Page 53 of Sparks Still Fly

“I thought when you called—I thought maybe you changed your mind or—” I pull her closer to me, and she doesn’t fight it. Fuck, that feels good.

Focus. She was scared you weren’t coming. That’s why she didn’t want to pick up the phone.

I shake my head and reach for one of the perfect curls framing her made-up face. “I’m right where I want to be.” I lower my head, then whisper so only she can hear, “Where you go, I go fengári mou. Always.” I leave a quick kiss just under her earlobe. “Don’t want to mess up your make-up,” I wink as I lift my head, knowing the strangers in the room are still watching my every move. They’re not the audience we need to put this on for tonight, but it doesn’t matter. I’m taking every chance I get to be close to her.

She nods and swallows, taking a small step back from me. A sly grin spreads across my face, a familiar feeling of satisfaction bubbling up inside me. I can sense the flustered energy radiating from Maeve, her composure shaken and unraveled. Watching her in this state has always been a source of pleasure for me, and I relish in being the one to provoke it.

I take a few steps backward, still smiling at her. “See you soon, beautiful.” I wink and turn on my heel, leaving the room. There’s a squeal and a chorus of ohmygod as I walk down the hall.

I hear a faint, “That’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” And then, “It’s as if Jensen Ackles and Chris Evans made a baby, and that baby grew into a man…” I stop listening after that. I don’t know who those dudes are that they’re talking about, and I’m not about to stick around and find out.

Two hours later, I hear the last of the cars leaving the driveway. I’ve been dressed for thirty minutes, not knowing for sure what time we’d be leaving. I got dressed in the guesthouse then came back to wait for her in the main house.

“Ready?” I turn at the sound of her voice to see Maeve adjusting her dress, her heels in her other hand. She’s breathtaking. By the time I stand, she’s already making her way to the front door. “The car’s here, we can?—”

“Maeve. Wait.” She stops and slowly spins, her brows furrowed as her eyes meet mine for the first time since I surprised her upstairs. “Come here.” To my complete shock, she does. She walks straight toward me. Her dress is almost the same color as her skin, strapless with tiny ruffles on the skirt that goes to just above her ankles. Her lips are bright red, and her eyes are lined in a way that makes the blues look even lighter, like a cloudless sky on a sunny day. “Wow,” I whisper as she gets closer.

I run a finger up her arm, not missing the goosebumps that follow or the way she holds her breath. “You’re beautiful, Maevey.” She blinks, and her eyes move over my body, taking in the tux, shiny shoes, and probably crooked bowtie.

“Thanks.” She reaches up to my tie and adjusts it with one hand. I take her shoes so she can use both hands, and she smiles in lieu of a thank you. I can’t help but imagine what life would be like if this were real. If I was her forever date to these events. If we got ready together, so I could zip up her dresses, and she could fix up my ties while we smile at one another, thinking of when we get to come home and take everything off again. Slowly. Deliberately. Or quickly. Urgently.

Fuck. Stop. Remember what thinking about Maeve naked got you last time? Getting caught red-handed in the shower.

How could I forget?

Maeve clears her throat and takes a step back, her mask of indifference firmly in place. She nods once and starts to head back toward the door, slippers on her feet, which I’m assuming are far more comfortable than the six-inch heels I’m holding.

“Do you need a purse or something?” She doesn’t even have her phone on her.

Without looking back, she pats her hip. “Nope. Hidden pockets. Taylor always makes sure I have pockets. Whenever possible, anyway.”

The driver opens the car door for her, and I recognize him. She pats him on the arm as she says hello, and I tip my head as the man who looks to be about twenty years older than me sizes me up. I respect that.

“Hi, Gary. Nice to see you again.” He hides the surprise of my greeting well.

“Mr. James.” He nods, keeping the door open until I’m inside.

The drive is quiet, but once we get there, waiting in line behind several other limos, Maeve lets out a shaky sigh.

“Okay?” Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, she’s obviously nervous, but as always, she’s determined not to let it show.

“We’ll take a few photos on the carpet. There won’t be any interviews, so we don’t need to talk to anyone or answer any questions. They might ask me for a few photos of just me, so someone will pull you aside to wait for me. Sorry. It’s a little awkward, but necessary. Jen assured me we don’t need any major show of affection, just some hand holding and smiling. You know, look happily married and all that.”

She still won’t look at me, so in the middle of her monologue, I gently take her left hand in mine and slide a shimmering ring onto her finger. Bringing her hand up to my lips, I place a gentle kiss on the back of each knuckle before gazing into her wide, astonished eyes. The deep green emerald, encircled by sparkling diamonds, glints in the light next to her simple wedding band.

“Owen… What… I don’t… What…” Her eyes flicker from the ring, to me, and back to the ring again.

“It was my mother’s. My dad didn’t have any money when they got engaged, so she never had an engagement ring. When he got tenure at MIT, he had finally saved enough to get her whatever ring she wanted. This is what she chose. She said she wanted something that reminded her of him, so she picked a stone that matched his eyes.” I look up from the ring to find Maeve staring at me with a scowl, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Owen! You cannot make me cry right before a red carpet. What is the matter with you?” She waves both hands in front of her eyes, fanning away the moisture in her eyes. I’m sure she’s deflecting because seeing that ring did something to her. I know it did because I felt it, too. I’ve imagined her wearing my mother’s ring countless times.

When she’s finished covering up her emotions with feigned anger, she blows out a breath and adjusts the ring on her finger. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I promise to take very good care of it until it’s time to give it back.”

I swallow down my response once. Twice. Three times.

I don’t want the ring back. Not ever. My mom gave me this ring when I admitted to her that I was in love with Maeve. I’ve had it for months. This ring is as much Maeve’s as it was Mamá’s.

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