Page 51

Chapter F orty-Eight

Slow dancing with my husband, while holding his solidness in my arms, is the perfect opportunity to look back.

Five months of preparations are finally coming to a close. The reception is dying down, the moon is high in the sky, and in less than an hour, our limo will whisk us away to parts unknown.

I was always an observer during the previous weddings held at Shadow Haven, even during the reception for our commitment ceremony. It didn’t feel like reality at the time. Anti-reality– it was hazy, clouded with indecision and fear and guilt and insanity.

Tonight was a very different experience for the both of us.

Instead of the food being tasteless sustenance, its flavor was enlivened by the experience. It added to the infectious atmosphere of pure happiness that spread like wildfire over our guests. No headache for Zane. My son is walking around looking a bit high, like he’s taking a toke off our blissful emotions.

The conversations didn’t feel forced with our companions as it had before. It was as if we felt misplaced before, and they could sense it. This evening, everyone here wanted to be here– everyone was happy for Cortez and me. It was a night to put differences aside and just commune as fellow human beings. Our union was so different from the norm, it was okay to be who you are. We all accepted the quirks and idiosyncrasies of our fellow guests.

The cake was the most divine creation in existence. It tasted even better licked from Cort’s fingers… and lips. So decadent, I can still taste it hours later.

Watching my friends and family make fools of themselves as they dance to fast music, with a myriad of dance styles, is the most amusing thing I’ve ever experienced.

Ava and Spyder dominate the dance floor, while the young ladies of Whittenhower blood are flawlessly mimicking their movements. That is proof of the power of forgiveness. By all rights, those three girls should be holding my daughter and sister down and beating them to death over besmirching Regina’s name. But instead of violence, they laugh and sing and act like teenaged girls who are eating up the attention from ever-watchful teenage boy eyes.

I’ll just pretend the young men aren’t looking. But I’m keeping track of the dirty old men who keep flicking their gaze the girls’ way.

The biggest act of trust and forgiveness was by Katya this evening. Trusting me to keep her safe as she danced with Marcus, allowing him to speak privately with her, while still in Cortez’s and my line of sight.

I believe what convinced Katya I would protect her from now on, when I so miserably failed to do so in the past, was when I warned Marcus and all the people within a ten-foot radius, how if he upset Katya, I would punch him again. I really didn’t want any broken bones on my honeymoon.

There’s a running joke about how the media storm caused a baby boom in Dominion. All of us holed up, scared to go out in public and be accosted by reporters, we ended up camped out in bed. The other joke is how a fertility god took up residence at Misery Castle and poisoned Dominion’s water supply.

Kayla and Monica volunteered to babysit the children as practice. Whitney is closing in on her due date, with the older ladies pushing her onto the dance floor to enjoy the last of her carefree days.

There’s not a one of us who isn’t googly-eyed and spewing ridiculous words from our mouths at the pregnant women and babies. Not I, never me… okay, I’m one of the worst offenders of the goo-goo gah-gah sounds.

The two tiny human beings joined us recently. Brooke Wilson and Lolita Spencer are swaddled up together in a portable playpen. The baby girl cousins are inseparable, much to Faith and Gretchen’s annoyance and Wil and Boyd’s amusement. The female equivalent of Zane and Torian, the girls cry if they aren’t in the same room together.

Nothing to do with hiding from a media storm or a fertility god, just the old-fashioned kind of fun involving an enforcer getting more time off, while his partner picks up his slack. Finally, after four years of marriage, Kayla and Aaron are having a baby in four months’ time. Aaron decided he could have his own life now, since Cortez and I have each other, and he was confident Roarke would safely watch our backs.

The biggest surprise was Dexter and Monica finally going public with their joyous news. After three years of unsuccessful trying and several courses of in vitro fertilization treatments, Monica is nearly six months pregnant. They had fun telling us how it was just a vanilla romp in their bed that finally did it. They had given up hope months earlier, and then it just happened.

I wondered why the woman was keeping low-key. Monica was so worried she’d lose the baby, she didn’t dare share the news with many people. I doubt Marcus even knew, considering he looked like he was going to pass out, then seconds later he burst into tears while engulfing Dexter in a bearhug. When asked how Monica managed to hide that baby bump while at work, I received a conspiratorial wink from both Monica and Katya.

“Back to earth,” draws me into the moment. Seeing that my eyes are clear and focused, Cortez continues speaking. “This is by far a different experience than the last time,” is breathed into my ear as we dance our sixth dance of the night.

Our first dance as husbands was interesting to say the least. As we stood face-to-face, we realized there was one thing we’d forgotten to plan or practice.

Dancing.

