Continuum (The South Beach Connection Trilogy Book 3) Page 13

  The sorrow may never truly pass, though. This too shall pass was a lie.

  It didn’t pass — one just endured.

  Somehow, in the midst of her own wedding, Albert had managed to make Annie feel like he was temporarily the bride. His face showed his love and sadness like a mixed-up Picasso canvas.

  He cleared his throat and kissed her cheek. "You look beautiful, Doodlebug." His tone seemed to choke back the ambiguity of giving his daughter away while trying to accept that his only son hadn’t lived to see the day.

  Annie kissed her father, smiled, linked an arm through his, and held his hand. "You ready?"

  He looked at her profile. "I know you’re ready. You were born ready."

  She exhaled. "Let's do it."

  As he opened the French doors, the wind hit their faces and blew their clothing back, drying any remaining moisture around their eyes. Annie squeezed his palm, inhaled salt, and smiled. After looking at each other one last time, they both looked forward, stepped onto the deck, and began to sashay down the aisle toward Annie’s new life.

  A strange glow lit the March sky. Although the sun was surely setting on another beach somewhere in the west, stunning pink hues championed this one — Golden Beach. The taffy clouds rose behind dark gray streaks, creating a backdrop Annie could’ve only dreamed up. Birds intermittently flew across the horizon, flapping their wings, unaware of the spectacle below.

  Annie was the spectacle.

  Her feet and dress hit the soft, warm sand as she strolled arm in arm with her father — aware of the shortness of her breath while walking with a graceful delicacy — each step bringing her closer to Calvin Warner Prescott.

  The ocean’s swoosh sounded continually, like clockwork, several yards behind the groom as he waited in keen anticipation for his Annie. Standing tall, his hands clasped together, he waited, breathlessly waiting.

  He could’ve waited forever.

  What was time?

  Time had lost its meaning.

  Lost its depth.

  The only perception Cal knew was the distance between their eyes, their beating hearts, and their intertwined souls. Time wasn't a bitch as he’d always thought — it was a fool.

  Cal was no fool. Mesmerized, he watched Annie draw closer. He couldn’t move. Only his clothes shifted, the wind blowing his beige jacket up in the rear, the tails splitting open, the lapels spreading apart in the front, revealing his crisp, aqua-blue button-down shirt as it tucked into his pants. And his top two shirt buttons were open — as open as his eyes beaming across the sand. He didn't need a tie.

  Annie was his tie, binding, fastening him — his life ready to meld with hers. Cal’s feet, of course, were bare, and they sank into the dirt. Cal’s entire being — his entire soul — felt just as naked as his toes as he stood before the small crowd. His heart felt open and exposed — more than ever before — and he wondered if the nakedness he felt showed on his face. The nudity spread over him from head to toe. And he didn’t care if it showed.

  Not today.

  Not tonight.

  He was about to marry the love of his fucking life.

  Cal didn’t have to worry. The handfuls of guests in the white chairs, bodies facing the sea, weren’t watching him and his nudity. Everyone's eyes were only on Annie.

  People stared as she made her way through the soft sand up the path to the song the violinists played. The bows and strings worked in harmony with the rhythm of the water, and despite “Canon in D” being played with expertise by the string quartet, she could still hear one of her favorite sounds — the waves lapping at the shore.

  Annie smiled, nodding toward her friends and loved ones while pulling strands of hair away from her eyes and mouth. As she came closer to Cal, though, her eyes shifted from the guests and the music and the ocean.

  They locked on Cal and only Cal … seeing nothing but him.

  He, however, had been watching her every move since she’d come through the double doors. It was the first sight of Annie he’d seen in over two weeks. He studied her face, mentally scribbling her every nuance down in a notebook:

  The way the dress hugged her body.

  The way she kept her fingers under her belly.

  The way her smile reached her eyes and lit her from within.

  The few tiny moles sparsely scattered on her face — one near her lips and a few on her cheekbones — were insignificant and hard to see from a distance, but up close, they dotted the landscape of her face like neatly placed sprinkles on a cupcake.

  God...

