, I think we’ve got a really good chance. Remember, push it as a pilot. If it’s successful, it can be the first of many. Dante’s research supports the effectiveness of a program like this.”
Logan takes the seat to my left, reaching for my hand.
“You’re going to be fine. It’s a wonderful idea, Saffron, just let the idea sell them.”
“Thank you for doing this. I mean it, it’s above and beyond.”
“Nonsense.”
At that moment, the door opens and in files our audience. “You got this, Saffron,” Logan whispers. I hope I do.
An hour later, Logan lifts me into his arms and spins me around on the steps outside the building. “You did it.”
“We did it. We’ve got to call Dante,” I say. Dupree House is officially a go.
“Already on it,” Broderick says, his phone in his hand.
Logan drops me back on my feet. “So it begins.”
That night we have a party on the beach behind my house. The gang is all there.
“This is so exciting. What a wonderful way to honor Frank,” Gwen says as we sit around a fire.
“There’s so much to do from this point to getting the doors open, but it’s going to happen.”
Logan and his brothers cooked dinner, chicken and burgers on the grill. “I couldn’t have done it without them.” Them are currently finishing preparing the rest of the food.
“It’s fitting that you’ve got them helping. Frank was family. Logan, I suspect, will be family, and his brothers are his family, so it’s a family thing,” Gwen says.
“What do you mean Logan will be family?” Sure, I see us tying the knot but I get the sense there’s more to Gwen’s statement, like she knows something.
“It’s no secret the man adores you. You don’t think it’s leading to a ring on your finger and a big white wedding?”
“I do, eventually. Why? Do you know something?”
“No,” she answers awfully quickly.
“Speaking of family, I spoke to my mom. She told me I was shooting too high, wasn’t good enough for Logan.”
“Well, she’s stupid.” Gwen’s sporting her mean face.
Chills move through me. The idea of marrying Logan is intoxicating.
“You have our approval,” Josh says. “He’s a good guy. He loves you, that’s clear. He’s tight with his brothers, which says something. Plus, he’s just so fucking nice to look at.”
This earns him a look from Derek, to which he replies, “And you aren’t thinking the same thing.”
“I am, but silently, no need to voice the obvious.”
Josh chuckles. “Wedding dress shopping in Bar Harbor after he pops the question.”
“Seriously, do you guys know something I don’t?” Where is all of this coming from?
“Maybe, but I’ll think it silently since there’s no need to voice the obvious,” Josh says.
The distinct sound of motorcycles comes from the front of the house. We invited Dirk and his friends, since they were going to be in the area.
A few minutes later, Josh says, “Who the hell is that?”
“You weren’t kidding this town is small. I think if I sneezed I would have driven right through it,” Dirk says in way of greeting.
“Likely. You hungry?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Beers are in the cooler and we’re grilling. Let me introduce you to the gang.”
Later, after everyone has left, Logan and I walk along the beach. It’s late and I’m tired, but it was such a great day that I don’t want to see it come to an end. “It was great seeing Dirk. I’m so glad he took us up on our offer.”
“Me too.”
There’s a thoughtfulness to Logan, as if he’s distracted. I’m about to ask what’s on his mind when he says, “Do you know what made me want to be an artist?”
“No.”
“Our house in Scotland is in Glen Isla, that’s on the eastern edge of Scotland, about eighty or so miles from Glasgow. The Grampian Mountains are the backdrop and the glens are cradled between the steep slopes, a lush green that seems to go on forever. I was five, sitting in my yard playing and I saw a horse in the distance. It was wild. We have them in Scotland, but the sight of that white horse seeming to just appear, I thought it was magic. One only I could see. I drew it on construction paper with crayons, that horse in that glen. My mom framed it. It still hangs in our living room.
“When I got older, I understood what it was about that horse that pulled at me so. The feeling I felt at watching it running through that glen, wild and free, it’s how I feel when I create. Alive, not just living, but drunk on life. Through the years, and perhaps as I became a professional artist, I lost that feeling. I didn’t realize I had lost it, or even missed it, until I walked into Tucker’s and saw you, beautiful, wild and alive.”
