He nodded to the group and headed to the door, feeling very satisfied with himself.

* * *

BRAD HAD LEFT the house, saying he needed to meet Clarke to sign the new partnership documents, but had promised me a late dinner at Cypress. I had never been there, but I assumed if Brad was taking me, it was probably a white-tablecloths type of place. I grabbed my black dress and hunted through Brad’s closet until I found an iron. The best thing about the dress was it went perfectly with my new shoes, and matching them was all I cared about anyway.

I soaked in Brad’s jetted tub, dimming the bathroom lights and turning up his thermostat. I had found some bubble bath in a decorative basket in the guest bathroom, and poured the entire bottle into the tub. I was a little unsure if you could use bubble bath in a tub like this one, with three different kinds of jets and more buttons and handles than anyone would ever need. My concern was quickly validated by the huge mountain of bubbles that formed within minutes, pouring out of the tub on all sides. I spent the first five minutes of the bubble brigade with a bucket I found in the air conditioner closet, scooping and dumping the bubbles into the shower. After five minutes, with more bubbles billowing out of every available jet port, I gave up scooping, and turned off the jets, settling for a normal, plain-Jane soak with a mountain of freesia-scented bubbles everywhere.

Even without the jets, it was a great bath. The tub was huge, big enough to accommodate Brad, though I couldn’t picture him surrounded by light purple bubbles. I closed my eyes in the near darkness, letting the hot water penetrate my core. I looked forward to tonight, to seeing Brad, to wearing my new shoes and later on, to having his hands on my body.

It was surreal to dress for an event, to be excited, when you know you should be panicking. Surreal to put faith in a man that everyone thought would cause me harm. Granted, “everyone” didn’t know the full story. Then again, I didn’t even know the full story. I wouldn’t for quite a while. It would take years of lunches, midnight chats, holidays, family gatherings, cuddles and fights. Years. And I didn’t know if Brad was a “years” type of guy.

I did know that I had professed my love, and he had said nothing. The blowup, the moment when his face had shaken and his voice had wavered, that had told me more than anything. In that loss of control, I had seen vulnerability, love. I recognized it, but he—he was a long way from it.

* * *

ON THE WAY HOME from Lorenzi, Brad stopped at a flower stand set up in the back of a Ford truck. A tarp provided some cover, and buckets of flowers occupied three parking spots of an old Exxon gas station. He ducked under the tarp, coming face-to-face with an ancient, hunchbacked man who was missing a few teeth. Brad reviewed the limited selection, and picked out almost all of the orchids and lilies, having the man wrap them together in cream tissue paper and plastic. Giving the man three twenties, he ducked back into the car a few minutes later. Setting the flowers on the seat, he pulled out his phone and called his assistant.

“It’s Sunday night.” Rebecca’s voice was clipped, and in the background he could hear the loud chatter of a bar.

“Exactly. You should be home, heading to bed early, so that you can give me a hundred and ten percent tomorrow.”

“You should know by now that I never give a hundred and ten percent.”

“Good point.” Rebecca was his secret weapon, hidden from the public eye; she was a three-hundred-pound powerhouse that H.R. had felt comfortable entrusting to him. She was a late sleeper, and rarely in the office before noon, but she made up for it by working late, being available on weekends and handling his odd requests without a blink of the eye. The woman was efficient to the point of being lazy. She handled tasks in half the time of others, so always seemed to be idle. But the best, and most valuable trait she had was calling him on his bullshit and standing up to him when needed.

“I need your help tonight.”

“That’s a shocker. Look, tonight’s not good. I put a lot of effort into looking hot tonight. And there’s this guy, he’s a little guy, but I’m fairly certain he’s packing where it counts, and—”

“Rebecca! I don’t want to know about your social life. I’m asking you to please pass up on the toothpick you are about to sexually molest, and be available tonight.”

A big sigh loudly sounded through the phone. “W-H-A-T could you possibly need? I’m not calling any hookers for your horny ass.”

“I need a nine-thirty reservation at Cypress.”

“That’s going to be impossible. Too short notice, and you know they only have, like, five of the tables you like.”

“That’s why I’m calling you and not trying to do it myself.”

His stroke to her ego worked, and after a moment of silence, she sighed again. “And?”

“Lorenzi is making a custom ring for me. I need you to coordinate with the manager and go over there and stay on their ass. I have got to have that ring by ten tonight, ideally sooner.”

She was suddenly a lot more interested and he could hear what sounded like the clatter of heels, the bar sounds subsiding. “What kind of ring?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure it is done, and that I don’t get ripped off too badly. I expect some bleeding, just don’t want to hemorrhage.”

“I’m going to skip the interrogation for just a minute, but don’t think it’s not coming. Okay, so you want me to breathe down their necks and make sure that they give me the ring, and then you want me to bring it to you at Cypress before ten.”

“No. I don’t want you bringing it. Have them bring it. Just make sure they leave the store, with the ring in hand, in time for me to receive it. Text me when they leave. I won’t be able to talk to you tonight, so I want to answer any questions you have now, so you can handle it all for me later. Do you have any questions?”

“I’m going to have to wait until I get to the jeweler to see if I have questions for you on that end. If you want me to properly do my job and help you, I’m going to need more information.”

“It’s an engagement ring. I’ve picked out the stone, and sketched out the design. The only questions they may have will be regarding the smaller stones. Just get the best of everything. I don’t want an engraving or anything like that.” He stopped talking and waited.

Her reaction was quieter than he expected, and a little confused. “Why are you designing an engagement ring? Is this for your brother?”

“No.”

“It’s for you?” Her voice was indignant and disbelieving.

“Yes.”

“I’m confused...” she said slowly.

“It’s for Julia.”

