Trust Me (68 page)

“Through
that door is a dining room and past it a kitchen,” Creighton explained pointing toward an archway on the opposite side of the room. “Upstairs are the bedrooms, each with their own loo.”

“What’s
in there?” she asked looking at a closed door next to the entry.

“An
office; this is an executives’ suite where one can work on business and still appreciate luxury.”

“This
is really beautiful,” she said as the bellboy approached them. Creighton thanked him and handed him several folded bills then turned back to Sandra.

“I
know we’re here because I had to come, but I wanted you to have a romantic setting in a very romantic country. Perhaps the memory of the hotel will outshine the fear of The Don.”

“I
love it, thank you. I’ve never had anyone give me a hotel room before.”

“You
haven’t seen anything yet,” he winked and took her hand, leading her up the stairs. He opened the door the bellboy had exited and stepped aside as she walked in. Sandra stared in awe at the magnificent room; the master bedroom was large, nearly twice that of the last hotel and elegantly decorated with wine and gold etched wallpaper, rich mahogany furnishings with a white Italian marble fireplace, like that of the one downstairs. Between two long narrow windows was a smaller French door which led to a small balcony that overlooked the city. In the center of the room hung a three-tier crystal chandelier directly above a massive king size, four-poster bed with a horizontal three-rung designed headboard. The curtains were a deep golden floral design to match the duvet; the pillows a mixture of wine, cream and gold.

“There’s
an exercise room over here,” he told her and took her hand, guiding her into the room to inspect the treadmill, exercise bike and weight set that sat on the matching burgundy and gold carpet; a large flat-screen television hung on the wall at the far end of the room between two long narrow windows and a full length mirror was positioned on the wall next to the door.

Creighton
turned and led her out the door and across the bedroom and into a large Italian marble bathroom. The bathtub was an old-fashioned claw foot with a separate shower and double pedestal sinks. Two large oval mirrors hung inside filigree frames with a bidet and toilet on the opposite side across from the tub.

“I
have seen some really beautiful places,” Sandra said in awe. “But this is beyond words.”

“I’m
very happy you like it,” he told her, kissing her lips tenderly. “I’m going to call The Don and tell him we’re in Italy. With luck, we’ll be done with this mess in a few hours and go back to our own lives.”

“I
want to call my sister and grandparents and tell them to pack; I think I want to get married by the end of the week.” Creighton stared at her for a moment in stunned silence before wrapping her in his warm embrace, hugging her tight.

“You’re
sure about this?” he asked a few moments later when she pulled away from him, looking into his dark eyes. “No regrets?”

“None,”
she said shaking her head. “I feel in my heart that this is right and for the first time in my life, my common sense is quiet.” Creighton kissed the tip of her nose and smiled proudly at her.

“Then
let’s get this mess over with and start working on our own lives.”

Sandra
sat on the bed beside Creighton sorting through the many pictures of the past few days. He had called The Don and arranged to have him come to the hotel at five o’clock; insisting that Aryana needed to rest after their trip; then Sandra called and spoke with her grandparents, arranging for their trip to England. Creighton told his parents about their plans and Sabrina said she would be able to take a long weekend and come home. Nana and Emma were already working on the arrangements, leaving the young couple to consider what they wanted to do for their honeymoon.

The
buzz of Creighton’s phone brought a premature halt to their discussion of which photos he would have Chang enlarge for his offices. He leaned across and picked up the phone from the side table and listened to the messages. Sandra glanced up at him and saw the shadow of irritation cross his features. It was strange how easy it was for her to read him; his moods always shone in his eyes, even if he could mask his expressions. He deleted the message and handed the phone to Sandra.

“It’s
your sister again,” he said sarcastically. “She’s not very happy about your e-mail, or the call to your grandparents, but she is particularly angry that we are getting married in three days.”

“Like
you said, she means well,” Sandra said taking his phone and dialing her number. “She thinks she’s protecting me.”

“Like
a bloody mother bear,” he grumbled.

Sandra
waited patiently as the phone rang. She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves as the phone finally connected.

“Is
this Sandra?” Cathy asked her tone filled with venom.

"Hello
Cathy,” she answered, trying to put as much calm in her voice as she could.

“Well,
nice of you to finally call. What is this garbage that you’re getting married Friday? Have you completely lost your mind?”

“I’m
fine Cathy, nice of you to ask…what’s that? Am I enjoying myself? Oh immensely, France is a dream come true…How’s Creighton, you say? He’s wonderful, thank you, I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

“Don’t
be a smart ass, Sandra,” her sister snapped. “What kind of mind games is that bastard playing with you?” Anger rose in her voice as she continued.

“None,” Sandra answered. “But
you wouldn’t understand that would you?”

“What
the hell does that mean?” Sandra to draw a deep breath to steady her anger; she knew this wasn’t the way to win her sister over.

“Listen,
Cathy, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my life the past several days and I’ve decided to make some serious changes to it. Creighton asked me to marry him and I said yes. He’s bought a house for us…well actually a farm; he treats me like a goddess and I’m extremely happy. I’m getting married in three days; I would really like it if you found some spot in your heart to be happy for us. Creighton is a wonderful man; he's kind and loving and intelligent and everything I’ve ever thought I wanted in a man and about a thousand things I never considered.”

“What
kind of a person goes to Europe and falls in love with a man she doesn’t even know?” Cathy snapped.

“You
do,” Sandra said softly, hearing the audible gasp on the other end. “Cathy, I need a maid of honor and I’d like my sister to be there. Creighton is sending his plane to pick up Nana and Papa and you if you can get that chip off your shoulder long enough to see that I have grown up and I am capable of making up my own mind; I'd really like you to be there with me.”

