HAPTER SEVEN
Tossing and turning, I hardly slept that night. Only around dawn did I finally manage to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. Then, somehow, I slept until noon.
Later that afternoon, once the caretakers had cleared out of the Arch Gardens, Celeste and I headed in for some archery practice, which I was more than grateful to do. I needed something, anything, to distract me from what was going to happen that night. The event that I was determined not to enjoy, but scared that I would. And I didn’t want to, because I wanted to show Jackson that two could play at the business arrangement game, the game I felt like he’d been playing from the moment he’d given the scientists a sum of gold for me.
I also didn’t want to enjoy our mating, because a little part of me wondered if it might make me change my mind about the decision I’d made. I wanted to remain steadfast. I felt like it was the right solution to a very complicated problem, and I was determined not to waver or doubt myself. And so, because of all this, I was determined not to enjoy my mating session with Jackson. I knew this might be infinitely easier said than done, but I felt strong. I felt like I was up to the task. I’d just have to focus on things other than what I was engaged in physically. I’d maybe focus on mentally reciting the alphabet backward, or something.
Within a few minutes of us beginning our practice session, Celeste remarked that I seemed a little quiet and serious and asked me if anything was wrong.
I set the longbow down with a sigh. “Not anymore. Not now that everything that’s been wrong is going to end. I’m going back home—eventually. After I give Jackson an heir.”
Right away archery practice was suspended indefinitely when Celeste demanded that I tell her everything. And she meant everything, she said.
Amid winding trails lined with both bright yellow and pale yellow daffodils, we sat down on the wide stone edge of the koi pond, and I proceeded to spill my guts.
Once I’d finished, Celeste asked if I was really sure about my choice. “Because you know, you could be really happy here in DC, particularly as the mother of Commander Wallace’s heir. And just on a purely selfish level, well, I’d really miss you so much if you left. I know we’ve only been friends for a few weeks, but even with that short length of time, you’re still the longest-term close friend I’ve ever had in my adult life. So, really think about it. Are you really positive you want to leave?”
I inhaled deeply through my nose, breathing in the fresh, sweet scent of flowers, ferns, and numerous other green and growing things. Normally, this scent seemed to quell any anxieties I had, and fairly quickly, but not today. I exhaled the breath I’d taken feeling as if my brain was somehow stretched tightly, like a rubber band.
“I’m sure about my decision. And I’m sorry that I’m going to have to leave, and leave you, in particular, and your grandma, too, but I know it’s the right thing for me. I can’t stay here after having been used as a bought-with-gold personal baby factory. I have to go home. And I’m at peace with my decision.”
“Then why do you have such a deep crease between your eyes right now?”
A quiet second or two ticked by, with the gurgling of the fountain the only noise. Then I abruptly got up from the fountain and began walking back over to where our bows are. “Come on. We need to practice. By the time I leave the CFS, I want you a hundred and ten percent ready to defend this city against any possible Gorgolian attacks.”
We practiced for hours, until my back was aching and my arms were like jelly.
Afterward, starving, we took the elevator down to a gourmet sandwich shop on the fourth floor of The Arch for a fast, casual dinner. While we ate, a few young women at a nearby table started casting glances my way and speaking in low, hushed voices. At first, I was only able to catch a few words of what they were saying, and those words were lucky, then insanely, and then lucky again. Then the voice of one of the young women, a curvy redhead, briefly rose above the rest.
“Just think about it... Commander Wallace. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t even be able to handle seeing him naked without actually fainting.”
The table of young women erupted in quiet, stifled giggles, and I set my half-eaten sandwich down, stomach suddenly churning.
“I think I’m done.”
After swallowing a tiny, dainty bite, the size of bite that was typical for her, Celeste gestured to my sandwich with her own. “Oh, no you don’t. You finish that. You’ll probably need some extra energy later tonight.” She actually gave me a little smile and the faintest hint of a wink. “It takes energy, you know. Probably especially the way Commander Jackson does it.”
Now she looked like she was positively straining to withhold a laugh.
Sighing, I picked up my sandwich. “Why are you sitting with me? You should go sit over with them and join their giggle fest.”
She let a little giggle escape her mouth right then, and I just rolled my eyes, probably a bit immaturely, but I could hardly help it. The immaturity I was currently surrounded with seemed to be contagious.