I stop walking. Overwhelmed, happy, drunk with love for him, I can do nothing more than stand there and soak in those feelings.
“Saffron?”
“That is, hands down, the sweetest compliment I have ever received.”
“Maybe now you understand exactly how much you mean to me. I heard you talking to your friends about your mom. She’s completely wrong. Don’t ever doubt what I feel for you, it’s as vast and as lasting as that bay.”
“I have doubted it, but I won’t again.”
“Good. Now I want to make love to you, here or inside doesn’t matter to me, so I’ll let you choose. You’ve got to the count of ten.”
I move, but not toward the house. “Why not love me here and inside?”
His arms wrap tight around me, drawing me into his warm embrace. “I like how your mind works.”
The day of the Seaweed Festival has arrived. I’m on my way into town for the parade because nothing says seaweed like a parade. While I understand Chastity better after our talk, part of me still doesn’t even want to go. Yet, considering that Logan has really gotten into this festival, I can’t not show up. The man is making a kelp cake, for Christ’s sake.
He was up and out of the house before I even awoke: leaving me a note stating he had some last-minute festival things to do. What those things are, I have no idea, unless he’s dredging the ocean for more seaweed.
Reaching the heart of town, I see people lining the street. What if we are some alien experiment to see how far the human imagination can be pushed before it’s suspended? I think with this festival, my imagination is about at its limit.
Reaper trots along next to me, oblivious to the fact that the town is gathering to celebrate the wonders and allure of seaweed, though he’s clearly smelling the nasty stuff, since his nose hasn’t stopped twitching. I can’t help but sniff the air myself for the traces of the airborne narcotic that is clearly being pumped into our town’s air supply.
Reaching the bakery, I see Josh and Gwen waiting for me—Josh has my coffee and Gwen is holding Reaper’s doggie bagel. Bless them.
“Thank you,” I say as I take that first most welcome sip.
“I have to say, I am more than a little surprised by the turnout,” Gwen says, but I’m looking around her for Mitch.
“Couldn’t get Mitch jazzed about the weed of the sea?”
She throws me a look and grins. “He’s joining us later at the ball.”
“Another ball? Are you kidding me?”
“No,” Josh offers.
“Are we dressing up?”
Josh looks completely affronted. “Of course we are dressing up.”
“Well, I have nothing to wear,” I say.
“You do,” Josh offers cryptically.
Immediately I’m suspicious. “Meaning?”
“It’s taken care of; you’re going and you’re going to like it. Your man has been working very hard to make this a successful festival, so the least you can do is show up and look pretty.”
I have the strongest urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I refrain and turn my head toward the parade that has started.
The Harrington marching band, all seven members, is followed by the cheerleading squad. The car that appears after them makes the coffee I just sipped go down the wrong pipe. As I try to pull air into my lungs, Josh whacks my back with far more enthusiasm than the situation requires. When I’m able to breathe again, I ask, “Am I the only one having this nightmare?”
“No,” Gwen says with genuine surprise in her voice. “What is she wearing?”
It is only when the car gets closer that we can see what Shalee is wearing.
“Oh my God, she’s wrapped in seaweed. What the hell is she thinking? I didn’t think there was enough seaweed in the world to cover those.” Josh gestures to his chest with his hand.
“They’re barely covered,” Gwen says.
“Where’s Logan?” I ask.
“He and George must be putting the last-minute touches on the cake.”
I suppose that’s possible, since the man is an artist and takes pride in his work, even if that work is a kelp cake.
“I can’t watch this anymore,” I say.
“Yeah, let’s go to Tommy’s,” Josh offers.
Alcohol, brilliant. Necessary. “Yes, let’s do that.”
As I sit in the booth with Gwen and Josh, I can’t help but think of Shalee. The vision of her dressed like that in a tub of soy sauce pops into my head, but I immediately dismiss it and have another sip of wine. The parade seems to have ended as people start filing into Tucker’s for lunch. Reaper is in Tommy’s office on his doggie bed: one of his most favorite places to sleep. When the door opens again, Broderick and Dante enter and we call them over to join us.
