All of Me (Inside Out #5.5)(35)

“I met her when I went to work at the gallery,” I say, following his lead. “And I’m upset about the deals made. None of them got enough time for what they did. Rebecca is dead.”

Answers don’t calm the beasts within these reporters. The questions start firing from everyone again and Chris grimaces, motioning to Jacob and whispering in his ear.

Jacob grabs one of the reporters and pulls her with him, disappearing somewhere behind us. I’d ask questions but there are too many being thrown at me for me to even think straight. Chris and I answer a few of them, but people talk over us to the point that I’m not sure we are heard. One reporter, a middle-aged man wearing a Hawaiian shirt under a blazer, is particularly rude and keeps shoving that stupid microphone in my face. When I’m at my wit’s end, Alex and Max step in front of Chris and Chris takes my arm, pulling me back inside the building.

“Are we done?” I ask, sensing there is more going on than I know.

“Not quite,” he says, and Jacob appears from a doorway by the front desk, motioning us forward.

“We’re going to give an exclusive interview to kill some of the curiosity. And we’ll do it now, so the reporter has no time to come up with ridiculous questions.” He stops before we enter the room. “Are you okay with this?”

“If it ends this frenzy, then yes.”

“It won’t end it, but it will be a step toward making that happen.”

“If it’s not over, what comes after this?”

“We step back outside and let them go at us one last time. Then we have Alex and Jacob sneak us out of here, and we go see Katie and Mike. We can talk through the wedding plans while the reporters are too busy with today’s footage to come hunting for us. Tomorrow morning, we return here and we don’t hide. We get out and about and we let those bloodsuckers have at us. By the time we head to Sonoma to get married, it will be over. We can come home after our wedding in peace. Or, we can do what I think is safer: You let me take you someplace amazing for our honeymoon, just to be certain no one bothers us. At this point, that’s my preference.”

“Have you ever been to Hawaii?” I ask, the memory of the rude reporter’s tropical shirt sparking the idea.

“Believe it or not, I haven’t.”

“Then can we go there? I know it’s not another country, but we can experience something new together for the first time.”

He smiles. “Yes. We can go to Hawaii. Exploring somewhere with you for the first time is perfect for our honeymoon.”

“Then I’m ready. Let’s go do this interview.”

? ? ?

Four hours later, Chris and I have parked the 911 beside the winery owned by his godparents and, hand-in-hand once more, we start up the concrete steps leading to the magnificent ivy-covered, stone-faced chateau with square cutouts at the top. I have a moment of feeling swept back in time, and hoping that dragons and men in kilts are right around some magical corner. We’ve made it halfway to the huge oval-topped wooden door when it opens and Katie and Mike appear, both looking quite twenty-first century. Katie is her normal elegant self with her long gray hair sleek and shiny, her dark blue pantsuit conservative. And Mike is quite distinguished, but it’s more his carriage than his Dockers and button-down.

Greetings of joy explode from the always-excitable Katie, and Chris and I are thoroughly hugged by both of them. I’m struck by how comfortable and right it feels. I’ve come to look at these two people as our family, and I realize now that I never felt such warmth with my own, not even from my mother. I adored her. I loved her, but there was always her need to please my father at all costs that made us dysfunctional.

“I have wine and cheese and an assortment of lunch meat and bread ready. You two must be hungry.” Katie points at Chris. “Don’t say you prefer beer. I need you to sample wine for the wedding.” She laces her arm through his and mine. “Now come. I’ve missed you both.”

Mike winks at me, opening the door, his thick gray hair fluttering in the wind. We step inside the chilled foyer with its high ceilings and concrete walls, and the same twenty-something pretty blonde we met last time greets us. “Can I take your coats?” she asks.

“We’ll keep them,” Chris replies. “We’ll want to walk out back and look at the wedding location.”

“Oh, good idea,” I say, and as we glance at the woman to thank her, it’s pretty obvious she’s admiring Chris, a fact that reddens her cheeks. I’m not surprised; he has that effect on women. And I know for a fact that he’s oblivious to nothing around him, her reaction included.

He’s quick to wrap his arm around me, a silent promise that her attention means nothing to him, but I don’t need that to feel comfortable or safe. I don’t even compare myself to her—feeling like the cute brunette while she’s the pretty blonde—as I had the last time I was here. And it’s not just because Chris and I have evolved since then. I’ve become stronger and more comfortable in my own skin, and it’s a realization I make with pride.

We follow Katie and Mike into the huge rectangular room we’d dined in my first night here, the centerpiece of which is a long wooden table spanning five feet. The table is set for four, with trays of cheese, meat, and bread in the center.

Chris and I shrug out of our jackets and claim one side of the table, while Mike and Katie perch opposite.