Page 16 of Heavy Equipment
Her brown eyes brighten. “That would be amazing. I don’t know anyone here.”
“Then I’m your girl,” I say, meaning it.
“We’re doing rehearsals for the whole tour, so I’ll be here for a few months.”
“Do you have any family with you?”
“No, my guardian—that is, Liam isn’t—” She blushes, making her tan skinned turn a pretty plum. “I have a security detail from my guardian’s company.”
“They must be the ones requesting structural changes.”
She looks rueful. “I’m afraid we’re making a nuisance, and the tour hasn’t even started.”
“Don’t be silly. You can never be too safe.” I look out at the audience, the overwhelming blackness where thousands of people can sit. Someone could be there right now, and I wouldn’t be able to see them. A shiver runs down my spine.
We exchange phone numbers before I leave her to practice.
Behind the stage there’s a maze-like warren of hallways, most of the doors locked shut. It makes me wonder what’s behind them. And if any of them have that leftover stripper pole.
“Boo,” comes a soft voice behind me, and I whirl, my heart thumping.
“You scared me,” I accuse the Asher-shaped shadow behind me.
A low chuckle. “I saw you talking with the violinist.”
“We’re going shopping.” I glance at him uncertainly. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Shopping? No. You have my credit card.”
“It’s not really for buying things. It’s just girl time.”
“Buy whatever you want.”
I look away, my cheeks heating. “Great,” I manage, my voice breaking.
“Hey. What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that she’s so talented. And so young. I was raised to be a society wife, to host dinners and balls—and now you don’t even want that from me.”
He lifts my chin so I have to look at him. “Host whatever dinners and balls you want. I’m not going to stop you. I’m just not making that a requirement of being my wife. You’re not my fucking event planner.”
“Then what am I?” I ask, the haunting melody washing over me.
Asher basically bought me from my father, which felt like an insult. It occurs to me now that there’s another side. He could have approached me at any one of the galas or society events I attended. He could have asked me out at a coffee shop. Instead he made an offer I could not refuse, almost as if he feared I wouldn’t accept him otherwise.
His dark eyes burn with intensity. “You’re a young woman with your whole life to figure out what you want to do. Play a musical instrument or start a business? Adopt ten thousand cats? Try everything. Or nothing. You’re someone who saw a lonely girl and didn’t waste any time making her feel included.”
I shake my head, rueful. “Making friends. That’s not exactly a special talent.”
“It’s your talent, one most people wish they had.”
“Are we friends?” I ask softly.
“Friends,” he repeats, tasting the word. “No, sweetheart. You can make friends with every person in the city, but you come home to me. You sleep in my bed. What am I? You’re a hundred different things, a thousand, but most of all—you’re mine.”
EPILOGUE
The cherry blossom represents the ephemeral nature of life. It marks the end of winter and celebrates the renewal of spring.
Cherry blossom trees only bloom once a year.
They can’t be grown in a greenhouse or genetically modified to bloom at other times. Their beauty is both stubborn and rare, which makes Asher Cook determined to get them for me. We marry on a cool spring day in early April, a breeze ruffling the pink-white petals in my bouquet.
Branches form an arch over the aisle. The double doors are flung open, carrying in the pungent scent of fresh earth. There’s an ethereal feeling as I walk down the plush white carpet, between hand-carved walnut pews, toward the man I’m going to marry.
At first I tried to convince Asher I didn’t need such an extravagant ceremony, especially since I knew it would be him paying for the event—not my father. Papa walked me down the aisle; that’s the extent of his involvement in my life since that fateful night.
Gradually I came to realize that although I didn’t need a large ceremony, Asher did. He wanted the most beautiful wedding and he wanted everyone to see it, as if he had something to prove to them.
As if he wants no one to doubt who I belong to now.
So I did not complain when the guest list grew to five hundred in the largest cathedral in Tanglewood, with another few hundred to join us at the reception tonight.
After such a long day neither of us want to board a plane. We make our own honeymoon suite on the balcony of his bedroom, a plate of strawberries and brie and sesame crackers to eat, a bottle of Lambrusco to drink. Asher makes a project of painting me with the deep red liquid and then licking me clean—starting with my shoulder, the underside of my breast, my hip. He makes me twitch and sigh before he finally moves between my legs. He licks and licks, until I’m lost.
