Invisible Love Letter (7 page)

“This is where the magic happens.” Weston walked inside, pressed random buttons and turned things on.

“Holy crap. Clearly, this isn’t a hobby.”

“No,” He pulled the computer chair out for me. “More like a passion. Sit.” He tapped the chair. “I’m going to need your help.”

I eagerly took the seat; it had been years since I’d witnessed how music was made. And though my father was a successful musician, his studio looked like crap compared to this one. “What do you need me to do?”

“A buddy of mine is mastering the file and he said the course is off. I’m going to sing the same part over and over, and I need you to press this button before I begin and this one once I’m done.”

That sounded easy enough. Weston walked into the booth and placed his headphones over his ears. He then guided me to do the same. Retrieving them from the hook where they hung, I settled them over my ears.

“Can you hear me?” His voice came through the small speakers and bolted through my body. It was as though he was inside my head. “This is easier so my neighbors don't call the cops. I’ll be the only one who can hear the music, and you’ll only hear me. If you need to talk to me, press the MIC button on the right next to the STOP button.”

I nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

“Okay, press PLAY.” Weston bobbed his head for a few seconds before he approached the mic and began to sing.

“
T
he way your lips feel
, the scent of your hair.

You're driving me insane, I feel you in the air.

I want to be tangled between your legs,

Hearing you moan and making you beg.

I’ll make love to you ’til I see your eyes roll back.

Loving you will give me a heart attack.”

I
couldn’t pull
my gaze away from him. It was as if he were singing directly to my soul. His eyes were locked on mine as he repeated the verses over and over. Ten tantalizing minutes later, he told me to stop. I was ready to go home and take a long, cold shower. Parched and out of breath, I pulled the headphones from my ears. Weston walked over to the screen as I wheeled the chair back. Clicking his computer off, he stood and turned towards me, his lips curled up into a smile. He reached out for me and I placed my clammy hand in his warm palm as he lifted me off the seat. Pivoting so my back was turned to the soundboard, Weston claimed the space between my thighs.

“Maybe having you here wasn’t the best idea.”

He tucked my hair behind my ear, the tips of his finger burning my skin. I whimpered as he moved closer, erasing all distance. His chest pressed against mine. Trapped within his legs, I locked my eyes with his.

“Just a taste,” he whispered. His thumb pressed on my lower lip before his mouth crashed onto mine. My mouth opened wide for him, his tongue swirling and dancing with mine. Weston pressed his arousal against my stomach, and I swallowed back a moan.

I needed him.

I wanted him.

I craved him.

Melting in his arms, I moaned between his lips. My head fell back; I was unable to form coherent thoughts. He created a path down my chin and towards my neck with open mouth kisses. My nails dug into his back. I held on for dear life so I wouldn’t explode. His hand tugged on the nape of my neck before he pulled away, and my skin instantly needed more of his touch.

His eyes darkened, turning almost black as yearning spread across them like wildfire. “I want you, Emilia,” his voice was gruff, “but I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want to rush us. I want to take my time with you.” He kissed a soft spot on my neck. “I don’t want to take you on the couch. I want to spend all
fucking
night with you.” Another kiss. “In you.”

Swallowing back every possible thought of him on top of me, I rested my hand on his chest and nudged him back. “Take me home, Weston.” I shook my head. I couldn’t believe I was actually saying this. “I want to take this slow too, and if we stay here any longer, that won’t happen.”

Weston tapped a kiss on my lips and chuckled. “Come on, babe. I’ll take you home.”

L
eslie
and I spent the entire day Saturday looking for the perfect outfit. Weston had invited me out for Sunday lunch, so I went with a soft cotton yellow dress with an Empire waist that tied around my neck. I paired it with my nude wedges, diffused my hair, and let the curls fall down my back. The red tint of my hair seemed to pop against the soft tone of the yellow.

