Destined, page 25
“I loved him,” Jamison said past the frog in his throat. “He didn’t treat me like he loved me, but I loved him. Does that make me…?”
I rubbed my hand across his back in circles. “It makes you his son. And you know what? Love isn’t black or white.”
“I didn’t like him,” he said, shaking his head. “I never did. When I was a kid, he was a jerk to my buddies. He never had much to say to me unless it was ‘Mow the lawn, clean the shed, your mother cooked, you wash dishes.’ We were never friends. I didn’t want to be his friend because, as I said, I didn’t like him.”
I remained silent. There was nothing sweeter for me to do than to let him work out his feelings on his own.
“That doesn’t even look like him,” he whispered.
Then he closed his eyes, and finally, they came—the tears.
I gave the attendant the suit. Jamison was up for picking out his father’s casket. He chose a metallic-gray one that matched his suit. It also contained white silk padding. I realized that Jamison was burying his father in a light color. It had to be his way of making Boomer the man he always wanted him to be.
Raymond, the attendant, asked Jamison if there were any special objects he wanted buried with his father. Surprisingly, Jamison said yes. I watched with bated breath as he leaned over to take a fingernail clipper out of his pocket. “He gave this to me when I was young. I don’t know how old I was or why he gave it to me, but I felt like he did it because he loved me.” Jamison sat it on top of Raymond’s desk. “I want this to be with him, from me.”
“Sure,” Raymond said with a nod.
He asked if we had any more questions about the ceremony on the following day. The service would start at eleven o’clock in the morning at the gravesite. There would be words from family and friends, and then the minister would commit Richard Arlington Cox to the ground.
We ate at Rosine’s Restaurant, since they served breakfast until three in the afternoon. The drive to the restaurant was quieter than the one to the funeral home. I believed that Boomer’s death had finally sunk in. I found myself sort of envying Jamison. He at least had made peace with his father’s demons. I, on the other hand, had just written Randolph off as a monster. I never wanted to know what made him the man he was. I didn’t want to have any empathy for someone who could do what he’d done to Gina. That was it. When Asher found Gina and brought her to his room and then showed her to me, I knew right away Randolph had hurt her badly. I also knew right then and there that he was beyond exoneration.
Talking about Boomer and Randolph together wasn’t comparing apples to apples. Boomer was an apple, but Randolph was a rotted, shriveled-up lemon.
The waitress had come to our table, and Jamison ordered what seemed like half the menu and then asked what I wanted. His smile suggested he was ready to get back to being happily in love.
I chuckled. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
The waitress frowned at us.
“Like, literally,” I said. “He can order for the both of us.”
He winked at me. “Unless you want something else.”
I closed my menu. “I think I can find a few things to eat from what you ordered.” I smiled at the waitress. “Oh, and he’ll have dark coffee, and I’ll have a cappuccino.”
Jamison asked what I’d been thinking a few minutes before, and I told him my thoughts about Randolph. When our drinks came, we moved on to me answering the question of what it was like growing up at the Blackstone mansion. I told Jamison things I’d never shared with anyone. Heck, I told him stuff I hadn’t remembered until then, like about the time I caught William, the butler, sneaking into Amelia’s room.
“How did she treat you—Amelia Blackstone?” he asked.
Before I could speak, we were served all the dishes Jamison had ordered. There were seven plates in all—two types of eggs Benedict, chili egg puff, Italian omelet, tortilla scramble, banana pancakes, and blueberry pancakes.
Before we dug in and I finished telling him about Amelia, I made him pinky swear that we would work together to burn off any love pounds we might gain in the next two to three months.
Jamison laughed and then hooked his pinkie around mine. “Deal.”
Then I told him Amelia Blackstone had always been kind to me but never mother-like. She never guided me or taught me a thing about being a woman, at least not directly. She would filter any kind of parenting through Jasper. When I started my period, Jasper had Sally Preacher, who was like a modern-day governess, take me to the drugstore and show me how to buy and use tampons.