  Beautiful and his.

  He entered each thing in the notebook with a Sharpie.

  Permanently.

  The violins ceased. His thoughts scattered. She had arrived.

  Albert let go of his daughter’s hand, kissed her cheek, then he sat next to Beverly.

  Cal eyes never left Annie as she took her place next to him. He put his hand on her back — pleased and enamored at the feel of her skin — and rubbed his fingers across her spine.

  Annie turned toward him, catching the vulnerability all over him, the nudity he’d failed to conceal. His body was confident and strong — a sequoia — but his face showed the truth. His heart was the open book Annie had always wanted to read.

  The ceremony was simple. Cal's friend, Christian, officiated. No pomp. No shoes. Homemade vows. After a few well-chosen opening words, Christian instructed Cal to begin his declaration first.

  As Cal held both of Annie's hands, he inched closer, until her adorable belly fit snugly against his lapels and belt buckle, and then he took a giant breath.

  "I never believed in forever until I met you." He paused, searched her stunning forest-green eyes, then cleared his throat. "I never believed in myself." The damn balloon clogged his throat. "I searched for things I could never find, and when I least expected it”—his voice cracked—"I found you."

  He brushed hair from her eyes and mouth, pressed his lips together, and stroked her cheek. "I love you." Placing his palm into hers again, he squeezed. "I want to spend every day of my life with you, making you happy, making babies, and chasing them and you all over the earth." He grinned. "I do, Annie."

  She scooped her fingers under her eyes. Cal smeared his thumb in the corners of his. Then they smiled and gripped each other's tear-stained hands again.

  "I don't think I believed in forever either," Annie said, beginning her vows with a gentle shake of her head. "I didn't believe in the fairy tale." She giggled. "I said I would never get married."

  "She did say that," Cal called out, lifting her left hand into the air.

  The crowd laughed.

  Annie blushed. "But here I am. Here we are." She put his palm on her belly, paused, and stared at their intertwined fingers cradling her stomach.

  "Here we are," she choked as she glanced into his eyes and smiled. "I want to hold your hand every day." She swung their palms. "I want to share my world with you, tell you stories, breathe against your chest, and inhale your breath. I want to hold you tight in the rain." They exchanged a knowing glance about the night the thunder had cracked on a Miami sidewalk. “Catch drops with you and frogs, chase rainbows and stars. And when you're old..." She smirked, winked, and paused. "You can show your young, sexy wife off." She wiggled her hips and pinched his waist.

  A few guests chuckled.

  He put his lips near her ear and whispered, "I already do that, baby,” as he wiped a tear from her cheek.

  She pushed against his chest, then took his hands again. "I want you forever. I do, Calvin Warner Prescott.” She squeezed his fingers with each promise. “I do. I do. I do."

  Cal leaned toward Annie's lips. But Christian cleared his throat and wiggled his index finger. "Not yet."

  People laughed.

  Cal and Annie smiled. They exchanged the rings, then waited for the final announcement.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, friends, family, loved ones," Christian began, "it is with great pleasure that I now introduce to you for
the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Calvin Warner Prescott. You may now kiss the bride."

  Thank fuck, they both thought.

  Cal tucked Annie's hair behind her ear and stared into her eyes as he cradled her face and pulled her body, baby belly and all, against him.

  Cal put his lips on Annie as if no one was watching because that was how it had always been between them — the two of them alone despite being in a crowded room.

  She melted into him.

  Twisted her tongue with his oath.

  They were one.

  Two distinct people blending together, maintaining their uniqueness — but now they were one.

  Cal held the French doors open for Annie as they stepped into the house full of waiting friends and family. Tess, Annie's friend and a fellow photographer, had just finished taking pictures of the two of them near the water. Annie's dress was damp and sandy on the bottom. Her hair was tattered by the wind, but her face was in bloom and glowing.

  Cal smiled wide as he shut the door, noticing Albert, Christian, and John standing near the rear window chatting.

  "Congratulations, old man," John said, smacking Cal hard on his back.

  “I didn’t think we’d live to see the day,” Christian teased while shaking his friend’s hand.

