At the opposite end of the bar, a new customer motioned for service and we both glanced over. “Gimme five,” she said.
“Take ten,” I told her.
As soon as Misty walked away, I stole another glance over my shoulder. Wearing a severe black coat over an equally severe black suit, my soon-to-be wife stood out like a sore thumb. Nobody in Jackson Hole wore suits unless they were going to a funeral. And, hey, it wasn’t too far from the truth. You could say the death of my carefully constructed life was certainly cause for one. I was certainly in mourning.
The physical changes were noticeable. The Swiss milk maid thing she had going on a decade ago had transformed into cold elegance, her beauty unapproachable. Not a drop of sex appeal to speak of. She’d lost the fullness to her cheeks, highlighting sculpted cheekbones and a stubborn chin. It made me curious to find out if her personality had changed just as notably––softened, with any hope––then reminded myself that curiosity could kill, not to stir shit up or meet the same fate as the cat.
The fact remained that she hadn’t cracked a semblance of a smile since walking through the sliding glass doors, her expression blank and faraway. So still a major buzzkill one would have to determine. For a fraction of a second, I even considered packing up my truck, loading the dogs, and tearing out of town.
She crossed the lobby on her way to the elevators, stride assertive––like the rest of her. An image of her goose-stepping crossed my mind and I had to swallow the urge to laugh. The different shades of gold of her neatly parted blonde hair caught the overhead flickering light of the chandelier. Damn shame that a woman so beautiful could have such an awful personality.
Oblivious to being watched, she marched past me with her small bag in tow, the heels of her Manolo Blahniks click, click, clicking annoyingly against the marble flooring. Each one a stab to the sac. I’d give her a few minutes before knocking on her door. I’d be nice about it. But that’s all I’d be nice about. Time to put the plan in motion.
Sydney
A loud banging on the hotel room door jolted me out of bed. One minute I was lying spread eagle in my fluffy hotel robe, staring at the ceiling while contemplating the lunacy of my life choices––specifically my impending marriage––and the next I was practically hanging by my short fingernails from the pickled oak beams on the ceiling.
“Who is it?” I called out, clutching the top of my robe closed in a false sense of security. Dashing to the door, all I could see through the view hole was a blue and white checkered shirt.
The cowboy? Had he followed me up and I hadn’t noticed? How creepy. I looked again and this time a dark blue eye peered back…surrounded by a set of thick paintbrush black lashes. Oh. My stomach sank. I knew those lashes. Those lashes left an impression on a woman.
“Damn,” slipped out. On the tail end of it, a wince. Not even a night’s reprieve. “What do you want, Scott?”
A low masculine chuckle seeped through the door. “Let me in, wife.”
I cringed. I physically cringed at the sound of his husky voice. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t possibly go through with it. Within a week, I’d end up on The First 48 for making pie out of my new groom.
“Go away. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“We need to talk now, Sydney.”
“I’m tired. Tomorrow.”
A sigh. “Please.”
Please? I would’ve bet good money that Scott’s vocabulary did not extend that far. And yet I’d heard it distinctly.
“Ten minutes. Then you leave without me having to call security.”
He chuckled. “We’re off to such a great start.”
I was surprised to feel a smile grow on my face. Ripping the door open, I was even more surprised to find what was standing in the doorway. This Scott Blackstone was not the same Scott Blackstone I’d last seen at his sister’s wedding strip down naked in front of seven hundred guests, get in the pool which was decorated with lily pads, and then emerge from said pool with only a few of those poor unfortunate lily pads held to his privates. This was a different man.
I always thought Scott handsome. Was he intolerable? Of course, he was. But empirically speaking, there was no denying he’d been gifted with beauty. Now though…holy hell.
If only the changes extended beyond the physical.
My eyes took in all the changes one piece at a time. The broad muscular chest under the checkered shirt, the thick thighs encased in worn jeans. The longish black hair and short beard. The tan made his eyes look an unnatural shade of indigo. The lashes, though, they were the same. It was the first thing I’d noticed about him all those years ago. Mine were so blonde that if I didn’t have them dyed, they disappeared off my face. His had mesmerized me, invoked envy even.
His smirking expression gave little away other than to find humor in the way I was examining him. “What’s up, babydoll,” he said as he shouldered his way into the room without invitation.
Ugh. Maybe not so different. Those were the exact same words he’d said to me more than ten years ago and that night ended with me almost de-nutting him. Although to be fair, the kiss that preceded the almost de-nutting was a perfect ten.
Walking to the middle of the room, he turned abruptly, his gaze raking up and down my person without an ounce of shame. He paused when he reached my face and something strange passed between us, something indescribable that made my cheeks burn and want to look away. I didn’t, however. I’d sooner live with my grandparents again––a fate worse than living in the Hermit Kingdom––than let Scott Blackstone believe he intimidated me. Exhaling, he looked away first. Turns out, to gather himself up for some big pitch that started with yet another intense staredown.
“You’ve gotta tell Darth you can’t go through with it.”
His tone grated. It was harsh and bossy, and I was tired and cranky. Not a good mix. “Darth?”
“Franklin––the sooner the better. Tonight works for me.”
The eye roll couldn’t be helped. Imperial jerk. I was too tired to even pretend at cool indifference. I tapped my ear. “I’m sorry, I must be getting an ear infection. I could’ve sworn I just heard you issue an order.”
“You want to be married to me less than I do you.”
“True,” I agreed, nodding. Probably the only time we would ever agree on anything.
“Then what’s the problem? Make the call. Free us from this bullshit arrangement. He’ll only agree to it if you do it.”
This situation was complicated by many factors. The job I desperately wanted. The promise I’d made to Frank. And if there was one rule that governed my life, it was that I would never do anything to betray Frank’s trust.
Arms crossed, I drew myself up and clutched at the robe for reassurance. “I gave your father my word.” That’s when my voice faltered. A suffocating sadness came over me whenever I thought about Frank.
“Sydney…” Scott’s stare was intense. The kind of intensity you find on the faces of trapped animals. He looked willing to chew off a limb to be free of this trap––of me. For unknown reasons, that burned a little. “You don’t want to be married to me. Trust me, you don’t. I swear and drink and stay out till all hours of the night…”