Perfect Timing (39 page)

“Our wed—” She broke contact, trepidation assuaged. “Is that where we’re going, to Las Vegas?” Aidan’s brow furrowed, as if he’d forgotten he was on a plane, destination unknown—at least to her.

“Vegas? No. I don’t need that much of a visual. Believe me, this is definitely happening right here, right now.” As if to prove his point, in one deft moment she was under him, the angle fitting like a puzzle piece. “Isabel, I want the moment Fitz Landrey stole from us. I want what should have been.” And in his voice was the same sincerity she’d heard seven years before, almost to the moment. “Since that god-awful night, between the highs that came out of this lottery ticket life and the ones that came out of a bottle, there was that. This beautifully broken thing inside me, haunting me, no matter where I went—in the world or in my head. I’ve survived off the fantasy of fixing it. And now, here you are. Here we are and I, well, I was wondering if you’d—”

A sudden kiss ended his plea. His body pressed tight to hers, Isabel wanting nothing more than to deliver Aidan Royce’s fantasy. With his request came a wave of empowerment. She was the only person who could make that happen. Tracing his face with her fingertips, she whispered, “I’m in.”

A gusty burst of passion took them from there. Aidan knew exactly what he wanted, making love to Isabel like this was, indeed, the first time. But the moment intensified as two adults broached an echelon that might have eluded two teenagers. In between the fervent moments, Isabel indulged in small things that even indifference never let her forget. There was the sharing of skin, Aidan’s feet tangling with hers, a hand gliding over her hip. It was breathless and fearless and endless, everything slipping perfectly into place. Perfectly until a frustrated curse word slipped from Aidan’s mouth. “What?” she gasped, a leg hooked hard around his.

“Nothing,” he said, from the edge of his fantasy, which was about to come to fruition. But at the last second he stopped again. “I don’t have a condom.”

“You don’t have a condom,” she repeated, fingers digging harder into his shoulders. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve had a condom in your wallet since I’ve known you!”

He squinted at her. “You’d be amazed how the lack of one will make you think twice. You’re not on—”

She shook her head. “Plan B would be my usual go-to method . . .”

He offered a quizzical look. “I thought I was just upgraded to plan A?”

She laughed. “Plan B is emergency contraception. You buy it over the counter, at the pharmacy. You could . . . well, you could ask Henry if he has one.”

“I’m not asking my flight attendant if he has a spare condom!” He groaned, his body hitting the mattress with a thud. “I don’t believe this. After . . . Wait,” he said, springing back up. “Why do we need one?”

“Your flight attendant? He seems so conscientious, helpful . . .”

He narrowed his eyes at the familiar lobbing of humor, clearly not amused. “Seriously, Isabel, think about it. As part of Sony’s contract, I just had a complete physical. I’m in perfect health,” he announced. “And I’m sure you . . .”

“Don’t need to ask,” she offered. “While that’s good information, Aidan, aren’t you skipping the obvious?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, sealing any gap between them, settling into a position as old as mankind. “Let’s see. If you want to talk old-fashioned values and fidelity, we are married.”

“You know, your public may never believe it, but the institution suits you.” He kissed her softly, his body matching the same gentle ease as it made a natural progression.

“And if I recall,” he said, breathing her in, “there was an agreement about waiting and comparing notes. I kept my end.” He turned his head, offering a bird’s-eye view of the snake. “You may have to make good on yours.”

“Interesting spin,” she said, gripping his body with a tad more aggression than he took with hers. “But I’m not sure I’m over the honeymoon phase yet.” Nothing ever felt as perfect, Isabel gladly forfeiting the argument.

“Of course, sometimes these things don’t happen overnight,” he said, slipping into a seductive rhythm. It was like
feeling
Aidan sing. “But if it did, well, I don’t think anything would make me happier.”

Closing her eyes, she didn’t want him to see the tears. They were hysterically happy tears, but she feared he’d draw the wrong conclusion. “I don’t know if this theory works in reverse,” she whispered. “But I want you to know, I love you, Aidan. I’ve always loved you.”

CHAPTER FORTY

T
HE
ALTITUDE
EVENTUALLY
DROPPED
AND
THE
LANDING GEAR LOCKED
. Isabel’s hand trailed fluidly over his body, thinking that staying in that aerodynamic hollow of bliss had great appeal. Couldn’t they just fly somewhere else? But she supposed, even if you owned the plane, you were expected to get off when it landed. Reluctantly, they slipped into their clothes. Isabel’s hand brushed over the pocket of the dress. “Aidan?”

“Yeah,” he said, zipping his pants, buttoning his shirt.

She held the ring out in the palm of her hand. “Would you . . .”

He smiled, picking it up. “You know,” he said, sliding it onto her finger, sealing it with a kiss. “I must look pretty cheap. All these years and no engagement ring. We’ll have to take care of that.”

Admiring the sweet but simple band, she smiled back. “It’s not a terrible idea. But I could say the same thing. I don’t see any ring on your finger.”

“I’d like that,” he said more solemnly than one might expect from someone in his line of work.