My cheeks ached from all the smiling I’d been doing the past couple of days. And getting ready for a surprise lunch date only made my smile grow wider. Weston had dropped me off at home after the studio, but not before asking to see me again.

H
e’d pulled
up next to my apartment and shut off the car. “You don’t have to walk me in.” I’d leaned over and kissed his scruffy cheek. Walking me to the door would have caused me to invite him in, and I didn’t know if I could then keep my hands off him any longer.

He’d brought the back of my hand to his mouth and kissed it before he asked, “Have lunch with me on Sunday?”

“Sure.” I’d smiled. I would see him again in two days. “Where do you want to go?”

“I know a place. Wear a dress.” He’d smirked and pushed my hair behind my ear.

“Where are we going?” His words had piqued my interest.

“It’s a surprise.” His fingers had cupped my neck as he’d pulled me in for another kiss. His tongue had licked my lips and any thought of where we were going had flown out the window.

I
twirled
around again and ran my hand down my dress. I wanted a second opinion, but Leslie spent the night with Harry and hadn’t come home to calm my nerves or give me her stamp of approval. Harry had promised her that this time around things would be different. I wanted to believe he was telling her the truth.

Sighing, I brushed my hands on the soft cotton as I gazed in the full-length mirror. “You don’t look so bad, Em,” I said, giving myself a mental pep talk.

Applying a coat of clear lip gloss to match my natural makeup, I heard the doorbell ring. The butterflies in my stomach had grown since the last time they were in there, and I was pretty sure they enlarged even more as I peeked through the peephole.

Weston stood with his hands shoved into the back pockets of his dark blue jeans. The Converse I had seen him in so many times had been replaced by boat shoes, and a fitted, light blue button-down hugged his chest.

I bit the inside of my lip to contain my happiness. I had seen him two days ago, and though we had spoken since then, I missed him. Leaping off my step, I flew into his arms. My hands entwined around his neck as I placed a kiss on his lips, and he moaned before he opened his mouth for me. His hands clasped my waist, twirling me around, and I laughed.

Weston lowered my feet to the ground, his stormy gray eyes scanning my body. “You look perfect.”

I closed the front door and laced our fingers together. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

Holding the car door open for me, he replied, “It’s about an hour and a half away, but don’t you worry, I’ve got something for you.”

When Weston climbed into the driver side, he pulled out a CD from the glove compartment and slid it into his player. “What’s on here?” I asked.

“The classics.” He slid the CD into the player. It was a mix of classic rock bands that had played with my father at one point or another throughout his career. My heart fluttered faster at the image of Weston putting this together for me.

As the songs played, the miles passed, and before I knew it, we were pulling up to a house in Temecula. Weston pulled his car into a pebbled stone driveway.

I looked over at Weston. “This doesn't look like a restaurant.”

“It's not.” He shut the car off. “It's my mother's house.” He winked at me before pushing his door open.

My stomach dropped. “What!” His mother? We had driven almost two hours to go to his mother's house? My eyes scanned my dress.
Was it too short? Shit!

“I told you that night at Sessions that I wanted to bring you home to meet my mother,” he said as he held his door open.

“But…”

My sweaty palms brushed my dress. What would his mother think of me? I had never met a guy’s mom before. Technically, I had never been in a relationship before. Were Weston and I even
in
a relationship?

Weston stepped out of the car and jogged around to my side. He pulled my door open and gave me his hand. “You look beautiful, Emilia, and my family is going to love you.”

Family!

As we walked down the pebbled driveway, children’s screams echoed and a door slammed shut. What was I getting into? Footfalls could be heard slamming against the deck that was visible in the backyard.

“Uncle Wes!”

Two little girls ran full speed toward us, their blonde hair flying in the air. Their hands wrapped around his legs as their laughter and glee erupted, but they came to a sudden halt when they noticed me.

“Tess, Teegan.” He patted their heads. “This is Emilia.”

I lowered my body to their height. “Hi.”

