Promise (19 page)

"You really need this big of a bed?" I
teased.

"I actually hardly ever sleep in it anymore.
It feels too big and empty. I prefer the chair in the office these
days. But…I think it has potential." He raised his eyebrows and
grinned mischievously. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. "Maybe
we'll find out…some time. Right now, I need to start dinner."

He quickly showed me the master bath and I
imagined the potential in there, too, with the big Jacuzzi tub and
a shower the size of my bedroom. Back downstairs, he led me into
the most amazing, dream kitchen. The décor was a little cold for my
style—mostly concrete, stainless steel and glass. There were tons
of cabinets and immense counter space, though, including an island
in the middle and a bar at the western end.

"Tristan, you've been holding out on me!" I
slid my hands along the smooth countertops and gazed at the
six-burner stove. "This looks like so much more fun than Mom's tiny
kitchen. We wouldn't be bumping into each other all the time."

He grinned. "I thought you might like
it."

We cooked together, while listening to music
and drinking wine. He usually played the role of prep-chef and I
did the main cooking. While his slices and dices were precise, I
was good at mixing, stirring and adding ingredients to give it the
right flavor. We traded roles tonight and the linguine with clam
sauce and a side salad tasted delicious.

After cleaning up, he poured us some more
wine and played with his little toy to change the music while I
took a closer look at the houses—they were actually architectural
models, complete with landscaping. Each was in a different style
and in a different setting. I leaned over to study the intricate
details he'd added to each one.

"I showed you mine. Will you show me yours?"
Tristan said from behind me. I whirled in shock. He laughed at my
expression. "You've seen my creations, now. When do I get to see
yours?"

Oh, my book
. I circumvented the
question by taking my glass from him, draining the wine and
rerouting the conversation to the models.

"These are truly incredible. They must have
taken you forever."

He shrugged. "I've done these since I moved
here last summer. I'm still trying to figure out my dream home, I
guess. I can't decide which one I like best."

"Why don't you just build all three, then you
don't have to choose?" I giggled, thinking it may not be so
unrealistic for him.

He laughed. "I've seriously thought about
that. But…well, I'm waiting to get some input from the person I'll
be sharing them with some day."

He smiled seductively. Butterflies fluttered
again and my head went fuzzy. I never drank more than one glass of
wine with Mom, so it didn't take much. And, of course, Tristan had
that effect on me all by himself, especially like now, when he
walked up to me, put his hands on my shoulders and gazed into my
eyes, the gold in his sparkling brightly. He leaned over and kissed
my jaw, his hands gliding down my back.

"So what do you think?" he murmured.

I couldn't answer immediately, his touch
electrically stimulating my body, then finally, I giggled. "I think
I'm in no frame of mind to be thinking."

I put my arms around his neck and had to
concentrate to keep his face in focus. I smiled, closed my eyes
(
that feels better
) and tilted my face up for a kiss. He
didn't deliver. I opened my eyes reluctantly and he stared at me
with a funny expression. I thought it was concern, but didn't know
why.

"What's the matter?" I asked, but it came out
more like, "Wass da madder."

"Alexis, are you drunk?"

I giggled. "No, I don't think so. I have a
really good buzz, though."

I sagged against him, still holding onto his
neck. I kissed his chest through his shirt.

"Yeah…I think you're drunk. I better take you
home."

"No! I don' wunna go home." I pulled myself
up against him and kissed his neck and then put effort into
speaking correctly. "I want to stay here with you. Be with
you…maybe in that nice big bed upstairs?"

"Yeah, uh, I don't think so. I'm taking you
home."

"Tristan, please?" I breathed. I pressed my
body against his, pulling his head down closer and nuzzling my face
against his neck. Then I stood on my toes and slid my lips along
his jaw and, just as I reached his mouth, I lost my balance and
would have fallen over if he hadn't been holding me.

"Nope. Let's go," he said firmly, extricating
himself from my arms, while still holding me upright.

