Grabbing my hand again he pulled me onto the deck and asked me, "You believe God made all of this?" He waved the Bible in the air and I looked up into a beautiful starlit sky. The moon was full and it cast a glow off the lake that looked surreal.
"Yes," I answered. "Of course I believe it."
"What does it say about marriage? About husbands and wives?" he demanded. I was once again caught off guard when he snapped, "What does it say, Mimi?"
"It says a lot of things, Christian," I managed to reply.
"Tell me some of them."
I was never good at memorizing Scripture, and I cringed at the thought of bumbling it. I paused and a lightbulb went on.
"In Genesis it says a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh." I blinked at him, not knowing where this was going when another one occurred to me. "Also, there's one about what God has joined together, let no one separate."
"Marry me," he said, his eyes flashing.
"What?" Did I hear him right?
"I never ask, but I'm asking you. To marry me. Tonight."
"How? Where?" I stammered, trying to recover from the shock. "And more importantly, why?"
"Here. Under the stars that God created. And why? Because I love you, Mimi. I've always loved you, and I'm not going to let you break an oath you made because of me."
"It won't be a real marriage," I whispered.
"Who says it won't be real?" He looked up at the sky and yelled, "God, if You're real and You’re listening, then You know I've been in love with this woman my entire life. I'm asking You..." he hesitated and held my Bible up high while he sought the right words, "by the power of what it says in here to let Mimi know that our marriage will be real and that You give Your approval."
I smiled at him and shook my head. I might have lost my mind. But if I’d had doubts before, they were now gone. I knew I was looking at my soul mate. A man who, like both our fathers, had done awful things, and was capable of even worse, yet wasn’t afraid to profess the love for me he’d clung to for years. My man. Love swelled up from my chest and threatened to bubble over. I feigned a cough so he wouldn't notice what a sap I was.
"It doesn't always work like that, you know." I walked toward him and reached for his empty hand. Holding it against my chest, I told him, "Yes, I'll marry you tonight, but don't be disappointed if you don't get His approval." I nodded toward the sky with a lopsided grin. "He doesn't always give us the signs we're hoping for."
And before Christian could answer me, I felt something cold land on my cheek.
It was snowing.
Chapter 27
Pumpkin Rest, South Carolina 2007
After we said our spur-of-the-moment vows to each other, Christian picked me up and carried me inside to the bedroom. I should’ve been freezing, but I was warmed from the inside out in anticipation of what would come next. We once again undressed each other, slower this time. When he laid me back on the bed and straddled me he mistook my shivering for something left over from the freezing cold we'd endured on the deck.
“I’ll always keep you warm, Mimi,” he whispered in my ear before showering my face with kisses. He stopped to look down at me and asked, “When I went down on you...when you came on my face...” His eyes were searching and I knew what he wanted to know.
“No, it wasn’t my first orgasm,” I offered. I thought I saw a flash of disappointment mingled with anger, “But,” I quickly interjected. “It was the first time I came like that."
I didn't want to go into an explanation of how I'd let Lucas down there only once and it ended up being more awkward than passionate.
I sucked in a breath and looked over his shoulder, avoiding his eyes. “And you might as well know that I don’t have a whole lot of experience reciprocating.” I was afraid to look back and see frustration at my lack of experience, but he looked relieved. “I can’t stand the thought of another man touching you, or vice versa,” he admitted. “But I’m also glad you’ll have some firsts with me. And they’ll be the lasts too, because you belong to me, Mimi. No other man will ever touch you.”
I didn’t challenge his comment about belonging to him because I was too impatient for what was happening between us to continue talking. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth hungrily to mine. He eventually made his way to my throat and I missed our broken kiss but couldn’t stifle a groan when he made his way even further down my body, this time giving the attention to my breasts that I’d craved earlier. And I thought Lucas's sloppy attempts at teasing my nipples felt good? In retrospect it was like comparing Cogsworth to the Beast, I mused. My Beast.
He used his tongue to slowly make his way down my stomach and once again focused on the place that provoked so much pleasure less than an hour earlier. I screamed his name this time and was still trying to catch my breath when he made his way back up to face me. I opened my eyes and smiled, reaching for his hardness but he shooed my hand away. I guess I looked surprised because he explained, “Like I told you before, I don’t want to wait any longer to be inside of you, Mimi.”
I smiled and spread my legs wider, finally wrapping them around his waist. I felt his body meeting mine, and braced myself for what I knew would be a mixture of pleasure and pain, but he suddenly stopped.
Before I could ask why, he said, “Tell me.”
I blinked, confused. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me what I told you before we said our vows.” His eyes were serious, almost hard, and I knew what he wanted to hear—what he needed to hear—and I said it without hesitation or reservation because I meant it.
“I love you too, Christian.”
He entered me slowly, not taking his eyes from mine so he could evaluate my reaction. He stopped when I gave a slight wince, but I breathlessly told him, “It’s okay. Keep going.”
So he did and our bodies met in unison, eventually finding a pace that left us both breathless and sated.
We spent the rest of the night talking, and exploring, familiarizing ourselves even more with each other. Making up for years that had been lost. We made love twice and he refused me a third time, insisting that he didn’t want to make me sore. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t find pleasure in other ways.