“I
cannot believe you’re speaking to me like this,” Cathy said, anger and insult drowning her words. “I’m your sister; I’ve known you our whole lives. You’ve only known this jerk a week and you’re abandoning everything you love; your job, your family, your home and for what; a fantasy lover who will leave you alone and crying, while he’s out screwing some other innocent young tourist?”

“Creighton isn’t like that.” Sandra drew another deep breath; anger and frustration threatened her composure. “Cathy,
I know you are worried for me, but you don’t have to be. Nana and Papa have given their blessings and they know me as well as you do. Creighton has been open and honest with me and I’ve thought this through very carefully. I’m doing what my heart tells me is right. I feel like I’ve known Creighton my whole life; he makes me happy and I love him. Now, you can either choose to come and be with me, which I hope you do, or you can stay behind but the choice is yours.” The phone was silent for so long she wasn’t sure if her sister had hung up on her until she heard the heavy sigh on the opposite end.

“You’re
sure this is what you want?” Cathy asked; her tone no longer angry, just very concerned.

“Very
sure.”

“Alright, I’ll
try to stop worrying. Maybe you can convince me how happy you are when I see you.”

“So
you’ll come?” Sandra’s eyes were wide as she waited for her sister to answer, smiling as she heard the soft chuckle on the other end.

“Yes
I’ll come; but if that
cretin
thinks for a single moment he can cause you grief; he will have to answer to me.”

“I
love you Cathy,” she said. “The plane will be there tomorrow and I’ll see you the day after.”

“Sounds
good; you’re really certain about this?”

“Yes
Cathy.”

“Alright,
I’ll see you in two days. I love you.”

“I
love you too.” Sandra pushed the button and hung up the call, smiling brightly at the man next to her.

“So
she’s all right with all this?” he asked with a curious frown.

“Yes, but she
said if you cause me any grief, you’ll have to answer to her.” Creighton rolled his eyes, taking the phone from her and setting it back on the bedside table.

“Well,
that’s one monster out of our hair. Now to get finished up with The Don; only I’m not so sure that will be as simple. Dealing with an angry sister is one thing; dealing with an enraged father is completely something else.”

“Bring
it on, right now I feel like I could climb Mount Everest.” Sandra giggled and Creighton laughed; rolling her beneath him, kissing her face and neck. She knew they were running short on time before The Don arrived, but she was nowhere close to denying this man a few moments of fun.

The
doorbell to the hotel rang as she and Creighton lounged comfortably on the bed a short while later, embraced in each other’s arms. A soft screech of Aryana made Creighton draw a deep sigh, standing up off the bed. Sandra knew that things were about to get heated and looked to Creighton who stood beside her.

“You
coming?” he asked her quietly, slipping back into his pants; pulling his shirt back across his torso.

“I
think it would probably be best if you dealt with him on your own,” she said. “You know him, you know what he’s capable of and you can gauge his reactions better if you aren’t distracted. I’ll just stay up here, unless you need me?” Creighton drew a deep breath as the bell rang again.

“Probably
be best to stay out of the thick of things. I’ll call you if I need you.” He quickly kissed Sandra’s dry lips and walked out of the room, barefoot, leaving the door a jar.

The
bell rang a third time and Sandra drew a steady breath, reaching for her clothes. She slipped back into her pants and pulled her shirt over her head before sitting on the edge of the bed, fastening her sandals across her feet. She waited patiently; listening to the deep Italian tone of their visitor; he was angry, nearly shouting and Creighton answered in the same language, his tone much calmer.

Aryana
said something to her father and instantly began crying, causing Sandra to growl softly under her breath. She took her comb out of her purse and ran it through her tangled hair as she continued to listen; their voices echoing up the stairs. The deep angry tones of The Don, frightened timid tones of Aryana, firm tones of Creighton and Daniel, but mostly just loud shouting mingled with sobs, pleas and cries. It was obvious Creighton was trying to reason with The Don; his tone was calm, but very authoritative. He would say one thing and then the deeper tone would say something in return and Aryana would sob a little louder.

This
continued for several long moments until Sandra could bear no more and quietly walked out the room and down the stairs; turning into the main living room. She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves and anger before she joined them.

Standing
by the elegant fireplace was a tall, large man about sixty years old; his dark hair streaked liberally with grey, his deep brown eyes menacing and angry. Across his upper lip was a thin black and grey mustache that made him look like an old actor from the 1930s. He wore a chocolate, brown leisure jacket, dark dress pants and a beige dress shirt, open at the top. He looked relaxed and comfortable while appearing intimidating and dangerous; but not to Sandra. Her frustration from listening to the argument was quickly beginning to simmer in her veins and all she could see was a bully; belittling his daughter and her husband.

Sitting
in a chair near her father was Aryana, hands over her eyes as she sobbed sadly, her husband sitting nearby looking angry as he tried to console his wife and Sandra wondered briefly whom he was mad with; Aryana or her father.

Standing
near the old man was Creighton who appeared under control, calm and unemotional. He wore a pair of dark-blue jeans and dark violet button up shirt; he looked handsome with the soft shadow of a beard covering his chin and upper lip; his hair mussed from their recent encounter upstairs and his dark eyes gleaming; the only thing about him that revealed his anger. Creighton looked to Sandra as she joined the group and watched as she walked casually to the bar and poured a glass of orange juice. The room was quiet, almost eerily so and the only noise that could be heard was that of Sandra moving across the carpet and Aryana’s sobs.