  “Careful,” Cal joked, showing teeth.

  Albert looked at his daughter, then stepped away from the group. His eyes started to fill with tears. Annie wrapped her arms around him, and after a moment of silently embracing, she released him and looked into his eyes.

  "I'm still Annie, Dad. I'm still right here." She splayed her hand across his heart.

  Even though Cal was engrossed in conversation with John and Christian, the tender exchange between father and daughter wasn't lost on him.

  "And there's only one like you." Albert kissed the tip of her nose. “Your mother is anxious to see you." He looked over the room. "I don’t know where she went off to.”

  “I’ll find her. Don’t worry." Annie lifted the hem of her dress and went toward the kitchen.

  As Cal watched Annie walk away, he longed for her to be near him — on this day more than ever. He could do without the party, the food, and the drinks.

  He wanted to be alone with Annie. He wanted to watch her every move. Feel her breathe.

  Annie opened a bottle of water, took a few enormous sips, and as she started to glance around the room for her mother, Maggie snuck up behind her and slipped her arms around Annie's expanding waist.

  “You did great, sweetie," Maggie said and squeezed, causing Annie to think she might burst. "How do you feel?”

  “Fine." Annie eyed her mother coming down the staircase.

  “Really, honey?”

  “Yes. Really."

  Maggie stepped in front of Annie and grabbed at the pleated parts of the dress. “Well, you look fine." She fanned out the silky material.

  “You do. You look amazing.” Beverly joined them in the kitchen. “How do you feel, though, sweetheart?”

  “I feel fine."

  Funny how fine never meant fine. It didn't mean anything anymore. It was a word, and it had lost its power … and its curse. Cal had taken control of the word. He owned it. She had him, and he had her. Fine.

  “Are you ready for the rest of the evening to begin?” Maggie asked, appearing prepared to summon the crowd.

  Annie took a deep breath, set the water bottle on the counter, then glanced over at Cal. He hadn’t moved from the window, still talking to the men, his fucking dimples never sexier and his face fixed with an implacable hope.

  As their eyes met, Annie’s heart did a somersault, her stomach did a backflip, and her knees turned to butter.

  Would Cal ever stop having such an effect on her?

  She was ready for the rest of the evening to begin. I do. I am.

  “Yes,” Annie said, scratching her fingernails over her stiffening and contracting belly.

  "Okay, everyone,” Maggie said as she clapped, and then she motioned for Cal. The woman never wasted a moment. “Now that the newlyweds have joined us, it's time for their first dance as husband and wife."

  The friends and family quieted as Cal took Annie's hand and led her to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the living room. It had been transformed into a ballroom, complete with an actual globe hanging from the ceiling — one Maggie had had installed for the occasion. The large ball sparkled and turned, its light trickling across the wood floor in glorious speckles. It entranced. Not more than Annie, though. Nothing entranced more than Annie … Annie Prescott.

  The Dave Matthews song began. And with a palm splayed on Annie's bare back near her tailbone, Cal skirted the floor with his wife, paying extra attention to keeping his toes off the hem of her dress.

  Never step on the feet. Always lead.

  Annie looked around the room as they moved, scanning the people, meeting Tabitha’s and Tom’s eyes first, then Rosa’s all-knowing gaze. She blinked back tears. Each person held a special place in their hearts — an eclectic mix of family and friends with their own stories and heartbeats. Nevertheless, the small group of large personalities had all come together and traveled all the way to Miami for the same common purpose.

  Love.

  Accept it, Cal and Annie both thought.

  Annie peered at Cal, the same look of humble appreciation in her eyes, but the look in his eyes suddenly turned her silly.

  "I didn't think you liked to dance, Prescott." Her eyes sparkled, doing a dance all their own.

  Turning in half circles and moving in unison with her effortlessly, he smiled and said, "I've danced with you before."

  Annie arched her signature brow.

  "Don't you remember? At my apartment in South Beach. We danced to Satchmo."

  Annie dropped her head back and giggled. "That hardly counts. I had to force you. Well … you are quite good.” A sexy grin spread across her face.