"Please?" I pouted, trying to look at him
through my eyelashes. I probably looked like a fool. He shook his
head. "Why?"

"Because I won't take advantage of you like
this."

"You wouldn't be taking advantage of me. I
promise." I smiled, trying to be seductive.

"As tempting as that sounds,
ma
lykita
, I will not do anything with you that I may regret."

The smile fell off my face and unexpected
tears pooled in my eyes.
Okay, self, wine makes me emotional…and
stupid.
"You would regret it? You'd regret being with me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you must be drunk
if you think I'd regret being with you."

"But that's what you just said."

He sighed, but his expression looked amused.
"What I meant is I'm not going to do something that I'd always have
to wonder if you really wanted it or if it was the wine. Okay?"

I sighed. "No, it's not okay."

"I think you'll get over it. Come on, I'm
taking you home." He took my hand and pulled gently.

I reluctantly followed him downstairs and
naturally headed to the motorcycle.

"Oh, no. I don't think you're in any shape
for that," he said, pulling me over to the cars.

"Oooh, can we take the Ferrari? Let's be
obnoxious!"

He laughed. "No, that's for going
fast…
very
fast. You're not in any condition for that either
and I'm not about to take the chance you'll puke all over it."

"I'm not that drunk, silly." I giggled again
as he held the Mercedes door open for me. "Can we put the top down?
I love driving topless."

He raised an eyebrow and that brought me to
tears with laughter as he lowered the car's roof and pulled out of
the garage. The cool December air blew on my face and sobered me
quite a bit by the time we drove the two miles to my house. I
shivered as we pulled in front of the cottage.

"Sorry," I said, as we headed inside. "I
don't think I should mix you and wine. It's too much for my
system."

He gave me a squeeze. "I thought it was just
you
who intoxicates
me
."

***

The following week flew by as we managed the
Christmas rush at the bookstore. Owen had gone home for the
holidays, so Mom needed the extra help. Because we'd kept the store
open until six on Christmas Eve, Mom and I didn't have much time to
bake birthday cakes—the first part of our tradition. So we went
over to Tristan's house to take advantage of his kitchen and all
three of us made one at the same time.

While the cakes baked in the oven, we
exchanged gifts, leaving Christmas Day for a birthday celebration.
My stomach tightened with apprehension. Mom was easy and I knew she
would love the CD I compiled for her. It was something she'd be
able to play in the store and she was excited when she opened it.
She gave me an emerald green blouse I'd seen her wear once and had
told her how gorgeous it was on her. I didn't fill it out like she
did, but I loved it…and so did Tristan when I modeled it.

It was his present I worried about. He wanted
to read my unfinished book, but I wasn't nearly ready for anyone to
read it, especially him. So I wrote him a poem about my love for
him and had it framed with a small picture of me. The poem came
directly from my heart, so it was, admittedly, pretty sappy. I
didn't know if he'd like it or laugh at it. I sat on the couch next
to him with my knees to my chest, tugging and twisting my hair as
he opened and then read it. I held my breath the entire time.

He looked up at me and his eyes sparkled
and…glistened. He bent over and kissed me on the cheek, murmuring,
"It's perfect. Thank you."

I sighed hugely with relief and let myself
relax.

"Your turn." He handed me a flat box. My
hands trembled as I opened it.

I sucked in my breath. "Tristan, it's
exquisite," I breathed. I couldn't take my eyes off it. "But I
can't accept this. You cheated!"

Inside the box lay a silver chain with a
beautiful pendant—two spaghetti-thick strands of silver entwined
around each other and shaped into a circle with a triangular ruby
dangling in the center. I'd never seen anything like it. When I
looked up at him, his expression was pained and guilt stabbed my
heart.

"Oh, I'm so
sorry
!" I said sincerely.
I threw myself into his lap, put my arms around his neck and looked
directly into his eyes. "I absolutely love it! And, even though you
broke the rules, I'll keep it forever."

He swallowed. "But I didn't break the rules.
The chain is new, but I designed and made the pendant myself."