“Did you see the parade?” Broderick asks. I know he means Did you get a load of Shalee?
Lifting my glass, I eye him over the rim. “I’m trying really hard to pretend that I didn’t, but the image seems to be burned onto my retina.” I take a sip before I place the glass down. “Who does that? Voluntarily wraps themselves in seaweed?”
“There are spas where you’d have to pay to have that done,” Josh says.
“Whatever,” I say. “Where’s Derek?”
“He’s resting up for the ball. You know him, he’s a dancing fool.”
“Why didn’t I know anything about this ball? Everyone seems to know but me.”
“Logan didn’t tell you?” Josh asks.
“Nope.”
They all seem to exchange glances but say nothing.
“Outside of the surprise of Shalee, I think the day has been quite a lot of fun. I’m looking forward to the ball,” Dante says right before Sarah places his beer on the table.
“Me too,” Gwen says. “Hopefully we three will have a better showing than the last one.”
My reply is immediate. “I rather liked the last ball, quite a lot actually.”
Reaper is right on my heels when I head for the closet to dress for this event, but when I open the door, I let out a startled gasp. Hanging in plain sight is a Hervé Léger peacock-colored bandage dress with thin shoulder straps and a deep V neckline. The dress is made of nylon and spandex, so when I get it on, it is going to hug every inch of me. It’s gorgeous, sexy, and more daring than anything I’ve ever worn. A note pinned to the hanger in Logan’s handwriting reads: Wear me.
I start to pull it from the closet, but glance down as I do. Christian Louboutin crystal-covered peep-toe pumps with the signature red sole? My eyes practically pop out of my head. Another note resting against them says: Wear us too. I grin like a fool as I pull my treasures from the closet.
Once my hair is dried and pulled into a twist after my shower, I take my time applying my makeup: darkening my lashes, using kohl and dark blue around my eyes, tinting my cheeks and lips.
The gown is such that you can’t wear anything under it, something I have never done before, but as I slip it on, it feels like a second skin. It comes to rest at midthigh and the back is open to below my shoulder blades. Slipping on the pumps, I walk to my jewelry box for a pair of earrings, but a black leather box is resting on top. My breath stills in my lungs when I open it. The most beautiful pair of diamond chandelier earrings that I have ever seen is nestled in the black satin. Pear, marquise, and brilliant-cut diamonds are arranged in a staggering pattern, over seven carats, if I had to guess, and they’re real. Of that I am certain.
My hands shake slightly as I lift each one and slip them into my ears—they sparkle every time I move my head. I think I’m in shock. They’re too much, and I should insist that Logan return them, but I don’t want him to. I step in front of the mirror and can’t believe it’s me looking back. Never in my life have I ever felt as sexy as I feel right now wearing this incredible ensemble.
No wonder Logan has been MIA for days—the man has been very busy. He’s spoiling me and I love it. Why all of this for the Seaweed Festival? I can’t say, but I’m having too much fun to care. I’m pulled from my reflection by the sound of someone at my front door. Opening it, I find Broderick and Dante, who can’t hide their surprise at the clingy bandage dress.
“Nice,” Broderick says. “We’re here to take you to the ball. Logan’s meeting us there.”
I grab my wrap. “I’m ready.”
Traffic, a first for our little town, is clogging our way. The closer we get to our destination, I see the news vans and reporters.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I guess the Seaweed Festival has attracted interest,” Broderick offers.
Why? My airborne narcotic theory is looking better and better. We park and walk up the steps, but we’re delayed as our pictures are taken. I have to say that I feel a little bit like I’m on the red carpet. When we get inside, we see far more people than I was expecting. Everyone looks so beautiful. As soon as we’re spotted, attention turns to us. It’s odd, but before I can ponder it, more of my friends emerge from the crowd. The men, like Broderick and Dante, are wearing tuxes and Gwen is wearing a gown, the color the barest of pinks, a Carmen Marc Valvo couture, I believe, and against her skin tone it looks ethereal.
