Angelique Rising (11 page)

             
"Wyatt --I think you'd better get over here."

             
Angelique had passed out cold.

             
Wyatt moved to Angelique in stiff precise intent, carefully picked his cherished (albeit unconscious) new wife up in his arms and bundled her off to his bedroom catching the looks of uneasy fascination on his brother's and Johnson's faces.

             
He didn't care. She was his now. And by golly he was going to keep her.

             
"Good morning," he said much later to her, a hint of a smile on his face.

             
"Morning?"

             
"It's before dawn."

             
They were laying together on his bed, him in his pajama bottoms, her in her underwear (he'd removed her jeans, shirt and shoes the night before).

             
"How do you feel?" he asked, his voice deceptively sympathetic.

             
"Confused," she said blearily. "What day is this?"

             
"The day after your birthday. What do you remember?"

             
"The birthday cake. Oh... I drank all those drinks. Oh lord, did I pass out?"

             
"You fell asleep late yesterday afternoon. You've been asleep for hours."

             
"That probably explains why I need to hit the bathroom bad. 'Scuse me," she said vaulting out of bed and bounding away. She reappeared a few minutes later looking quite embarrassed.

             
"Wyatt, I'm so sorry. I never drank like that before. I should have told you. Are you mad?"

             
"Do you remember what we did?" he asked lifting up the bedcovers in a gesture calculated to summon her back in.

             
"Um, no. But I can guess." She snuggled up to him relishing his body heat.

             
"Look at your hand. No, the other one."

             
She did and saw the rose gold wedding band.

             
"What?"

             
"We got married yesterday. Don't panic. You can get out of it." He squeezed her thigh.

             
"We
didn't."

             
"I assure you we did. But the minister won't record the Certificate for a few more hours. If you want we can go get it, tear it up, go our separate ways. Or you can go with plan B."

             
"Plan B?"

             
He took a large breath like he was about to jump into some very deep water with a leaky life vest.

             
"We consummate this marriage. And if we do that Angelique,
that's it
. You're consenting to be my wife and you'd better believe it's for keeps. But before you make your decision there's something you have to know. I love you. That's for keeps too. I'm rich, I will give you anything you want but you
will
have to make some changes. You must stay safe --I will enforce that. Do you remember what I said to you the first time I was on your houseboat? I said
I will take you over my knee right now
. I wasn't kidding. You ever again do anything I think puts yourself at serious risk --like that poker game of yours-- I'll
do
it. Maybe worse. I don't know. You choose to be my wife, you accept that right now. No crying about it later. You take the sweet, you take the not so sweet too. I don't want to hurt you. But there's something so
vulnerable
about you, and it screams out at me to protect you and I'll do whatever I have to to do precisely that. Even if it means some painful lessons for both of us in the you-sure-won't-do-anything-like-
that
-again department. Your decision, Ange," he finished in a clear no-discussion voice.

             
His exhortation left her reeling and she gulped, her heart thrumming, her mind giddy as a slow flush spread across her face. She needed to stall, get her wits working.

             
"Wyatt, did you ever consider that I might have a not-so-sweet aspect too? A whole lot of 'em in fact."

             
"Like what?"

             
"I sleepwalk."

             
"I know that. Last night I found you in the closet saying you had to feed your cat. You don't have a cat."

             
"I fly. No way I'm giving that up."

             
"I'll deal."

             
"I'm a screw-up. And I have secrets, Wyatt, not
bad
secrets, nothing that would ever hurt you or shame you, but... stuff."

             
"You think I don't know that? I was
there
, Angelique, in Cory's room. Remember?"

             
He rolled over on top of her cradling her head in his hands, pinning her to the pillow, locking his eyes on hers.

             
"It's up to you, Angelique." He stroked her hair. "We consummate this marriage or not. We do... you're my wife. And you act like it. Decide." He could feel her breath quickening under him, feel a patina of sweat break out over her body.

             
"Wyatt, I'd make you an awful wife," she whispered, desire charging the atmosphere in the room, her body beginning to tremble.

             
"Let me worry about that."

             
Senses in disarray, her judgment inexplicably yielded to the effervescing thrill coursing through her and she unfurled beneath him.

             
They consummated their marriage. And after, they both laid next to each other in tender reflective silence knowing everything had changed as dawn slowly lightened the room.

             
And the thing above in the heavens knelt down to Wyatt and bestowed upon him a grateful blessing of all the love it had to give.

             
And all the power.

Chapter Five

             
"That's
three
locked doors," Angelique exclaimed entering the elevator with Wyatt, George and Johnson.

             
"This is a very exclusive Vegas jeweler, Ma'am," Johnson said. "Their security has to be tight."

             
George desperately squelched a smirk.

             
"I don't want anything sparkly," Angelique pronounced.