However, once we were in the elevator ascending to our respective apartments, Celeste became a bit more serious. “Just try to relax and enjoy the experience if you can, which, for some reason, I just don’t think that will be very difficult. It’ll all be fine. Just try to relax and enjoy things until you can go back home, if that’s what you really want. And if your nerves start getting the better of you anyway, just remember—like the girls at the sandwich shop were saying—there are many, many women who consider you extremely lucky.”
The elevator came to a stop; the doors opened, and she glided out, giving me what I knew was intended to be a reassuring smile.
A while later, I toweled off after having taken a long bath in the sunken marble tub in my master bedroom. I’d taken it in hopes of it relaxing me, though it hadn’t exactly done the job completely. The churning in my stomach that I’d been experiencing at the sandwich shop had stopped, only to be replaced by a sensation of butterflies. Except they were butterflies that felt like they were perhaps crossed with Mexican jumping beans.
Wrapped in a plush, white towel, I stood in front of a wide, polished oak dresser in my bedroom, trying to decide what to wear. On the top of the dresser sat several tall pillar candles, some of them white and some of them red, which I’d lit before my bath so that I could dress while smelling the hopefully calming scents of vanilla and rose. But now, staring at my dresser, I realized that I didn’t know exactly what to dress in. I had no idea what one was supposed to wear to a pre-arranged mating session. I also now realized that I didn’t even know if Jackson would be coming down to my apartment, or if I was supposed to be going up to him. Again, I found myself not very knowledgeable in regards to the ins and outs of prearranged mating sessions.
However, I didn’t have much time to speculate about protocol. Because right then, the sound of a fairly loud, confident knock reached me all the way in the bedroom. It was time. Whether I felt lucky or not, which I decidedly did not at that moment. I just felt half-sick with the sensation of jumping bean butterflies having a wild party in my stomach.
Deciding there was no sense in getting dressed now, I padded out to the foyer and opened the door, heart pounding. Dressed in navy blue dress pants and a crisp white Oxford shirt open at the collar, Jackson stood holding a single red rose, looking more devastatingly handsome than I’d ever seen him. It was the first time I’d ever seen him not clad in his black military uniform, and the bright whiteness of his shirt highlighted the light golden tan color of his skin, and the darkness of his thick, nearly black hair.
After very briefly flicking his gaze from my face to my towel-clad body and then back up to my face again, seeming to inhale rather sharply while he did so, he handed me the rose. “For you.”
I took it with a hand that was now trembling just slightly. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ll go put it in a vase right now. But maybe not right now; maybe I’ll just wait a while. Maybe I’ll just wait a bit until, just, later.”
I was babbling, obviously, and I realized it. Face warming up a tad, I suddenly fell silent. But then I realized I hadn’t yet invited Jackson in, so I did so, then set the rose on the foyer table. Once I’d shut the door behind him, we just looked at each other for a second that felt like a hundred until he spoke.
“As best as you can recall, considering your amnesia, have you ever been carried to your bedroom by a man with a secret fake name so bad it almost teases itself?”
In spite of my nerves, I actually laughed briefly. “No. Why? Is Mr. Archibald Shufflebottom-Hogwood offering?”
Jackson’s midnight blue eyes danced with amusement.
“He is. And though he’s an aged, stately diplomat of possible British origins, he has a reputation for being one of the best carriers of beautiful women in the entire world.”
I laughed again, unable to help myself. “Well, maybe I should see for myself.”
With the corners of his mouth twitching, Jackson dipped his head in a slight nod. “Maybe you should.”
“Just don’t drop me, Archibald.”
He didn’t. After scooping me up in one swift, seemingly effortless movement, he carried me into the bedroom, telling me other random, silly things “Archibald” was supposedly good at, like skipping rope, ornamental hedge sculpting, and competing in potato sack races, making me laugh some more. His arms felt good around me, solid and strong, as did the feel of his hard chest against the side of my body. With my arms wrapped around his neck, I covertly breathed in his masculine, woodsy scent, realizing that my hard-partying, jumping butterflies had settled down a bit.
They didn’t stay settled for long, though. Once Jackson set me down at the foot of my bed in my candlelit bedroom, after having flicked off the overhead light on our way in, my nerves came back with a vengeance. Our arranged mating was finally happening, and I knew I couldn’t back out now.