CHAPTER 10
“Miss Greenwood. Welcome home.” Maria, one of the staff at her parents' house, never failed to welcome Missy with enthusiasm. It didn't matter whether she was away for hours or weeks.
“Hi, Maria. Are my parents home?”
“No, miss.”
“Hmm. That's odd. They knew I was coming.” In fact, her mother had invited her and Zane over for dinner tonight.
“They went to the club but said they'd be home by four.”
“I guess I am kind of early.” She glanced at the time on her cell phone. It was only three-thirty.
“Can I get you something?”
“No, thanks.”
“Not some wine or even water?”
Missy laughed. “No, thanks. I'm fine. Go do what you need to do and don't worry about me. I'll be up in my old room until my parents get back.”
“Yes, miss.” The woman bowed out of the room and left Missy with the surreal feeling of being a guest in her own home.
She'd only moved out a short while ago, but apparently she'd been relegated to visitor status. It seemed ridiculous when as a child there'd been days she'd spent more time in the kitchen with the staff than she had with her parents. She certainly could manage to get herself something to drink if she decided she needed it.
Though given the fact the subject of Amelia's wedding was going to come up, maybe a drink wouldn't hurt.
With a sigh Missy headed up the wide staircase in the foyer to the second floor where her bedroom was located.
The room remained just as she'd left it. Ready in case she needed or wanted to spend the night there, she supposed.
Short of her getting so drunk she couldn't make it back to her apartment twenty-minutes away, barring traffic, she didn't see any reason she would have to stay here.
Though sometimes when Zane was away on assignments for GAPS for days, or even weeks at a time, and she was worried out of her mind about his safety, it could be tempting to run home to her parents.
At those times, it was probably better she didn't do that. Talking about the fear with someone who couldn't really appreciate what it was like was worse than not talking about it at all.
Zane's company was called Guardian Angel Protection Services but at times she wished she had a guardian angel of her own while he was off protecting others.
Sometimes she would call Diana. After being kidnapped together, they'd be friends forever, even if she did live in England.
They had a pact. If either needed to talk, they had an open invite to call—transcontinental time difference be damned. They'd both seen Zane and his team in action.
In full kit, as he called it, he and his team were an intimidating sight. They'd better be because those they fought against showed no mercy. Diana had witnessed both sides, the good and the bad, alongside Missy.
Upstairs in the room she'd occupied for decades, the same room she and Zane would sneak into to have sex until they finally found an apartment and moved in together, she began to feel particularly nostalgic.
Maybe it was this wedding thing throwing her into such an emotional state. Maybe it was the fact Zane had told her to be prepared for him to have to leave the country again soon for GAPS. Maybe she was just hormonal. Who the hell knew?
Whatever it was causing her inner turmoil, she headed for the closet and dropped to her knees.
On the floor, behind boxes of shoes she hadn't worn in years and likely never would again, she felt around blindly until she made contact with what she sought.
Reaching in with both hands, she ducked beneath some full length dresses and dove into the back of the closet, emerging triumphant with the old book stuffed to overflowing with pictures torn out of magazines and pressed flowers—her wedding planning scrapbook.
Knowing it wasn't going to help her already tenuous mood she opened it anyway.
She was immediately transported back to her childhood. She'd devoured bridal magazines right up through her teen years. When other girls her age were into fashion or boy bands, Missy had been eyeball deep into bridal gowns and bridesmaid dresses.
Maybe she wasn't normal but she'd been happy. Working on her book had given her hours of joy. Planning her wedding to Zane all those years ago made it feel even more surreal that she was actually living with him now. And that they weren't married and likely never would be.
She ran her finger over one page, covered with oversized, curly fancy letters—her childlike approximation of calligraphy.
Missy smiled as she read what it said, what she’d written.
Birdseed tied in tulle with ribbon personalized with our names and the date.
It was her note to herself of what she'd wanted the flower girls to hand out to the guests after the ceremony.
Also on the list to distribute to the guests were disposable cameras. Little did she know then that twenty years later everyone just took pictures with their cell phones.
Times certainly had changed.
After one more sentimental look she flipped the cover closed intent on putting her time capsule from the past back from where it had come.
But she didn't put it back in the closet. Instead, she put it on her dresser next to her old jewelry box. The kind that had a music box and a dancing ballerina inside.
The two things she probably should have gotten rid of long ago—the scrapbook and the jewelry box—seemed to belong together.
Maybe she was too sentimental for her own good. Certainly too much so to throw away things that had been a big part of her past.