I looked at the pendant and back at him. "You
designed
this?"

"Just for you. It's symbolic." He lowered his
voice. "Two lives intertwined around one love."

"Oh.
My
." I studied the pendant and
happy tears filled my eyes. I treasured it more than anything I'd
ever owned. I lifted my hair. "Put it on me. I'm
never
taking it off."

He clasped the chain and kissed my neck
before I dropped my hair.

"Tristan…?" Mom asked, her voice mixed with
concern and wonder as she eyed the pendant against my chest. "Is
that what I think it is?"

"Yes."

I looked at him questioningly.

"The stone is unique and very precious," he
explained.

"Does it mean anything?" I asked. "I mean,
besides the symbolism?"

"It's the closest I can come to giving you a
piece of my heart." He shrugged it off, but his eyes told me it
meant a lot.

"Thank you," I whispered, fingering the ruby.
It felt strangely warm to the touch. "I'll wear it forever."

"Thank you for your love," he said,
indicating the poem. "I'll keep it forever."

"I
might
let you have it that long," I
teased.

He pulled me against his chest. "You don't
have a choice because I'll never let it go. And I'm much stronger
than you."

Christmas Day was the best Mom and I ever
had. After delivering the cakes to a homeless shelter and nursing
homes, we drove around, scoping out opportunities for random acts
of kindness. The first one came when we saw a lady and four small
children clambering out of a car. She tried to unload gifts from
her old station wagon, while keeping the kids out of the street.
Tristan and I carried the gifts to the house for her while Mom
helped her with the kids. Tristan slipped her something as we left
and she stared after us, her mouth hanging open with shock. He did
the same thing each time we helped someone. I didn't ask about it
because that was the point of the day, but I knew when we stopped
at a convenience store.

We'd just bought drinks and the man behind us
argued with the clerk about why his credit card didn't work at the
pump. He carried on about how he needed to get to Miami to see his
kids for Christmas. Tristan tucked something into my hand, nodded
at the man and strode out of the store. I looked at the folded
one-hundred-dollar bill in my hand, smiled and stepped over to the
man at the counter.

"Here, go see your kids," I whispered. I
placed the bill in his hand and hurried out the door before he
could stop me. We took off as soon as I was in the car. When I
looked back, both the man and the clerk stood outside, watching
after us.

Chapter 1
4

As December slipped into January and January
disappeared into February, I spent as much time as I could on the
book…when I wasn't in class or with Tristan. I was surprised at how
easily most of it came to me, almost like it wrote itself and I was
just a tool. The book would be better than I expected and I nearly
finished the first draft by the middle of February. Then I got
sick.

Valentine's Day and my birthday five days
later were both miserable. I caught a horrible cold that fell into
my chest and became bronchitis. I felt even worse because Tristan
had planned a weekend in Orlando for my birthday that included
seeing one of our favorite bands in concert. Instead, he made me
homemade soup and we watched my favorite movies.

"You probably shouldn't be here," I said to
him my first miserable night. My voice was hoarse and nasally.

"It's Valentines. Of course I want to be with
my love." He sat on the end of the couch, my head in his lap, and
stroked my hair.

"You really don't want to catch this,
though." A fit of coughing emphasized my point.

"I don't get sick," he said. "I didn't think
you could, either."

I started to answer, but coughing took over
again. My head and shoulders and chest—oh, hell, my whole
body—ached from it.

"Her body's not that strong," Mom answered
for me. "Her skin can heal, but her internal organs aren't as
powerful. She'll get over it quicker than most, but she still gets
sick."

"I'm still somewhat normal, in other words,"
I croaked.

"That explains how the wine made you drunk,"
he said.

"You guys don't get drunk?" I asked with mild
wonder. Tristan and Mom both shook their heads.

Then Tristan looked at me thoughtfully. "What
about your bones?"

"We don't know. That cut last fall was the
worst I've ever been hurt. I've never broken a bone, so we don't
know if they'll heal on their own or not."