“You look stunning, Gwen.”
“Thank you. And you, you look”—she wipes at a tear rolling down her cheek—“happy, Saffron, really, truly happy. You deserve this.”
I want to ask, deserve what? But Josh speaks up. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the doors leading into the ball and takes my wrap from me.
“Where’s Logan?” I ask.
“He’s already inside.” Broderick holds out his arm. “Ready?”
I’m clearly not on the same page as everyone else and then the doors open on a room looking like something out of a magazine. The ceiling is draped in pale-gold fabric with white twinkling lights that give the effect of being both whimsical and elegant.
“I thought this was the Seaweed Festival. Where’s the kelp?” My brain is clearly not working on all cylinders, stunned by the beauty before me.
“No kelp, Saffron,” says Josh.
He can say that again. The walls are also covered in pale gold. Scattered throughout the large space are six-foot-tall, free-standing, four-arm silver candlesticks holding gold candles, and nestled within their arms rest arrangements of flowers: pink and white sweet peas, white and purple hydrangeas, dark-pink peonies and yellow roses accented with lycopodium. Large circular tables with delicate gold chairs, artistically arranged around the large space, are covered in pale-gold cloth, fine bone china, crystal stemware, silver cutlery, and centered in each is the same floral arrangement, just on a smaller scale.
Logan, dressed completely in black, walks across the floor in that elegant way of his. “You look exquisite.”
Tingles work along my skin, not just at the compliment, but at the expression on his face that reads loud and clear: mine. As magnificent as it all is, I’m completely confused. “I don’t understand. What is all of this?”
He doesn’t answer my question, but asks, “Did you see the cake?”
On the opposite side of the room on a table draped in gold is, in fact, a cake, though that word seems weak given what I see. It’s six-tiered, pearly white, with flowers cascading down the side, edible versions of the flowers in the arrangements. “It’s beautiful. Is that the kelp cake? You and George made that?” They had missed their calling.
He laughs as the band starts to play “One Thing” from Gabe Dixon. He draws me out onto the dance floor.
His lips brush over my jaw before he whispers, “Do you like your surprise?”
I pull slightly back. “I’m still not getting it.”
A smile curves his lips, but he says nothing and only holds me closer. I rest my head against his chest and realize we are the only ones dancing. Not only aren’t people dancing, but everyone is standing around the dance floor watching us while camera flashes spark around the room. When the song comes to an end, Logan takes a step back from me and gets down on one knee. My heart slams into my ribs. He reaches for my hand.
“From the very first moment I saw you, I knew that you were the one for me. I love you, Saffron Dupree. I want a lifetime with you, getting nailed in the face by funnel cakes, watching movies in our pj’s, avoiding the Fletcher car when we’re walking down the sidewalk. I want to get drunk on your laugh and lose my breath when I look into your eyes. Marry me.”
The tears that had collected in the corners of my eyes are now running down my face: happy tears, ecstatic tears. I’m shaking my head yes, trying to push the words out, but he doesn’t need them. He stands, takes my hand, and slides on his ring: an oval diamond that’s at least four carats, framed by baguettes and nestled in a platinum band. Flashes go off around the room, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he looks deeply into my eyes. He lowers his head and presses his lips to mine, a mere brushing of lips, and then he cradles my face in his palms and takes the kiss deeper.
As dinner is being served, I’m still in mild shock. Logan proposed—I guess my friends did know something I didn’t. I’m deliriously happy. My insides are all tingly like bubbles in champagne; the fact that I haven’t splintered apart into sparkly wonder is amazing. What I don’t get, though, is why all the cameras. I lean a bit closer to Logan and whisper, “This is all incredible, but why the fanfare?”
There’s love looking back at me. “For better or for worse, David Cambre is a part of who I am and if I want to share all of myself with you, then a part of that is sharing you with David’s world, which is why I invited the press. Besides, I want everyone to know that I’m in love”—he traces the line of my jaw—“and that my heart is no longer my own.”
