Joe came up behind me and rummaged beneath the back of my shirt. “I promised we’d take it slow,” he muttered, hooking up my bra. “But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you.”
“You don’t have to worry about that now,” I said vehemently. “Because I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, unless you were dangling off the edge of a cliff, and then I would use that pole to clobber you.”
“I’m sorry —” Joe began to put his arms around me from behind, but I shrugged him off and sloshed away in high dudgeon. He followed, continuing apologetically, “After our first time turning out like it did, I couldn’t let the second time happen in a swimming pool.”
“There’s not going to be a second time.” With effort, I hauled myself out of the pool. The wet clothes felt as heavy as chain mail. “I’m not going into the house like this. I need a towel. And my purse, which is on one of the kitchen counters.” I sat on a lounge chair, trying to look as dignified as possible while water streamed off me.
“I’ll get it.” Joe paused. “About dinner…”
I gave him a withering glance.
“Forget dinner,” he said hastily. “I’ll be right back.”
After he had brought the towels and I had dried off as much as possible, I walked to my car, with Joe at my heels. My hair was stringy and my clothes were clammy. The evening air was still warm, and I was overheated, almost steaming. As I sat in my car seat, I could feel the upholstery soaking up the water from my clothes. If my car interior turns moldy, I thought furiously, I am going to make him pay to have the seats re-covered.
“Wait.” Joe held the edge of the car door before I could close it. To my outrage, he didn’t look at all remorseful. “Are you going to answer when I call?” he asked.
“No.”
That didn’t seem to surprise him. “Then I’ll show up at your place.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’ve had enough of your manhandling.”
I could tell from the way he chewed on his lip that he was trying to hold back a smart-ass comment. Losing the battle, he said, “If I’d manhandled you just a little longer, honey, you’d be a hell of a lot happier right now.”
I reached for the car door and slammed it shut. Extending my middle finger, I flipped him off through the window. As I started the car, Joe turned away… but not before I saw the flash of his grin.
Thirteen
Sunday night went by without a word from Joe. So did Monday night. I waited with growing impatience for him to call. I kept my cell phone with me at all times, pouncing on every call or text.
Nothing.
“I don’t give a damn if you call or not,” I muttered, glaring at the silent phone on its charger. “I couldn’t be less interested, as a matter of fact.”
Which was a lie, of course, but it felt good to say it.
The truth was, I couldn’t stop reliving those weightless floating moments with Joe in the swimming pool, the memory cringe-inducing and haunting and wildly pleasurable. The way he had talked to me… unsparing, sexual… I’d felt his words sinking inside me, right through my skin. And the promises he’d made… was any of that even possible?
The idea of letting go, with him, was terrifying. Feeling that much. Flying that high. I didn’t know what would happen afterward, what internal mechanisms might be shattered by the altitude, how much oxygen would be robbed from my blood. Or if a safe landing was even an option.
On Tuesday morning, I had to turn my full focus on Hollis Warner and her daughter, Bethany, who were visiting the studio for the first time. Ryan had proposed over the weekend, and from what Hollis had told me on the phone, Bethany had been delighted with the sand-castle proposal. The weekend had been romantic and relaxing, and the newly engaged couple had discussed possible wedding dates.
To my consternation – and Sofia’s – the Warners wanted the ceremony to be held in four months.
“We’re on a time limit,” Bethany told me, her hand sliding to her flat stomach. “Four months is all we’ve got before I show too much for the kind of wedding dress I want.”
“I understand,” I said, keeping my expression impassive. I didn’t dare look at Sofia, who was seated nearby with her sketch pad, but I knew she had to be thinking the same thing: No one could pull off a megawedding that fast. Every decent location would be booked up, and the same could be said for all the good vendors and musicians. “However,” I continued, “a time frame that narrow is going to limit our options. Have you thought about having the baby first? That way —”
“No.” Bethany gave me a chilling blue-eyed glare. In the next moment her face relaxed, and she smiled sweetly. “I’m an old-fashioned girl. To me, the wedding has to come before the baby. If that means the wedding has to be a little smaller, Ryan and I are fine with that.”
“I’m not fine with a smaller wedding,” Hollis said. “Anything less than four hundred guests is not possible. This occasion is going to show the old guard that we’re a family to be reckoned with.” She gave me a small smile that didn’t quite coordinate with her fierce, fixed stare. “This is Bethany’s wedding, but it’s my show. I just want everyone to remember that.”
This was not the first time I’d planned a wedding in which people had brought different agendas to the table. But it was the first time the mother of the bride had been so blunt about wanting the occasion to be her show.