Take My Dress Off (26 page)

Donny lowered into the driver’s seat, silently waiting like a chauffeur. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, the black leather fringe dangling from the wrists of his short, fingerless gloves.

“You ready?” Dillon asked, still refusing to look at me, his sensual lips drawn into a grim line.

“Yes,” I said, knowing that for the first time I really was.

Dillon turned to me, his icy glare softening as his dark eyes lowered down to mine. He reached inside his letterman jacket then pulled his hand back out, setting it gently in my lap. He opened his fist.

My beautiful pink topaz earrings rested in his palm.

My heart clenched.

I looked up to him, my eyes locking with his questioning gaze. I accepted the beautiful gems and with shaking fingers I quickly secured them to my ears. He grasped the side of his jacket and raised his arm, offering his side like an olive branch. I accepted and slowly slid across the seat to him. I looked up to his strong jaw, relaxing into him as he tenderly fingered one of the earrings.

“We start fresh from right now. Agreed?”

I nodded and he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me tightly to his chest, then told Donny we were ready to go. Donny revved the engine and we rolled slowly through the gravel onto the main road.

I didn’t look back.

Donny and I
did go to New York the summer after I graduated. The agency put us in a terrible apartment with four other models and we worked even more terrible part-time jobs to survive. After three months of New York humidity and food stamps I was defeated and ready to come home. Donny got a lucky break and started working on Broadway and has been there ever since.

I didn’t see Chaz again until three years later. Dillon and I were home from UCLA for Thanksgiving and I was six months pregnant with Mason. Maddie had forgotten the cranberry sauce and we dashed out to the grocery store for a quick trip. I was in an aisle quickly scanning the cans on the shelf while Dillon waited in the car.

“Paige?”

I whipped my head to the right. Chaz looked down to me, his arms laden with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. His green eyes locked with mine and he managed a small smile.

“Chaz?” I whispered. It had been a few years but my heart still stirred at the sound of his voice. He was wearing navy slacks, a khaki trench coat, and was as stunning as ever.

“How are you?

“Pregnant,” I said shyly, pulling back my coat.

“I can see that,” he grinned and moved toward me. He dropped his arm holding the wine to his hip and drew me in for a hug. His arm grazed my swollen belly and the flowers rustled as they pressed into my back. He held me a moment then stiffened and took a step back.

“How are you, Chaz?”

“I’m good, in grad school at NYU.” His eyes narrowed as he focused his gaze on my wedding ring then snapped back to mine. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make the wedding, I was in Europe.”

“I know.” I selected a can of cranberry sauce from the shelf. “I understand.”

I did.

I was reeling, flooded by the memories of our first and last Thanksgiving we had shared a few short years ago…a Thanksgiving when it was just the two of us, getting lost in dreams of pregnant bellies, babies, and rings. My dreams had come true, just not with him.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get going. I’m so late.” He gestured to his wine. “Last minute items are a bitch.”

“Tell me about it,” I smiled. “Say hello to your family for me.”

He nodded and we stared at each other. There was nothing left to say.

“Take care, Paige.” He leaned in, kissed me quickly on the cheek, and then turned on his heel, his coat chasing behind him as he sprinted down the aisle.

***

“Mom found an old boyfriend,” sang Ashley as her father walked into the kitchen and set the take-out bags onto the white marble counter.

“I thought I was your old boyfriend,” smirked Dillon, leaning in to kiss me. He slipped out of his black, leather, motorcycle jacket and draped it over the back of the bar stool.

“You’re home early.” I returned his kiss as he drew me into his embrace. Fridays were usually long nights for Dillon as the scripts received their final edits before taping began on Monday. He had hoped that making the move from producing movies to sit-coms would have given him a regular schedule but so far he was still coming home late.

“Power went out in the studio, again, so our day was cut short.”

“That’s fine with me.” I snuggled into his neck. I never got tired of this. Nothing made me happier than to feel him wrapped around me.

“Get a room,” said Mason with disgust as he brushed past us to get to the refrigerator.

Dillon exhaled a groan and stepped away from me. “Why did we have these kids, Paige? They’re always…here.” Dillon grabbed Mason’s arms and twisted them behind his back. Mason struggled against Dillon and they began to wrestle in that affectionate way that sons did with their fathers.

Mason was almost as tall as Dillon and had those same brooding eyes, a mop of dark hair, and was starting to develop Dillon’s stocky frame. He was just about the age Dillon had been when we had first met and I had fallen head over heels in love with him.

“Mom, Dad’s trying to kill me,” called Mason.

“Dillon, stop killing our son,” I said as I lifted the red and

white take-out boxes from the plastic bags.

“Say it,” commanded Dillon.

“No!” strained Mason through clenched teeth.

“Say it!”

“Uncle!” called Mason. Dillon released him and he collapsed against the marble island.