We share a moment as I let those words settle over me. “So, is it safe to say there is no seaweed ball?”
He chuckles and rests his hand on the back of my chair so his fingers can brush along the nape of my neck.
“We tried to think of the most absurd thing. Josh came up with seaweed.”
Josh is laughing behind his hand.
“I’m actually relieved, because I was seriously beginning to think our town was under some kind of mass hallucination. Wait, so what was up with the kelp cake?”
“I needed to distract you while the party planner walked through town. It’s also why I suggested visiting the house Frank left you. I needed you away.”
My eyes widen a moment before narrowing. “You’re sneaky. Chastity was in on it then.”
“Oh yeah, liked the idea of tricking you far more than the situation warranted,” Logan replies.
“And Shalee?”
I can tell from his blank look that he has no idea what I’m talking about. “Shalee wrapped herself in seaweed for the parade. Really, Logan, you missed her? She was sexy sushi right there on Main Street.”
His eyes roam over me in a very slow and blatant perusal, before his gaze returns to mine and it’s sex, pure and simple, in that hot stare. “I didn’t miss anything.”
“Oh dear God,” I moan and reach for my water glass. Pity I can’t just pour it right on my head.
Josh provides the insight on Shalee. “She heard about the camera crews, so she tried to get her fifteen minutes of fame.”
“And so she thinks of a seaweed wrap? Well, I hope that worked out for her,” I say.
“Actually, it didn’t, because she got an allergic reaction. I’d never seen full-body hives before,” Derek adds.
I shudder. I can’t really help it.
Logan hasn’t stopped kissing and touching me, and when he isn’t near me his eyes just soak up the sight of me. I’m engaged. I don’t think I’ve fully grasped that concept yet. What I have grasped is that Logan went to a lot of effort to make this night perfect. Even with all the reporters and cameras, it’s still just Harrington and everyone I’d want to celebrate with.
We cut the cake, which, thankfully, is decadent chocolate, not kelp, have a champagne toast, and then Logan whisks me from the hall while the party is still going on.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we practically run down the steps of Town Hall only to find a limo parked and waiting with a chauffeur holding the door open for us. Once we’re inside, Logan’s mouth is on mine as his hands roam and claim every part of me he touches. He draws me back with him as he settles against the seat, his hands on the hem of my skirt, lifting it as he settles me on his lap so that my legs are straddling him.
“Have you ever done it in a limo?” he whispers, and he sounds just like a teenager before his lips burn a trail down my throat.
“No.”
“Me neither.” And then those eyes find mine. “But I really, really want to.”
“Oh God, me too.”
His eyes turn even darker before his mouth claims mine. I pull my mouth from his and press a kiss to his ear. “I’m not wearing anything under this.”
Instantly, I feel him grow hard under me. I reach for the button of his trousers. His hands move up my legs to my hips. He lifts my dress so that my ass is bare. His hands moving over my skin make lust burn right down to my toes. I wrap my hand around his erection and pull him free and take a moment to fondle the length of him, loving the way he feels so hard and silky smooth. Guiding the head right where we both want it, I sink down hard, my body stretching to take him. He tugs my dress down to free my breasts and I respond my pressing myself into him as his tongue flicks my nipple. My hips take on the age-old dance and I slide up and down along his hard length. His thumb moves between my legs and when I come, I bury my face in his neck to stifle my moan. His hands tighten on me seconds before he comes, a growl rumbling low in his throat. When I lift my head, he looks positively sinful and sounds it too. “Definitely need to do that again.”
Putzing around the house the next day, I can’t seem to stop staring at my ring. I spoke to Logan’s parents earlier; they’re catching a flight next week. I’m really looking forward to meeting them in person, because the folks I spoke with over the phone were delightful. I’m also sad that Frank isn’t here to walk me down the aisle, but I plan on asking Tommy, since he’s been like a brother to me in every sense of the word. I give a passing thought to sharing the news with my parents, but the last conversation with my mom is still fresh in my mind, so I’m not feeling particularly chatty.