Both Cortez and I are accomplished dancers, as if Diane Holden would allow anyone to grow up in Shadow Haven without instruction in etiquette and ballroom dancing. After all, my mother takes being an heiress very seriously, and all the rules and rituals that come along with the title.

“You can lead.” Cortez offers, taking my hand to place it at his waist, he then slides his palm to rest on my shoulder.

“Good, ‘cuz I was gearing up to argue. I wasn’t going to follow.” I flash a winning smile, relieved because leading is what I’m good at.

“Not even for me?” Cortez relentlessly teases me while batting his eyelashes– the charming bastard.

“Oh, not even for you, Cort,” I softly murmur, lying my ass off. I would give him a kidney on the spot if he asked, taking the feminine role in a dance is nothing.

Every dance after was far different than the awkward thirty seconds where we pretended to be male and female. Seconds into the uncomfortable shuffle, we said the hell with it and just intimately embraced the other, gently rocking back and forth with our foreheads pressed together.

“My God, you were insane!” I reply to Cort’s statement about this being a very different experience than last time.

When people say you’ll laugh about something tragic in the future, in this instance, they were right, because Cortez wasn’t speaking of our horrific attempt at dancing. He was speaking of his wedding with Divina.

“The entire time, I just really wanted to dance with you,” I admit without hesitation. “Now I see how overrated that really was,” is nothing but a tease. “This… I like this so much better.” Swaying, I draw Cortez closer to my body, not giving a shit how I’ve been aroused for the past four hours straight.

Priapism, what’s that?

But I have enjoyed the fact that Cortez has been aroused too.

“Oh, the entire time I was pissed at the fucking world.” Cortez revisits the nightmarish wedding reception from the past. “While standing in the church, I wanted to lash out at my priest over the injustice of not being able to marry the love of my life. During the reception, I was so upset, I was physically sick. It wasn’t right how the world was so black and white– man and woman.”

I’ve never heard Cortez speak so passionately, eyes blazing with determination. For a man who’s only been out of the closet for nearly six months– a closet he hadn’t even realized he was in to begin with –the fact that he was this upset fourteen years ago is very telling. Subconsciously Cortez always knew who and what he was. Even then. Especially then.

“While you were freaking out, I was plotting. I must have devised dozens of abduction scenarios while I danced with ladies and stared at the side of your too pale face. It was maddening. Pure torture. I was in hell.”

“Hell was riding away in the limo. The last thing I saw was our home fading away in the distance, with Aaron and Roarke trying to drag you away.” Cortez chokes on remembered pain, tears glistening in his eyes.

“I-I didn’t want you to see that.” I stumble over my words as raw emotions get the better of me. “I hoped you hadn’t. It was a bad few days. I refused to be sedated, because I needed to feel the pain. Aaron and Roarke believed whiskey to be medicinal. I spent nearly a week nursing the worst hangover. Yes, it worked, because at first, I was too drunk to do anything but cry, and then I was too sick to do anything but throw up.”

“The good ol’ days.” Cortez tries to lighten the mood by making a joke– a classic Cort maneuver. “I cried like a little bitch for a week straight. Poor Divina.” Cort laughs as if they share a private joke.

“Yeah, poor Divina,” I mutter, jealousy biting me in the ass. “I’m sure you weren’t crying for too long.”

“Oh, God!” Cort huffs a laugh. “You’re a fucking trip!” Cort squeezes me tightly, then pushes me away, chuckling harder as I knock into a dancing Marcus and Regina. Thank goodness they’re inebriated, because they laugh for no reason at all. They’re better drunk than perpetually angry.

“I… we … we spent a week playing on the beach, with Divina teaching me her sorcery.”

“Sorcery?” An eyebrow pops in question.

“Divina’s Girl Scout tricks. We spent absolutely no time in a bed. In fact, we slept outside in makeshift sleeping bags made out of the cabin’s bedding. Not once did I touch her more than I would a birth sister.”

“Bullshitter,” I grumble. “They took Divina to a gynecologist the moment you guys stepped off the plane, so they could have their proof.”

“Great thing about necessity– it’s the mother of all invention. You see–” Cort stares into my eyes while silently laughing. “You don’t have to use a penis… you could give a very smart girl some pointers, then twenty minutes of privacy in the cabin– instant deflower via the handle of her hairbrush. No betrayals. No force. No hurt feelings. No queasiness. Everyone’s happy.”

“You’re shitting me, right? For fourteen years you let me believe you were with my cousin when you weren’t? I don’t find out until we’re dancing as husbands.” I may sound beyond annoyed, but deep down, I’m doing a damn jig and backflips in happiness.

Believing Cort was happy on his honeymoon, while he boffed the girl we treated as our sister, all the while I was in utter hell, it never sat well with me. It makes me feel like such a rat-bastard, but I wanted Cort to hurt as badly as I was.