“Deep down, I knew,” I said to Jamison. “That’s why I hired Holly to uncover the secrets. I wanted her to put it out there, and oh boy, did she do that.”
“The Dark Blackstones.” Jamison put a forkful of banana pancake in his mouth. We were scarfing down food as if we hadn’t eaten in weeks.
I nodded. “I like this town a lot. Especially this restaurant. Do you think we could live here?”
“We can live anywhere you want, babe. We’ll make it work.”
Conversation was bottomless with Jamison and me. After eating, we drove back to the house. Again, to our chagrin, we’d missed Stephanie. The strange thing was that not only was she gone, but Bree and her mother were gone too. Jamison and I guessed at what they all could be doing together.
Jamison gave Diana the time and address of the funeral. She thanked him and said the invites had already been sent out.
“And where is my mother?” he asked.
“She’s out.”
“I know she’s out. Out doing what?”
“Shopping for the wedding.”
“The wedding?” Jamison and I asked.
For the first time, Diana paid more than fleeting attention to me. Her eyebrows ruffled. “Do I know you?”
I frowned at Jamison and then at her. “No. You don’t.”
She grunted thoughtfully and went back to doing whatever they were working on while sitting at the window.
Jamison and I walked outside. Then we stopped and looked at each other. “Do you really think they’re planning a wedding?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I hope not.”
Time had flown by yet again. It was going on six o’clock in the evening when we made it back to the guesthouse. While Jamison made more calls, I went to the guest bathroom, which had an egg-shaped tub in front of a large window with a view of lots of pruned rosebushes and flowering green shrubs. I filled the tub with warm water, using the milk bubble bath, and soaked for as long as my thoughts would allow me. I was at a crossroads in my life. Four times, I’d said yes to marrying a man I’d never seen coming. I had a laundry list of things I wanted to do for the rest of my life. It didn’t seem as if Jamison sought to cut that list short. He was so supportive of my plans to become a therapist. I’d said yes to the sort of man whose answer to all the tough issues was, “Let’s find a solution” and “Let’s make it work.”
I felt reinvigorated when I got out of the bathtub and bent over to towel dry my feet and legs. Facing the window, I caught sight of a woman in a red dress. I stood up swiftly. Gazing out the window, I saw nothing but green.
Thirty-Five
BRYN BLACKSTONE
“I had the strangest conversation with my mother,” Jamison said.
I lounged on the chaise section of the sofa in the living room, answering emails, wearing nothing but a robe. Mostly, Jamison had been in the office with the door open. I could faintly hear him having phone calls with others. Jasper had graciously given him time off before jumping headfirst into their gargantuan project, but that hadn’t stopped Jamison from doing what he called the preliminaries. We’d been two people in our separate spaces, getting work done, but now he stood at the edge of the sofa, looking mystified.
I closed my MacBook. “What did she say?”
“She says she doesn't want to talk about me not marrying Bree until after the funeral. When I asked her why, she said that the Lovells are quite fragile after Richard's death. She wants me to give them time to deliver the bad news.”
I shook my head as I rolled my eyes. “The bad news has already been delivered, don't you think?” I threw my hands up and waved them. “Hello, here I am. The bad news.”
“Yeah…” He said sounding distracted. “Then Bree stops by, and she gives me this.” He walked over to the credenza and picked up a delicate white box, opened it, and showed me the boutonniere inside. “And she looked crazy in the eyes. I’m worried.”
I frowned. “Did she have on a red dress?”
He jerked his chin, turning his head slightly. “How did you know that? Did you see her?”
I told him I thought I’d seen a woman in a red dress when I bent over to dry my legs off after taking a bath. Then I told him about seeing the woman in the window the night before while we were asleep on the sofa. “But I thought it was a dream.”
Jamison scratched his right eyebrow. “Bree is capable of the kind of craziness you never thought was possible, babe.”