  "Did you expect me to be bad?"

  Her heart rate increased. She could feel it pushing against her ribcage along with Cal's body heat.

  "No," she whispered.

  Cal’s hand pressed deeper into her back, then he ran his fingers up and down her spine, causing Annie to shiver. She rested her head against his chest, sinking into his branches.

  "How are you feeling?"

  "I'm tired," she replied, lifting her head, "but I feel good."

  "I want to take you back to the room and get you off your feet."

  "I'm sure you do," she teased.

  "I'm serious, Annie." He brushed hair from her eyes. "It's been a long day."

  Why had he spoken like a father? He wasn't her father. God, he was serious. Her infamous temper began to rise.

  "Don't keep treating me like I'm breakable goods," she said, all fire and sparkly lights. She outdid the fancy globe. "I'm the same woman you took without pretense up in that bedroom in September." She pointed with her eyes toward the staircase. "I can handle it. I need it. I need you.”

  She needed it. Him. And now.

  Cal didn't know what Annie wanted. He’d never wished for time apart before the wedding. But he’d agreed, and so it had been two weeks since Cal had held her so close. No fucking. No kissing. No touching. No joke. At Annie's insistence, he’d stayed behind in Seattle to work, and Annie had traveled to Miami early to finalize the wedding preparations. He’d obliged her ridiculous notion of having a little separation in the name of romance, anticipation, and delayed gratification.

  So, at her request, not only had they not been in the same house together for two weeks, or in the same bed, but they hadn’t even shared so much as a kiss — until today, on the beach, after they were pronounced man and wife.

  But Annie was right — Cal was conflicted. Ever since her pregnancy had started to show, he’d become delicate with her in ways without even trying. His natural ardor was at a flicker rather than a flame, and he held back — not in wanting her, not in actually having her, but in handling her the way he always had, and
Annie knew it. She was calling him out, and his response would have to wait because they were suddenly interrupted.

  "Crash into Me" had ended, another song began, and Annie's father cut in.

  Fuck. When Annie's temper flared, Cal never knew if he was ready to fight her or fuck her. Maybe it was both. Either way, it would have to wait. Cal looked on Annie with his own special set of fireworks shooting in the sky of his eyes as he stepped aside for Albert. Then he went toward the kitchen to grab a glass of champagne. The crystal stemware sat in uniformed rows on the high countertop, filled to the brim with bubbly, silently asking to be drank.

  Leaning his back against the counter, propping his elbows up behind him, he poured the contents of the glass down his throat in one single motion. He set the empty glass down and reached for another, and as he looked up, he caught Maggie's eye. She was walking toward him, tight auburn curls framing her face, brown eyes shimmering.

  Joining him, she adopted his stance — the laid-back man — and hip-bumped him.

  He grinned. "Thank you, Maggie"—his eyes moved around the room, on and off Annie—"for all of this." He swallowed champagne. "I guess I’m not the bastard you thought I was all these years." He guzzled the rest.

  Maggie's eyes beamed. "Oh, Cal," she sighed, linking her arm through his, "I never thought you were a bastard."

  "Bullshit." He chuckled and set his glass down. "You always thought I was a bastard."

  "Well," she said, love in her tone, "I guess you’ve finally proven me wrong."

  Cal put his arm around Maggie and squeezed.

  "I just always wanted the best for you."

  "And now I’ve found it." Cal nodded toward his wife.

  "It's more than Annie.” Maggie studied him. “I think I just never wanted to see the best parts of you. I refused."

  "Not you," Cal said, teasing.

  Maggie smiled. The light from the ceiling’s ball twinkled in her brown eyes, and Cal followed the speckles.

  "Dance with me.” His tone deepened as he bent an arm behind his back and bowed. "Dance with me, Ms. Oppenheimer."

  "God," Maggie choked, "you haven't called me that in—"

  Cal had already taken ahold of Maggie's hand, shushing her and guiding her toward the renovated living room. He looked around the space full of loved ones. He looked at Annie. His eyes glossed over with a beautiful sheen.