“Daddy, check this out,” called Ashley from the dining table as she motioned from behind her laptop.

“I’m calling CPS,” yelled Mason as he rubbed his neck.

“Go ahead.” Dillon leaned down against Mason’s cheek and gripped his shoulders. “They’ll put you in a foster home with an old lady whose sole purpose for you is to take care of her nineteen mangy cats and rub her callused feet.”

“Daddy…come
heeere
,” whined Ashley as I reached into the Sub-Zero for the iced tea pitcher. I set the paper plates and chopsticks onto the table for dinner.

Dillon released his grip on Mason and leaned his tall frame over Ashley’s chair. His eyes scanned the screen, his sensual lips pinched.

“Facebook, Paige? Seriously?” He raised his brows at me from over the screen.

“Ashley did it, not me,” I scoffed and set the paper boxes onto the table.

“Mom already has two friends,” smiled Ashley proudly.

“Who?”  I called.

Dillon leaned in closer to the screen, his dark eyes glittering. “Don and Dan, of course,” he smiled, shaking his head.

“I found Mom’s old boyfriend too.”

“Brit Lowe?” Dillon chuckled. He watched as Ashley clicked through the screen.

“No, some guy named Chaz.”

Dillon turned toward me and smirked.

“She found him on Dan’s page,” I added.

“Who’s this Chaz guy?” asked Mason digging into the box of broccoli beef. He looked from Dillon to me. “Mom?” he prodded, a twinkle in his eye. “Do you have a secret past?”

“He’s just an old friend of Uncle Donny’s,” I said and emptied the box of fried rice into a bowl.

“He’s still hot,” gushed Ashley. “…for an old guy.”

“Ash, time for dinner,” called Dillon. “You can stalk Mom’s boyfriends later.”

Ashley’s brow furrowed as her eyes scanned the screen. “Oh…uh… Mom.”

“What?” I took a seat at the dining table.

“He’s uh…did you know that…”

Dillon sat down at the table, pulling his lips together as he tried to contain his smile.

“Yes, I know. He’s gay. C’mon, time to eat.” I picked up Ashley’s laptop and set it on the counter.

“Mom dated a gay guy?” gasped Mason. “Jesus.”

“Stop,” said Dillon in a low voice, passing a napkin to him.

“You can read all about it in my autobiography,” I teased.

“X-rated autobiography,” added Dillon.

“Gross!” scowled Mason and threw back his iced tea.

“Seriously?” asked Ashley. “Can we?”

“Not a chance,” I smiled and took a seat at the table. “Anyone for General Chicken?”

Dillon relayed an abridged and entertaining tale of my tragic romance to the kids while they stuffed Chinese food into their mouths.

“Well, it looks like the best man won, Dad.” Mason rose from the table and patted Dillon on the back.

“Push in that chair, young man,” I called. “Were you raised in a barn?”

“Nope, Vista. Which is just as bad,” laughed Mason as he pushed in his chair. “I’m heading out. Can I have the keys to the Charger, Dad?”

“Sure,” smiled Dillon. “After I’m dead.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” groaned Mason.

Ashley excused herself and leaned in to hug me. “You picked the right guy, Mom.” I stroked her long blonde hair, Dillon’s dark eyes shining back through her. She placed her fortune cookie into my hand.

“You don’t want it?”

“No, you take it. I have to get ready for the game. Alexa will be here in like five minutes.” She disappeared up the Plexiglass staircase.

Dillon watched silently as I tore open the cellophane wrapper and popped open the cookie. The tiny slip with my fortune fell onto the table and I grabbed it.

Time heals all wounds.

I smirked and tossed it back onto the table.

Dillon picked it up as I popped the hard cookie into my mouth. “Hey,” he called.

I raised my eyes up to lock with his. My pulse quickened as he flashed a dangerous smile, his dark eyes smoldering as he drank me in.

“We’ve got a quiet house tonight.”

Acknowledgements

Thank you for reading my book!  I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.  To my family, thank you for your support while I embarked on this arduous endeavor.  Thank you, FM’s, for feeding my family on those nights where I lost track of time. I apologize for the frequent take-out dinners and the extra ten pounds we all put on this year.  To HP, thank you for installing a gym in our home so we can lose the above mentioned ten pounds. To The Bros, thank you for keeping HP busy with manly activities so he didn’t realize how much time I was spending with my laptop and not him. To my Napa Girlfriends, Rhonda and Barb, and K and S, thank you for your support and encouragement. A big thanks to my editor T for tirelessly listening to my 80’s stories. To the real Danielle, (you know who you are) who is like a sister to me, thanks for being my other half in the horrific yet hilarious journey through puberty and what a journey it was! I hope that each of you who reads this novel has your own “Danielle” in your life, we all need someone who will knock us off our high horse
and
help us climb back up in the saddle.

-S. A. Gilmour, 2015