“Humph,” I said, twisting my mouth as memories flickered in my mind. Bree Lovell was the sort of entitled witch who believed that if she didn’t get whatever she wanted, she was permitted to do whatever she needed to appease herself. The old Bryn Blackstone used to annihilate chicks like that. I was not afraid of Bree Lovell. She’d lost, and that was that. However, I hadn’t come all the way to Monterrey for Jamison's father's funeral to go to war with an insane person like Bree.
“Don’t worry about Bree,” I said. “If necessary, let me handle her.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “I don’t want you anywhere near her.”
“Let’s hope we can keep it that way.” I grinned to lighten the mood. “I have three brothers, you know, and Jasper always wanted to make sure I knew how to defend myself the best way I could. So I'm a pretty good fighter… and lover.”
Unfortunately, my attempt at humor didn’t change Jamison’s worrisome disposition. “We should just go to a hotel.” He clapped his hands. “Come on, babe, let’s go.”
He was really flustered. I patted the cushion beside me. “Jamison, sit down for a second, please.”
Jamison searched across one shoulder and then the other. He sighed forcefully and walked over to sit on the edge of the sofa.
“I can’t lose you, Bryn. What’s happening between us feels too good, and someone like Bree can ruin it.”
“Yes, babe, she could, and she wants to.”
Jamison closed his eyes and massaged his temples.
“Okay, then,” I said.
His arms dropped to his sides. “Hotel?”
“Yes. Hotel.” If that made him feel that I was safe, then yes.
We packed quickly and loaded the car, leaving our breakfast leftovers and the food Stephanie Cox had brought the other night in the refrigerator. Jamison drove slowly off the property, keeping the headlights off. He didn’t relax until we arrived at the cute cliffside spa and resort hotel. Our room faced the ocean. I had to admit, I felt more relaxed away from Bree Lovell and the crazy, toxic environment that existed on Jamison’s mother’s property. That night, we went to bed with the French doors open, allowing the ocean breeze to engulf us as we made love until we fell asleep.
In the morning, we ate breakfast in bed. We ordered crepes with scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and a cappuccino for me and black coffee for him. While we were eating, the TV landed on a morning gossip show. I was about to turn the channel when I heard my name.
“You know, the Blackstones. The Dark Blackstones. Have you read the book? Everybody’s read the book,” the woman said, using animated body language that made us feel as if she was gossiping with us, her best friends.
My mouth was caught open as I hung on curiously to her every word. Jamison sat up beside me as our arms touched.
“Anyway, she’s been gallivanting around Monterey with an engaged man who’s getting married this weekend. His fiancée’s name is Bree Lovell, and sources tell me this Lovell girl is pissed. The guy, Jamison Cox, is a very successful political strategist. He makes winners and has a whole list of politicians he’s put on the map, but we're not talking about that right now. So Jamison Cox has been with the Blackstone girl, and she's beautiful, like drop-dead gorgeous, so this Bree Lovell is going to have a problem prying him out of her hands. But sources say he had the Blackstone girl plan his father's funeral.” She said that as if it was the worst thing in the world.
The woman folded her arms and then shook her head as if it was all a shame. “You don’t have just any random chick doing that. But this Bree girl is mad as hell. Now, she has a past. Sources also say she set an ex-boyfriend's house on fire. What’s his name…? Darby Huntsville, the famous polo player. Someone said she messed with the brakes on the car belonging to her ex-boyfriend actor, Delta Foster—well, allegedly. Remember, he drove off the side of the road, and it nearly killed him. But I don't know if Bree will be messing with Bryn anytime soon. Those names…” She chuckled. “Bree and Bryn, rich people’s names. Well, Bryn’s older brother is someone you don't want to mess with. Heck, I don't want to talk about him, so we'll continue following this story.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned closer to the camera so that we could see a close-up of her face. “But the Lovell girl is wearing the grandmother’s emerald-and-diamond ring, which is said to be worth sixty million dollars.”