Teegan pushed her golden blonde hair off her face. They both had the most beautiful piercing blue eyes, and if it weren’t for a freckle on Teegan’s chin, you wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. “Is she your girlfriend, Uncle Wes?” He laughed and whispered something in Tess's ear before she ran off.

“They're adorable,” I said, and watched them run up the deck.

“They're a handful. My brother, Trent, is overseas, so my mother has them.”

“Work or pleasure?”

“War.” His voice, which had been smooth and happy, instantly changed to sadness.

My palm slammed on my forehead. “Gosh, I'm an ass. I'm sorry, I didn't even think—”

“It's okay.” Weston threw his arm over my shoulder. “Their mom suffered from postpartum depression and never fully recovered, and Trent’s deployment didn’t help. It's been a working battle, but my mother has full custody now.”

“Weston!”

“And that would be my mother.” He laughed. A petite woman appeared on the deck, her slim body leaning against the railing. Her skin was the color of mocha, and her hair was midnight black with tight spiral curls. When she smiled, it was the same smile Weston had. A tall, older gentleman with blond hair and light green eyes joined his mother on the wooden deck.

“Your dad?” I questioned.

“Yeah. Stepdad, technically.” He grabbed my hand and led me towards the deck. My heart rate spiked with anxiety. What would she think of me?

They met us halfway. His mother clutched her hands to her chest as she admired her son. “Oh, sweetie.” She opened her arms for an embrace. Weston released my hand and hugged his mother before looking back at me.

“Emilia Darcy, these are my parents, Margaret and Joseph Carter.”

I extended my hand to his mother. Ignoring it, she opened her arms for me. I smiled and hugged her briefly. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Margaret held both of my hands. “Oh, the pleasure's all mine. I'm so happy you could join us for lunch.” She beamed at Joseph. “Isn't she beautiful?”

“Hi.” I extended my hand to shake his.

“Hello.” He smiled. “Margaret is a bit excited to have you over.”

“Nonsense.” She patted his chest. “Come out back. Lunch is almost ready.”

The modern house stood tall, stretching out toward the horizon. Wooden panels flanked the facade as the smooth glass from the windows peeked out from behind perfectly groomed hedges.

Locking her arm with mine, she led us through the backyard and up onto the deck; I followed Margaret inside. Weston followed, then led me into the kitchen. The cabinets were a dark cherry with tan granite countertops. Dishes loaded with delicacies covered most of the counter space. It was beautiful.

Margaret collected my purse to put away. After she had left, Weston introduced me to an elderly woman standing at the stove. “Emilia, this is Mama, my grandmother.” She was an older version of Weston’s mother, her ash gray hair pulled back in a low bun. She had the same smile as Weston and his mother.

“Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Her soft hands framed my face; her eyes shone brightly. “Oh, look at you.” She turned to face Weston. “You've done well, my boy. She’s beautiful.” Her arms dropped to embrace me.

There was a small pinch in my chest. I’d never had a grandmother, at least not one who I’d had the pleasure of meeting, and the way Mama wrapped her arms around my body made me yearn for a family.

I pulled away, masking my pain with a smile. “Can I help with anything?”

“Yes, thank you, dear.” She turned and pointed to the dishes on the counter. “Those are ready to go outside.” Weston took two platters and I carried one behind him. Stepping onto the deck, we placed the dishes on the table just as Joseph pulled the meat off the grill.

The delicious smelling food tickled my nose as we finished setting the table. The door slid open and Weston's mother came out, closing it behind her. She had a pitcher of iced tea in one hand and what looked like a baby album in the other. She placed the tea on the glass patio table, then rested the album beside it and sank into the chair next to me.

Weston leaned across the table and reached for the album. “Mom, seriously? We haven't even had lunch yet and you're bringing out my baby book?”

I leaped across him and stole the book from his loose grip. “Oh no, you don't. If your mom wants to show me baby pictures, I will sit here all day and look at them.” I flipped open the baby blue cover.