Padding out to the main cabin, she’d pocketed her watch, asking Aidan what time it was. He looked at her as if she’d asked him to repeat a grocery list from memory. “You don’t own a watch, do you?”

“I’m sure . . . somewhere.”

“Just past four,” Henry offered.

She looked out the window into a predawn morning, clueless as to where they were. “Aidan, are you going to tell me—”

“No,” he said. “I’m not. So quit asking.”

He took her hand, heading toward the exit. Aidan stopped to greet the pilots, thanking them for a safe flight. Isabel smiled, hearing the pride in Aidan’s voice as he introduced her as his wife. They deplaned and in the shadowy distance Isabel could see a small parking lot of aircraft, a couple of hangars. It was lit, but there were no signs, nothing to indicate where they’d landed. As they walked she recognized the smell in the air; summer heat was in full swing.

“Um, this way,” he said, taking a moment to get his bearings. He produced a set of keys, hitting the unlock button until an SUV responded, flashing its lights. “Here we are.”

“Your car?”

“Ours,” he said, opening the door for her. “Everything,” he emphasized, “is ours.”

They drove for a time, Isabel content to hold his hand, watching civilization thin until pavement turned to a little used country road. A massive gate bordered a once dusty drive; Aidan stopped, punching a code into a piece of technology that did look marginally out of place. “It’s set to your birthday,” he said, driving through. They drove past an orchard and a graveyard. A muddy spring day dawned on Isabel, the wave of construction vehicles she’d passed on her retreat. She’d driven there in search of safety and peace, standing on the farmhouse porch where she was sure the echo of guitar music was nothing more than a memory. “Aidan, were you here in early spring?”

“Yeah, I was,” he said, the SUV’s lights illuminating his plan. “Right after I got back from Asia, right after I decided to put everything I had into this.” On the footprint of the old farmhouse was a stunning replica. “How did you know that?”

She looked between the house and him. “Just a feeling,” she said, a quiver in her throat. The moon, she guessed, was on Aidan’s payroll, as clouds parted and a path of light fell over the house. “Aidan, this is incredible.”

“We couldn’t save the farmhouse; it was too far gone. This house was built on its foundation. It became my project hope, hoping you’d come home to it.”

“It’s so big,” she said, thinking two moons might do a better job of showcasing it.

“It’s not that big,” he insisted, his arms wrapping around from behind. “I tried to make it what you’d want. I really couldn’t picture you rambling around a West Coast mansion—not full-time anyway.” He paused, kissing her neck. “But if you don’t like it, we can buy something else, anywhere you want.”

“Maybe a vacation home in Maui too?” she teased, glancing over her shoulder.

“Isabel,” he said, spinning her around to face him. “You can have anything you want for the rest of your life.” There was wide playful grin. “It’s an obscene amount of money. I was hoping you’d help me figure out what to do with it—coast-to-coast Grassroots Kids complexes maybe? Patrick will help with whatever you decide. Do whatever you like, because I have the only thing I want.”

Gazing into his sure expression, a twinge of his incredible life sunk in. “Are you sure, Aidan? I’ll be enough, or maybe even too much. It’s worth asking yourself. Will
I
fit into your life, because—”

“Isabel,” he said, both hands cupping her face.

She cut him off. “You know it’s never been my nature to make things easy for you. I don’t think that’s changed.”

“Isabel,” he repeated. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. You’ve always been my balance . . . my gravity. And to be honest, I think I do a pretty good job of being yours.”

She took a deep breath. “This is going to take some getting used to. My life, my job at the radio station, even Grassroots Kids, none of it is anything like . . .” She stopped, the profound changes registering. “My whole life will be different . . . everything.” Isabel held tight, appreciating how abandoned he must have felt in that Vegas hotel room. “Was it hard, Aidan, adjusting to everything without me? Because I can’t imagine doing any of this without you; I wouldn’t want to.”

“The truth?” he asked, holding her even tighter. “I almost failed. But eventually it forced me to grow up. The more I had, the less I wanted it.” Aidan inched back, smiling. “But we’ll talk about adjustments later, tomorrow . . . in a week or so.” The grin widened. “I promise, Isabel, the money, it’s really not a bad problem to have. For now, why don’t we just go inside?”

The door swung open and the rest of Aidan’s hardcore fantasy came to life. As promised, it wasn’t too much but comfortable and warm. She stepped into a great room with a huge cathedral ceiling, a stone fireplace soaring to its wood-beamed peak. There was a giddy flutter inside, picturing a massive Christmas tree on the far wall. On a table near the fireplace was a tiny framed photo. Picking it up, she ran her hand over the snapshot of them kissing in a Vegas photo booth.

“I found that in the pocket of my tux. I knew you took the others, our marriage license. I guess, over time, I read what I wanted into that.”

“I guess you read right,” she said, putting it back. Isabel took another look around the brand-new place that felt very much like home. Aidan followed, watching.

“I made sure there was enough furniture so we’d have somewhere to sit, but I thought you might like to pick the rest out yourself. Girls like to do that kind of stuff, right?”