“Sixty million?” Jamison blurted.
“Sixty million,” she repeated for effect.
“She should fire her sources,” he said.
Then the hostess sighed, sat back, and crossed her arms. “We’ll see where this hot mess ends up.”
Jamison and I stared at each other, speechless. What the hell? The longer we looked at each other, the more hilarious what we’d just seen became. I laughed first, and then Jamison, seeing that I hadn't been shaken by the gossip report, laughed with me. However, I understood why Jamison insisted we get far away from Bree Lovell. I’d heard about what happened to Delta Foster, and I’d known him well. I’d sent him get-well flowers and a card. He was an eccentric guy with an unconventional kind of sexual appetite. Basically, Delta wasn't someone a girl—or guy—should get serious about. Of course Bree would try to shove someone like Delta into her box.
“But I’m actually shocked that she would even go for someone like Delta Foster,” I said, musing aloud.
“Bree has several personalities, babe.”
Then Jamison received a text from his mother, which said that the funeral would start at two o’clock in the afternoon instead of ten in the morning.
Again, Jamison and I looked at each other and shook our heads. It was all so very weird.
“I can’t wait until this is over,” I said.
Jamison reached around me and lowered me down onto the bed as he positioned his pelvis between my thighs. “Same here,” he whispered as he thrust himself inside me.
I cried out from pleasure.
Our sex session had wiped away the three-hour grace period we’d been given when Stephanie, at the last minute, changed the time of the funeral. Jamison and I found ourselves rushing to keep from being late. As soon as we were dressed and ready to go, Jamison seemed nervous again. “We leave tonight,” he said as we stopped in front of the door so I could fix his tie.
“Deal.” I gave him a quick kiss.
His eyebrows rose intriguingly. “Thank you.”
I kissed him again. “You’re welcome.”
When we made it to the car, we remembered the gossip report. Jamison opened the hood, and I stood next to him as he checked the wires. There wasn’t even a speck of dirt on any of the parts. Basically, we were cleared to get in and get on the road.
I let Jamison remain with his thoughts on the drive over. Mentally, we’d filled our minds with just about everything but the funeral. When we arrived, about fifty or more people were sitting in chairs around the casket.
Jamison sat behind the steering wheel, reading the scene. Then he inhaled deeply through his nostrils.
“Are you ready, babe?” I asked.
“Yes.” He sighed. “But wait. I’ll open the door for you.”
He got out and walked around the front of the car. Quickly, I tried to locate Bree Lovell. Bingo. There she was, having a conversation with a man in a blue suit. Strangely, the man made eye contact with me as he turned his back on Bree and walked away. He wasn’t a guest.
“What the hell was that about?” I whispered.
I would have to watch her closely throughout the day.
An elegant lady wearing a black pillbox hat with a fishnet veil over her face walked over to us. “Jamison?”
Jamison let go of my hand to hug her and introduced her to me as his mother. I instantly noticed the resemblance. He’d gotten his dimples, scrumptious lips, whiskey eyes, and carved face shape from her.
“Mother, this is Bronwyn Henrietta Blackstone,” Jamison said.
Stephanie put on one of the fakest smiles I’d ever seen as she grunted and told Jamison that she’d reserved one seat in front for him.
Damn, she just blew me off.
“No,” Jamison said without a pause. “I’m sitting with Bryn.”
His mother’s features grew wide. “You’re the son.”
“Mother, I’m not doing this here,” he muttered.
It took all the willpower and decency inside me to say, “You should sit up front with your mother, Jamison. It’s the right thing to do. I’ll be fine.” The optics were important, and him sitting in the back with me was not a good look.
Stephanie’s gaze brushed over me approvingly. Her smile was small. Then she focused on her son. “Remember what I asked.”
Jamison’s lips drew together tightly. “I still don’t get it.”