“It was fun for Divina and me to have a private little joke between just the two of us.” Cort grins like a bastard. “Added bonus that it upset you so much.”

“Hmm…” Purring, I run my nose along the column of Cortez’s delectable neck. I nibble a little, loving how I can feel him throbbing against my hip. “I’ll teach you a lesson when we’re finally alone,” is a promise I intend to keep. “We’ll make lots–” I bite his flesh with my front teeth. “And lots… and lots.” I bite beneath his ear. Hard.

“Lots and lots of sex?” Cort breathlessly pants as I worship at his neck. I chuckle at how he releases a sexy as all hell moan when I begin to suck.

“Lots and lots….”

“Um… I know we’re at your home, so you feel really comfortable.” Marcus doesn’t sound comfortable. In fact, he sounds downright flustered as he leans into us. “But… um… macking on each other with three hundred witnesses is a bit salacious. There are members of the press here. I just got this job, and I’d like to keep the fucker. But that won’t happen if anymore gossip ends up in an article.”

“If you behave, the media has no weapons to use against you,” is my logical response.

Leaning closer, drawing Regina with him, Marcus infringes upon our personal space. “How about you dance with your dear ol’ dad? Hmm?”

“No.” Cortez whines in protest, fingertips clenching against my back. “We were just getting a taste.”

“Consolation prize?” Marcus murmurs with an evil grin, as he passes a very inebriated Regina off to Cortez.

“My name’s not Ezra, so you’re safe with me.” Cort reassures Regina while winking at me.

“Wow,” Regina slurs. “You douchebags will be my stepson and son-in-law in a few months’ time. Jesus, how did I get so fucking old so fast to have kids only three years younger than me? Doesn’t matter, since I’ll be a grandmother soon anyway.”

“Holy fuck, Marcus!” Cort draws out in awe. “Queen is wasted. I’ve never seen her drunk. What did you do?” is said in an accusatory tone.

“We’re celebrating, and you had lots of fruity drink floating around on easily assessable serving trays. Rum and fruit are Regina’s Kryptonite, which means I’m going to have a blast in about an hour.” Marcus purrs while eyeing Regina like she’s fresh meat. “And fifteen minutes after that, I’ll be holding her hair while she prays at the altar of a porcelain god.”

Ignoring a horny Marcus, because that is a trap he can never escape, Cort speaks to me instead. “All I know is that you better have been about to say lots of sex .” Cort warns as he decides slow dancing is much easier with a girl, but not nearly as much fun as the new version Cortez and I created.

“Lots and lots of what? Regina and I have been eavesdropping for the past few songs– several of us have been.” Marcus manically laughs, not giving a shit that he’s dancing with a dude. But since the lurking media only sees us as father and son, it isn’t too salacious.

Pouting, I follow Marc’s lead, which is not awkward in the least, because I either follow… or I fucking follow. Either way, Marcus gets his way, and he looks fabulous while doing it.

“Oh, there will undoubtedly be a lot of sex,” I muse, mind venturing to things best not explored while in Marc’s tender loving care. “What I was going to say is how we will create our own private jokes. Ones Cort and I can laugh about. Jokes no one else will ever understand. I look forward to that.”

Slowing down until we’re no longer moving, Marcus pulls me into a hug, then just rocks me back and forth. “Good boy, you’re finally getting it,” he softly murmurs in my ear.

Not caring how we most certainly look too intimate for adoptive father and son, I hold on to Marcus, while seeping into the safety and security of his presence. I just sense, no matter what, Marcus will make everything okay.

“A relationship is never push and pull– it’s following Cort’s lead when you’re feeling off, with Cort following your lead when he needs your support. It’s about having someone you trust above all others, who loves you because of who you are and in spite of it. Most of the time, you will be equal, but sometimes you won’t be. A relationship is not 50/50– don’t turn it into a power struggle. It’s best not to fight it– just know when to let go of the control and when to rein his in, and you’ll both be just fine.”

“Oh, wise one… says the man who doesn’t relinquish his power to anyone.” I tease, because his advice is sound. But when isn’t it?

“I’m giving you advice on what I’ve learned over the past eight years. The evening Regina used the creepy gargoyle knocker on the brownstone’s red door, my life irrevocable changed. Best and most frightening day of my entire life. In those eight years, I’ve fucked up countless times, yet Regina is still beside me,” Marcus gestures to Regina and Cortez dancing a hairsbreadth from our left side.

“It’s inevitable and a part of life– you’re both going to fuck up, Ezra.” Marcus holds me closer, pressing a soft kiss beneath my ear. “Just never let it stop you from walking beside each other.”