In the living room, my eyes fall on the chess set. Frank’s last link to Maggie. I couldn’t imagine losing Logan, watching him die and then being forced to live a full life without him. It’s a testament to Frank’s strength that he was able to do so.
A knock at the door has me changing directions. Broderick and Dante are on my front step. I don’t even get a hello out before Broderick grabs me into a hug. “Welcome to the family.”
“Don’t hog, Broderick,” Dante teases before he pulls me into a hug as well. “Now you are officially our little sister. Our brother is a rock head, but he’s a good guy and he loves you.”
So this is what it feels like to have a real family. Broderick says, “He’ll make you happy. There’s baggage with Logan, as you know, the celebrity part of his world can be a serious drag, but you do learn to deal.”
“I’ve had a small taste of it and I know I’m going to have to get thicker skin, but it isn’t going to make me walk away from him. Is that what you’re worried about?” The worry I sense coming from Broderick is surprising.
“Logan has to deal with this nonsense, it’s part of his gig, but you’ll be forced to deal with it too. It can be overwhelming and, depending on how much the press sinks into the story, infuriating. But it does all eventually even out.”
“I’ll weather the storm, Broderick.”
“And we’ll be here to help you.”
I won’t ask, since Broderick is clearly concerned, but just how bad is it going to get?
“How are the job descriptions going?” Dante changes the subject.
“I just finished them before we went to New York, was going to drop by later, but I’ll get them now.”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
As I retrieve the papers, Dante is still talking. “We’re going to need to make the house handicap accessible, which means getting a contractor to detail what needs to be done.”
“I didn’t think of that.” I place the pages in front of Dante. “Okay, I need to look at furnishing the house too, how many beds in a room, etc.”
“Not to mention bathrooms. The house has . . . three? We may need to add another in the basement. I have a list of contractors. We can get some references,” Broderick suggests.
For the next hour or so we talk about Dupree House.
Broderick and Dante have just left when there’s another knock at the door. Thinking they forgot something, I open the door saying, “Did you . . .” But my words die on my tongue at the sight of Darla. Surprise isn’t a strong enough word to express my feelings about seeing Darla in Maine. What the hell is she doing here? She doesn’t wait to be invited in. She breezes into my house like an old Hollywood starlet. She’s still wearing Logan’s ring. Is that why she’s here?
“What are you doing here, Darla? How the hell did you get here?”
“Plane.” That’s spoken as if it’s obvious, which I guess it kind of is. “You don’t heed advice very well, do you?”
These are her words of greeting. I don’t think I would have started in with that.
“Meaning?”
“I warned you to stay out of it.”
It takes me a minute to understand what’s she’s implying and, when I do, my mouth drops open. “Are you saying you’re the person who sent me the threats?”
“Well, of course, who else?”
Right, who else? I suppose it’s comforting to know that there isn’t a line forming around my house or, more to the point, that the mastermind behind the threats isn’t a criminal genius.
“I see you’re still wearing his ring,” I say.
“I’m engaged to him. Of course I’m wearing his ring.”
“You really aren’t, though. You haven’t been for quite some time, and I’d think this would have sunk in by now. It isn’t really a hard concept to grasp.”
“What?”
“He’s suing you. He has done everything he can to make it clear that you are over. Why won’t you move on?”
“No, I won’t move on.”
I stand there and wait for more: the declaration of her undying love, her inability to live without him, or any reason at all that would make a grown woman continue to chase after a man who doesn’t want her, and has made that clear via legal counsel. But I get nothing except another no, delivered much in the way Callie delivers her no when she doesn’t want to go to bed.
Leaning up against the wall, I find I’m actually enjoying myself. “So what exactly is the plan here? You want him and he isn’t interested, but you won’t take no for an answer. What’s next?”
An expression remarkably like that of a belligerent child crosses over her face. “I sent you the package.”
I widen my eyes at that before I clarify, “The bird’s head?”
“Yes.”