If she kept this up she'd end up on one of those hoarder shows on television.
“Hey.”
She jumped at the sound and spun to see Zane standing in the doorway. “Hi. You startled me. I didn't hear you come in.”
“Sorry, baby. But I didn't exactly tip toe.” He moved in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.
“You didn't have to. You always move like a damn ninja, I swear.” Scowling, she shook her head.
“Why, thank you.” He smiled.
Missy cocked up one brow. “It wasn't a compliment.”
“I can still choose to accept it as one.” He grinned wider and glanced around the room, his gaze landing on the scrapbook on the dresser. “What's that?”
“Nothing. Just some junk from when I was a kid. I should probably clean that closet out completely.”
“Why?” he asked. “It's not like your parents need the room. There's more than enough rooms and closets in this place.”
“Yet we're renting an apartment with only one closet.”
His lips twitched. “Not true. There's one by the front door and another in the bathroom.”
“That's a coat closet and a linen closet. I'm talking about the single clothes closet in the bedroom.”
“Oh, well, if you're going to get specific.” He smiled. “And you know why I liked that apartment.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know.” She'd heard it all before.
The location. The fireplace. The windows. The architecture. The security. Blah, blah, blah.
All she'd wanted was an elevator so she didn't have to lug groceries up the stairs and big closets for both of their wardrobes so she didn't have to leave half her stuff at her parents' house. She'd gotten neither.
But he was right. It was a beautiful apartment in a great location. And to be with Zane in their own place, to fall asleep next to him each night and wake with him the next morning, she'd live pretty much anywhere.
Even so, more closet space would have been nice.
She stood on tip-toe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Let's go downstairs.”
“Yeah, we should. Your parents were just turning into the drive when I was walking through the door.”
“All right.” Missy nodded. She was ready to take Maria up on her offer of wine . . . or possibly a martini.
Time to get this evening started. Giving one last glance at the scrapbook behind her, she took a step toward the door.
Downstairs her parents were indeed in the front hallway. “Missy. I'm sorry. Were you here long? Are we late?”
“Not long at all, Mother. And you're not late. I was early.”
Reaching the bottom step, she moved forward and gave her mother a kiss, then moved to her father. “Hello, Father.”
“Melissa.” He leaned low and kissed her cheek before extending his hand. “Zane.”
“Senator.”
Her father lifted a brow. “One day you'll stop calling me that.”
“Senator?” Zane laughed. “I'm sure I will. And hopefully it will be because I'll be calling you Mr. President instead.”
The older man drew in a breath. “I think that dream might be over.”
“Oh, I don't know about that. There's always the twenty-twenty election.”
“From your mouth to the party's ears.” He laid a hand on Zane's shoulder and steered him toward the living room. “Let's go get a drink. Shall we?”
“Sounds good to me.” Zane nodded.
Her mother stood and watched the two men, chatting like the best of friends, leave the room together. “It's so nice they get along so well.”
“Yeah, it is.” Strange but nice. Missy followed them out of the room with her gaze then turned toward her mother. Might as well get the inevitable over with. “So I met with Amelia.”
“Oh?” Her mother was very good at playing dumb.
Missy had no doubt her mother knew exactly what they'd discussed. “Yes. She asked me to be in the wedding party.”
“Did she? Just you?”
That pointed question convinced Missy her mother already knew the answer. “Both me and Zane. But I haven't asked him yet so don't bring it up, okay?”
“Why in the world haven't you told him?”
“Because he hates weddings, that's why.” No use pulling any punches.
“Why is that?” A frown creased her mother's brow.
“I wish I knew.” She understood why he was against getting married himself. That was all part of his jockeying for control of his own life and rebelling against his father's wishes.
But why was he so against others getting married? It seemed Zane hated weddings in general and everything that went along with them. That she didn't understand.
“Well, I think it's sweet that Amelia wants you both in her wedding party. You two have been so close since you were children. Remember when you were both flower girls in Coreene's wedding?”
“Yes, Mother. I remember. Of course that was two husbands ago for Coreene,” Missy added under her breath.
Her mother shot her a glance. “Be nice. She's a poor soul.”
“A rich poor soul,” Missy joked.
“Melissa.” There was a clear warning in the tone of the single word.
“Sorry.” Apparently, this wedding stuff was making Missy cranky.
Maybe she did understood Zane's hatred of weddings more than she'd thought.
She sighed. It was definitely a martini kind of night.