“This is when he was first born. He came two weeks early.” She pointed to a faded picture of him in the hospital. “And this was his Mimi.” She tapped her fingernail on a blanket Weston held in almost every picture. I flipped another page. “He loved the bath, especially around six months when he found his pecker.” My mouth hung open and she winked.

Teegan giggled. “Grandma said pecker.”

“Mom!” Weston stood so fast his chair scraped against the wood. “That’s enough.” He slammed the album shut and pulled it from my hands, then he stalked back inside the house. The family chuckled at his outrage.

“Does he get this flustered with all the girls he brings home?” I asked as I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes.

The table went silent.

Margaret gazed at me with a tiny grin on her face. “Oh, Emilia.” She grabbed my hand. “You’re the only girl he’s ever brought home.” Leaning in, Margaret cradled me; really hugged me. It was an embrace from a mother, one I desperately needed. “The way he looks at you.” Her fingers grasped tighter. “It’s a look I love, sweetie.”

Weston returned to the table. His cheeks were colored a light rose from his embarrassment, and my chest felt as though a ton of bricks had been dropped on my heart. I was the only girl he had ever brought home.

“What did she tell you now?” he asked after his mother pulled away.

I shook my head, still trying to process what Margaret said. “Nothing,” I lied. His mother had told me everything.

Lunch was delicious. The jerk chicken and Caribbean spices were tangy and piquant, and Joseph and Margaret were great at making me comfortable. Joseph was an architect—he had built their home—and Margaret worked in his office. They were humble and sweet, but the constant reminder that I could no longer drive over to my own parents’ for Sunday lunch perched heavy on my heart.

O
nce the kitchen was cleaned
, we said our goodbyes. Margaret kept her arms around me a few seconds longer than necessary, her cheek resting on my hair as she whispered, “You’re welcome in this house anytime.” I nodded my head to let her know I understood. “Take care, my sweet child.” Her voice pressed on my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

I missed my mother.

I shook Joseph’s hand and gave a quick kiss on the cheek to Mama. “My dear, please come back as often as you please,” she whispered in my ear. I pulled back, giving her a kind smile before I darted out of the house, my stride long and quick. I slammed the car door shut and leaned my head back on the seat. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I tried to gather my thoughts before Weston got in. The driver door opened and I begged—no, I pleaded for my unshed tears to stay put.

“You okay?” he asked, sinking into the leather seat.

“Yeah.” My voice cracked.

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It just … It feels real.” I turned to face him. “It’s all too real. I don’t remember—”

“Hey …” His hands framed my face. “Talk to me.”

Finding comfort in his warm eyes, I dumped my pain on him. “I don’t remember what it’s like to visit parents for lunch. I can’t remember my mother’s hugs, and the way your mother and Mama hugged me felt so real. I miss my mom. I miss my parents.”

Weston didn't speak; he simply let me rest my head on his chest and pressed his lips into my hair. It was what I needed.

W
hen I pulled away
from him, he gazed down at me with a sweet smile. “Let's go back to my house. We can lounge on the couch.” I nodded and smiled at the wonderful man he was.

W
e arrived back
in LA early that evening.

Weston's home was warm and inviting. The ranch style house consisted of an open floor plan. The two bedrooms were in the back and tiles were laid out throughout the house to keep it cool during the warm weather.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Weston asked as I followed him into his kitchen. White cabinets were situated throughout the open but quaint room. The appliances were older but still in good condition. By the lack of food or small appliances on the counter, it seemed as though the only things Weston used were the coffee pot and microwave.

“Water please.” I lifted up the box of brownie mix that sat near the coffee machine. “You bake?”

“No,” he puffed out in defeat. “I have no idea how to even turn on the oven, but every once in a while my mother drops by with food. That was in her last delivery.” A sly smile overtook his face. “Though a sundae would be good right about now.”