“Broward’s intern? You’re proposing to Broward’s intern. The girl you just started seeing. The one who refused to fill out the questionnaire.” She enunciated every word, drawing the sentence out slowly, idiotically.

“Yes. Any other questions that pertain to your completion of those tasks?”

“How many people in your Cypress reservation?”

“Two.”

“Have you told your father about this?”

“I’m not going to dignify that question with a response.”

“Are you out of your f**king mind? This is so far out of De Luca–ville that I don’t even know how to respond. You have rendered me f**king speechless.”

“Well, that is a first. Thank you for your help. Text me if you have any dire emergencies.”

“Don’t you hang up on me, Brad. We are not even half through—”

He hung up the phone as gently as he could, given it was a cell, and set it on the seat, his home coming into view. Pulling into the drive, he parked in front of the garage, got out and shut the door, turning to face his house, the exterior lights illuminating the large trees in his yard. Inside, various interior lights were on. It felt good, coming home to someone. He had appreciated his freedom for so long, embraced it with a passion almost desperate. It would take a while to fully release that, to get used to not doing whatever he wanted. But while he had once yearned for independence, now he saw the possibility of something different, and he wanted it badly. Marrying her felt right and he was an impulsive but decisive decision-maker. Plus, it would protect her. The one golden rule was that children and wives were untouchable. His family would have no choice. As his wife she would be guarded, part of the inner circle. He strode up the driveway and headed for the back door.

Forty-Seven

It was almost six when I heard sounds downstairs. I wore one of Brad’s T-shirts and had my hair pinned up, putting on mascara. I stopped, listening, then walked to the landing. “Brad?”

“Yeah. I’m coming up.”

Happiness flooded through me. I trotted down the stairs, meeting him halfway, a hand-wrapped bouquet in his hand. A huge smile broke out on my face at the sight of him, and I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him firmly, trying to keep the mascara stick away from his shirt. “Hey, baby,” I said.

“Hey, beautiful. These are for you.”

“They are gorgeous! Thank you.” I kissed his neck, then bounded up the stairs, screwing the mascara closed, meeting him at the top step. I took the bouquet from him and sank my face into them, inhaling the sweet fragrance.

“There are vases downstairs, I’m not sure where, but Martha uses them a lot.”

“I’ll find one. Come into the bathroom. You can talk to me while I put on makeup.”

He followed me into the master bath, stopping when he saw the mess of bubbles I had halfway cleaned up. I had hoped that most of them would evaporate, but that plan hadn’t worked out too well for me. He raised his eyebrows and looked at me.

“Sorry. Your bathtub attacked me with bubbles. I’ll clean it up later. You should probably know, I’m not very...tidy.”

“I could have guessed that.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, but turned back to the mirror, finishing up my mascara.

“You look beautiful.” His voice was soft, and I turned, facing him, studying his eyes. They were, as always, dark and unreadable, watchful, intelligent. I smiled tentatively at him and he stepped forward quickly, his hand stealing around to cup my neck, his eyes on my face. He kissed me, hard and possessive, then softer. My mouth opened and his kiss deepened. He released me and we parted. He grinned, his eyes on my mouth, and then on my eyes.

I turned back to the mirror and fished through the makeup bag, found the earrings I had worn the night of the party and started to put them on.

“Wait,” he said, reaching a hand out and stopping me. He walked into the closet, making noise for a few minutes, then returned, carrying a black velvet box. “Wear these.”

I took the box gingerly—it was old and worn on the edges. Larger than a ring box. I opened the lid, revealing a pair of diamond and sapphire earrings. Each earring had a large round diamond, with an oval sapphire dangling beneath it, surrounded by tiny diamonds. They were beautiful. I studied them, wondering about them, and looked up at Brad.

“They were my mother’s. The first, and only, piece of jewelry I ever bought her. My sister has all of her other pieces. It’s not a gift, just a loan.”

An unnecessary statement, but I understood him making it.

“I thought— I didn’t realize your mother had passed. When you said that you hadn’t spoken to her...” My words trailed off and I looked up, seeing the pain in his eyes.

“Three years ago,” he said, taking the box from me and removed an earring, handing it to me. I took it carefully, the weight of it surprising me. It was, by far, the most expensive thing I had ever touched. I put it on, and looked at myself in the mirror, Brad’s watchful face above mine. “I’ll take good care of them tonight.”

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck. “I’m not worried. I’m not letting either of you out of my sight.”

I smiled softly and fingered the remaining earring, bringing it up to my other ear. “Which one of us is more precious to you?”

He frowned at me. “I can replace the earrings. You, I cannot.”

I turned and looked up at him. “No?”

“No.”

He snuck a quick hand up my shirt and I flinched, knocking his hand back down and spinning back to the mirror, glaring at his reflection. He shot me a grin and smacked me hard on the ass, then turned to the shower, turning on all of the jets and then pulling his shirt over his head. Finished with my makeup, my ears brilliantly adorned, I left the bathroom and headed to the bedroom to dress.

Forty-Eight

Cypress was as opulent as I expected, but much smaller. We were greeted by a dignified older man who led us on a winding path through several candlelit tables. The room was pear-shaped, an illuminated pianist in the center of it, and the back, curved wall held four curtained alcoves. We were taken to the farthest one, and he pulled back the curtain to reveal a square table, set for two. We stepped up into the alcove, which turned out to be cozy but not claustrophobic. A window occupied the top half of the back wall and gave a stunning view of the downtown skyscrapers. Other than the view and a lone candle, the room was dark.

“Do you want the curtain open or closed, sir?”

“Open, for now. And would you ask the waiter for bottled still, please?”

“Certainly. Enjoy your dinner.”

The man gave a slight bow and left. Brad smiled at me, reaching over and grabbing my hand on the white tablecloth. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself, though I am sure you are aware of that.”

“Have you been here before?”