Rock Chick Reawakening (Rock Chick 0.5)(55)
When I lost it, I didn’t lose it because of the view.
I also didn’t lose it because the big sprays of gerbera daisies and roses with their pink velvet ribbons that stood on columns that floated up from diaphanous sheers of white that would be what Marcus and I would stand between to get married (and stand around to have pictures taken by our fancy-ass photographer) were exactly what Michelle said they were when she’d checked on them after they’d been delivered.
That being perfect.
I didn’t lose it because the fullness of Marcus getting me Miss Annamae’s pearls back finally hit me.
And I didn’t lose it because I felt beautiful, looked beautiful, and the beautiful man whose arm I was holding on to was about to become my husband.
I lost it because our small wedding party had an unexpected guest.
He looked older. I actually barely recognized him, especially looking stiff and uncomfortable in a suit.
But when Marcus and I hit the doors to the restaurant with Michelle trailing and Doug got up from his chair, looking at me with his mouth hanging open, and that man turned his eyes to me and they immediately got wet, I knew.
I knew he was a man called Stretch.
“Daisy, darling, wake up.”
I moved, blinked, opened my eyes, and from where my head was resting on Marcus’s shoulder, I looked drowsily out the windows of our limousine.
It was dark. No streetlights. No overhead lights in a garage.
Just what seemed to be shadowed trees.
We were just back from our honeymoon.
The honeymoon was fab-you-las.
The return flight was killer.
I lifted my head and asked, “Where are we?”
“Home.”
I looked to him. “Honey bunches of oats, this ain’t no underground parking.”
Eyes twinkling even in the dark car, he smiled.
Ronald did a sweep with the limo before he stopped and muted light came into the car.
Marcus’s smile changed in a way I felt in my belly.
I stared at it and whispered, “What’d you do?”
I heard Ronald’s door open.
Marcus took my hand.
But he didn’t answer.
“What’d you do?” I repeated.
Ronald opened Marcus’s door.
This Ronald didn’t do. Unless otherwise instructed, Ronald opened my door first if I was in the car.
Marcus slid out and pulled me with him.
My platforms hit gravel.
My eyes hit light.
And my mouth dropped open.
Because in front of me, amongst a dark backdrop of not-quite-fledgling trees, stood a huge castle.
Yes.
A castle.
Just like it had been brought stone by stone straight from Germany or England or something.
It stood strong, high and proud, with turrets and everything.
Lit up totally with lights, I saw every inch.
Even the drawbridge.
And the moat.
Marcus’s arm slid around my waist, curling my front into his side, and his lips found my ear.
“Welcome home, Daisy.”
Well, apparently, way back when, I did blather on about my castles.
So Marcus built one for me.
My body bucked.
The sob sounded painful.
But it was the most beautiful pain I’d ever experienced.
And it was the pain of knowing I’d never really needed a castle.
I just needed my prince charming.
And I’d found him.
“They’ll be fine right there.”
“You should wear them.”
“They’ll be fine right there, honey bunch.”
Marcus turned me so my eyes left the glass-covered case with its ice-blue silk amongst which the circle of an add-a-pearl necklace was perfectly placed. A case that was standing displayed on a slant on the shelf that was above the seven-drawer jewelry cabinet in our walk-in closet.
The only other thing on that shelf was a fabulous wedding picture with a beautiful bride, a handsome groom, and three other dolled-up people, everyone smiling big, standing amongst daisies with a backdrop of mountains covered in glistening white snow.
The bride and groom were holding each other.
They were also holding glasses filled with champagne and etched with peacocks.
I looked up into my husband’s eyes.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” he asked gently.
“I want them perfect for her when she comes to us and it’s time to give them to her,” I replied.
I knew Marcus got it.
Because he always got it.
And because his smile took my breath away.
Marcus
A number of years later…
“Darling, would you like to share with me what’s troubling you?”
Marcus had his eyes on his wife.
Since they’d come home from the party, she’d been subdued.
She didn’t normally come home from a Rock Chick party or after having anything to do with the Rock Chicks subdued.
She could come home drunk. She could come home exhausted from dancing in a club mostly populated by gay men. She could come home sharing she’d tipped a number of drag queens (or strippers) so many fifty dollar bills, he was out thousands. She could come home having used one of her (seven) stun guns. She could come home to an angry and/or alarmed husband because she’d been shot at or in a car chase.