             
"You don't want your diamond to sparkle?" Wyatt responded, baffled.

             
"No. Nothing flashy. I'd like it to look like a little piece of spring river ice about to melt on my hand."

             
Spring river ice? You betcha, Wyatt thought dubiously. The poor jeweler. He was surely expecting on selling them a
rock,
not "a little piece of spring river ice," not to mention it having to be a diamond that wasn't "sparkly."

             
They walked into the large room decorated in mute calming colors except for the man in the severe pinstripe suit who rose from a table greeting them.

             
"Mr. Cochran," he said, extending his hand, "and the lovely bride." He always did it this way, he of course knew her name (no way she'd get in otherwise) but he never knew if the woman was keeping her own name or changing it to her new husband's. But he had a theory. The bigger the diamond the man purchased for her was directly correlated to whether she'd changed her name.

             
"My wife, Angelique Cochran," Wyatt introduced. Well that took care of that the jeweler thought without showing the least response even when he noticed the momentary flash of shock cross the woman's face. Christ, she was beautiful. It would be a two carat at least. He mentally calculated his commission.

             
"My brother, George, and my assistant, Johnson."

             
The jeweler nodded to them all and waved them to sit at the table.

             
"And what kind of stone are you interested in?" the jeweler asked careful to address both Wyatt and Angelique together. He never knew at the outset who would actually be wielding the decision power.

             
Three trays of diamond rings later the jeweler was about ready to rip his hair out.
Nothing sparkly. Too big. No foo-foo
. Was she
nuts?
She'd hooked herself a megabucks sugar daddy and she didn't want to reel him
in?

             
"Wyatt, I don't
need
a diamond," she finally said trying to make it sound like it wasn't important to her, "the band is okay by itself."

             
Darn, he was going to lose the entire sale.

             
"I have a stone you might be interested in," the jeweler said quickly, trying to keep the distress from his voice. "It is almost two hundred years old, with few facets, by modern standards crudely cut. It definitely could pass for a piece of
river ice
. But it is," he smiled fondly, "a DD diamond. In other words, in terms of quality it is very rare, quite literally off the scale." He was already rising to get the antique. He returned and handed it to her.

             
She lit up as he placed the stone against the skin of her finger. It was square shaped, it screamed
not-fancy-dancy
but simple, indeed rather like something she actually had picked up one day walking along a river. It wasn't small but it wasn't garish-big either, it was... perfect.

             
Angelique's face glowed.

             
"How much?" she asked.

             
"We'll take it," Wyatt said.

             
"Wyatt, no, we have to see how much it costs, if it's--"

             
"This is a reputable establishment, Ma'am," Johnson interrupted. "The price will be appropriate."

             
"Set it in a plain rose gold setting," Wyatt said looking at Angelique who was biting her lip trying to conceal how much she liked the jewel. "No
foo-foo
,
"
he added, his heart swelling as he saw how visibly happy she was with it. And as far as cost was concerned, he could always buy her more diamonds. Heck, she could have all the friggin' diamonds she wanted.

             
Even as Johnson drove them in the rental to the airport, Angelique couldn't take her eyes off the ring, a little smile quivering on her lips.

             
"It's a nice ring, Angelique," George smiled at her, "though perhaps not what people will be expecting."

             
She didn't know what that meant. What it meant was
it sure isn't what Maureen picked out. And still wears.

             
"It was too expensive," she said though her eyes didn't budge and neither did her smile.

             
Wyatt snorted and George knew they were both thinking the same thing --the cost of Angelique's ring compared to the cost of Maureen's. George wondered what people --read
Maureen
-- would read into the discrepancy. But George had to admit, Angelique's ring, though no where near as expensive as Maureen's, was still somehow
nicer.
Better taste. Prettier. And that would register, even with Maureen. Younger and prettier, yes, that's what would be sticking in Maureen's craw.

             
"So when are you gonna lay all this on the family, bro?" George asked.

             
"No time like the present," Wyatt answered pulling out his cell phone and pushing buttons.

             
"Oh criminy," Angelique swallowed finally prying her eyes off her ring.

             
"Hello, Mom?" Wyatt said. "Yeah, hi. Look, I have some news for you. Yes, good news. I got married yesterday. We're here in Vegas on our way back, we just arrived at the airport. Mom? Mom?"

             
George's face splintered with laughter.

             
"Yes, that's George, he was best man. It was a very small ceremony, in my hotel room." And the bride was bombed out of her gourd, Wyatt didn't say. "Angelique. Angelique Reising. You remember the Gala? Remember that song I sang you liked so much? Yes, that's her. Twenty. A couple of weeks. Mom? Mom? ...Oh, hello, Dad."

             
"Tell him I won half a mill at the tables, that'll soften him up," George urged gleefully.