“So your plan is to kill the competition?” Stepping from the wall, I glance out the window and, as suspected, there is a big-ass limo parked right in front of my house. I turn back to Darla.
“Okay, so you travel here, via plane, using your own name, I’m guessing.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Rent that”—I point to the limo—“under your name and park that huge white attention-getter right in front of my house, with a potential witness in the driver, so you can come in here and kill me? Did you think this through at all or are you just winging it?”
She clenches her hands into fists and stomps her foot before she half-screams and half-whines. “He’s mine.”
Honestly, it’s like dealing with a spoiled child. Using my best mother voice, I snap, “Enough!”
Her rant instantly stops and her crestfallen expression still looks like that of a bewildered child.
“Are you aware that the sheriff has your little package and that a report has been filed? If I wanted to, I could press charges and have you sent to jail since you used the postal service, which automatically makes it a federal offense.”
Her face immediately pales.
“Exactly. This isn’t a game. You walk into my home and threaten me. Are you aware that as an intruder in my home you could get shot and the law would be on my side?”
I can tell from her deer-in-the-headlights expression that, no, she had not thought of that. “This is the real world, and not the pampered one you live in, so unless you’re prepared to carry out your threats, I suggest you go home, have a good cry, and then move on.” I step a bit closer. “I’ll give you this one meltdown, but if you come at me again I will sic the law on you. And by coming here today in such a very visible way, you’re helping to establish a pattern of aggressive behavior. You aren’t making it very difficult for the cops to build a case against you.”
And as if on cue, my front door opens and in walks Logan and Sheriff Dwight. Logan looks stupendously pissed.
“I warned you, Darla.”
“It’s okay. Darla was just leaving, weren’t you?”
But her eyes are on my hand stretched out to pause the men, and the ring she didn’t see earlier. When she lifts her head to Logan, her eyes are filled with tears. “You really have moved on.”
Some of the harshness eases from his tone. “Yes.”
Her expression is like watching a curtain lift to reveal the wizard as reality sinks in. She walks to Logan and yanks off her ring.
“Keep it,” he says.
“No.”
He holds out his hand and she drops it into his palm. “I won’t bother you again.”
And then she’s gone, her exit a far cry from her dramatic entrance.
“Are you folks good?” Sheriff Dwight asks.
“How did you know she was here?” With timing like that maybe Logan is the wizard.
“I’ve got eyes on her. My PI told me she was catching a flight into Bar Harbor. Overestimated a bit on how long it was going to take her to get here.”
The following morning I wake, but Logan’s side of the bed is empty, and his sheets cold. Climbing from bed and pulling on the robe that Logan left draped over a chair for me, I go in search of him. I find him in his studio, but he isn’t sitting behind an easel. Instead he is looking outside. I take a moment to enjoy the view, his broad, tense shoulders and muscled back tapering to his narrow waist.
“Logan.”
He turns to me and the smile that spreads over his face makes my heart flip over in my chest. “I like you in my robe. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes in response. “Logan, what’s wrong?”
He stops just in front of me and starts to gently rub his hands up and down my arms. There is something brewing in his expression, but before I can ask him what’s troubling him, he says something that causes my heart to stop beating for a moment.
“I think I made a mistake.”
My face pales. I feel the blood draining from it. I take a step away from him.
“Saffron, what’s wrong?”
I can’t bear to ask but I have to. “Mistake? Would that mistake be getting engaged to me?”
He wraps me into his arms. “I hate your parents, because their neglect makes you question what you know is true,” he says with anger. “No, it wasn’t a mistake getting engaged to you. I would marry you in front of all the world and be the happiest man alive. No, the mistake I made was inviting the press.”
I pull back to look at him. “Why?”
He gestures toward the window and I look out to see reporters camped out on the beach below.
“Oh.” I turn from the window to see him studying me.
“When I invited the press, I didn’t think about the downside of it, namely the ones in it not for the story but for sensationalism. Some of them can be quite cruel, and I opened the door. That was a mistake.”
Walking back to him, I wrap my arms around his waist. “How bad can it be?”
“You have no idea.”