Her hand brushed over the stone of the fireplace, taking it all in before turning toward him. Time offered Isabel the fantastic favor of standing still. In the middle of the farmhouse she saw Aidan. His shirttails hung out, shaggy blond hair looking windblown, a chiseled smile anchored to his ridiculously handsome face. “Yeah,” she said, giving up on blinking back tears. “Girls like that stuff.” Her fingertips trailed over the back of a vintage leather sofa. “This is beautiful.”

He read her mind. “It’s out in the barn if you want to visit.”

ALTHOUGH THERE WERE BLINDS, THE SUN POKED THROUGH THE BEDROOM WINDOW
. Isabel rolled over in time to see a powerful laser-like beam of light across Aidan’s face. He groaned softly in his sleep, turning his head away. He had to be tired. She certainly was. The sun crept up not long after they’d gone to bed. Everything in the bedroom was as comfortable as the rest of the house. But Isabel was too excited to be still. Slipping from beneath the covers, she took a thick cotton robe from the back of an overstuffed chair. It was like living with elves. Before leaving the bedroom she glanced back, admiring a sleeping Aidan. Even with the sun on his face he looked at peace. While elves made for an amusing visual, Isabel was relieved to find there wasn’t anyone in the kitchen whipping up a gourmet breakfast—or lunch. She smiled, realizing she didn’t have a clue about the time. Better yet, it didn’t matter. After taking a daylight tour of their house, Isabel ambled outside. It was reminiscent of the old farmhouse, mirroring its easy low-country style, but she couldn’t say the same for the grounds. Overgrown and unkempt for years before she and Aidan showed up, he must have employed every landscaper in the county, maybe the state. Captivated, she walked to the middle of the apple orchard, remembering how they fought worms and bugs for a few good ones. Come fall, there would be a bumper crop. Even the smallest touches were tended to, a new wrought-iron fence around the Kessler family plot, the ground perfectly manicured. Seeing Aidan come across the yard, she sensed a shift in family ownership, their roots firmly planted.

“Did you think I ran away?” she asked as he greeted her with a kiss.

“Nah, I just missed you.” Hand in hand they roamed the grounds, admiring the deep green views and outbuildings that were now in perfect repair. As they walked, Isabel noted the tall stone-and-iron fencing, discreet and decorative as it was. She imagined it was a necessary evil. “Isabel, I was thinking, what you said about what I put everybody through at the radio station, Mary Louise and Tanya in particular.”

“Maybe I was a little hard on you,” she said, feeling rather forgiving today. “Like you said, the format change will be a positive thing.”

“Yeah, but I want to make it up to them. I want to give it to them.”

“The radio station? You want to give Mary Louise and Tanya the radio station? Aidan, you can’t just—” She shut up, realizing he could. He could hand it over gift-wrapped if he wanted. “That’s very generous. I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”

“Good, so, they’ll have the radio station. And you’ll be working with Grassroots Kids and Patrick. And I’ll be . . .” He shoved his hands in his back pockets, turning, surveying the acreage. “Farming. I can take up farming.”

“Farming,” she said, arms folded, following as he walked backward.

“Yeah, farming,” he said, nodding hard. “I have to do
something,
Isabel.”

“Fine by me. It would certainly take up your time. But that’s a pretty tough life. Have you thought about it? Long hours, lots of manual labor.” He shrugged, squinting toward miles of rolling pasture.

“I could do it . . . if I had to—be a farmer.”

“Noble profession. But you do realize farming involves dirt, up at sunrise, back-breaking labor, zero time for anything lazy or indulgent?”

“Whatever it takes,” he said, running a hand along brilliant hibiscus.

“I don’t know, Aidan. Maybe you should think about it. Farming isn’t for everyone. Why don’t you postpone agriculture for a few years, pursue something more suited to your natural skill set?”

“You think?” He ran his hand around the snake, sighing. “Well, there is my portfolio, but that’s more about growing investments than a steady job. Otherwise, I’m not sure I have many marketable skills. Not the kind that would get a second career off the ground.”

“Hmm, that does sound like a problem. But if you’re serious about a second career, you may have to start at the bottom.” She bit down on a thumbnail as she walked, looking him over. “You know, Piggly Wiggly never could hang on to a night stock manager. Your math skills would be a plus, maybe even your Spanish, and you don’t mind staying up late.”

“Piggly Wiggly, wow. I hadn’t thought about that. I’ll swing by, pick up an application tomorrow. But if it doesn’t pan out maybe . . . Never mind, it’s a crazy idea.”

“No, tell me. I want to hear it.”

“Well, just as a backup plan, I did hear that Sony has an opening. They’re, um, they’re looking for a rock star. The hours suck, but it’s no worse than night stock manager at Pigs. I bet it pays better too.”

Isabel stopped in her tracks, playfully slapping his arm. “Aidan, that’s genius! That’s what you should do! I’ve heard you sing, you can carry a decent tune.” She looked him up and down. “With a little work, you can probably pull off the image.”

He tugged on her arms until she was in his. “Only if you’re sure. Only if it’s what we want.”