“Don’t look so disappointed, Mimi. I’ll be making love to you for the rest of our lives,” he assured me.
He fell asleep in the same position that he held me our first night together. With my back against his chest and his arms wrapped around me from behind. I could feel his breath on my neck as sleep evaded me. I remembered our last-minute made-up vows on the snowy deck and I smiled when I thought about the ones we’d made so long ago on a playground that had been dedicated to the sister he’d never met, and I’d never known about.
Apparently, being with him was unlocking memories that I’d deliberately chosen to forget. But they were slowly making their way to the surface. In this particular recollection, I’d been the one to recite my vows first after Christian handed me a clump of flowers. At least I think they were flowers.
I’d looked at Christian and batted my eyes before saying, "I will always wear my ring and be your bestest friend ever. And I will be your wife and live with you when we get older, and we get jobs, and you make us a house." I paused to consider my next words. My mother had been very pregnant at the time with Jason, so I knew having babies was a part of marriage. "And if we go to the doctor and he puts a baby in my belly, I will be the mommy, and you will be the daddy when the baby comes out."
I smiled big at him and waited expectantly for his response.
He took a deep breath and said, "I will always win more rings for you. I will win ten hundred rings with different colored diamonds, and you can have one for every day. I will be your husband, and I will make you a house, and I will eat soup every day if that's all you can cook. And if the doctor doesn't put a baby in your belly, then I will put one there. I don't know how, but that's how I think babies get in t
he mommies’ stomachs. The daddies put them there. That's what Slade told me, but he didn't know how either." He paused before shyly adding, "And you’ll belong to me, and I will love you forever, just like my daddy tells my mommy.”
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he whispered in my ear, startling me out of my memories, part of which caused an ache to surface.
“How did you know I wasn’t asleep?”
“Because you sleep like the dead, and I’m a light sleeper. You’ve been fidgeting and it woke me up.”
“I was thinking about what you said earlier, about me belonging to you,” I told him.
“What about it?” he asked.
“A person can’t belong to someone, Christian,” I quietly replied. “That’s claiming ownership and you can’t own someone.”
“Yes, you can, Mimi. You’ve owned me all these years.” He kissed the back of my head.
“How have I owned you all these years?” I whispered.
“By holding me hostage,” he answered.
“I think you need to reverse your thinking on that comment.” I couldn’t keep the attitude out of my voice. “I’m not the one who slapped handcuffs on you.”
“Yes, you did,” he countered.
I quickly shifted around to face him and like that first night, the moonlight helped me find his eyes. When I did, they weren’t challenging me. They were filled with longing and what I thought was vulnerability. Vulnerability from Christian Bear? Surely not. I must’ve been misreading him.
“What makes you think I held you hostage?”
“Because that night you drove out of my life with your mother and James, you took my heart with you.”
Chapter 28
Pumpkin Rest, South Carolina 2007
Christian lay awake long after Mimi finally fell asleep, and thought about the woman he held in his arms. She was full of surprises. Never in a million years would he have guessed she’d never slept with a man. It only confirmed in his mind what he’d always believed. Our souls have been tethered, and she's always belonged to me.
He got hard again when he thought about Mimi’s body coming alive beneath him. She’d obviously been storing up a shitload of passion over the years. He could tell that each touch, each kiss, each caress sparked a fire in her that almost caused him to spill his load too soon.
He smiled when he thought about her awkward attempts at a blow job. She wasn’t lying when she said she had very little experience. But he didn’t care. For the first time ever he wasn’t interested in skill, because this definitely wasn’t just about the act. It was about the woman performing the act. Just knowing that it was Mimi’s warm and perfect mouth holding him prisoner was enough to keep him satiated for the rest of his life.
She’s perfect. So damn perfect.
He shifted uncomfortably in the bed when the impact of that thought slammed into his chest. She had no flaws that he could see. The exact opposite of him. And to add insult to injury, he still had secrets that he hadn’t shared yet. Like before he was arrested he’d joined Grizz’s old gang. He wasn’t kidding when he told her he’d broken bones. That had been his job—his specialty. Going after the people that didn’t pay their loans. He’d been a debt collector with a message. Pay up or suffer.
Did he believe that Mimi would come back to Florida with him, make their marriage legal, and play devoted wife to an ex-con, bone-breaking, hotheaded, motorcycle gang member? It was obvious he hadn’t thought this out when he hatched the plan to find and confront her. He’d not allowed himself the luxury of thinking beyond the anger that had originally driven him. He knew deep down he’d been in love with Mimi for as long as he could remember, but when had he crossed over from exerting his will on her to the lovesick fool who’d confessed she’d stolen his heart years ago? True? Yes, but that didn’t matter.
And neither did the fact that their situation looked hopeless. He knew without a doubt that her mother and accountant ex-con stepfather wouldn’t approve of him, but he didn’t care. With his mind made up that he always got what he wanted, he decided not to worry or think about their future. As far as he was concerned, it was sealed.
Chapter 29
Pumpkin Rest, South Carolina 2007
We woke up the next morning to a thin blanket of pristine snow covering the ground. If we had any intentions of leaving the house it would have to be after the snow melted, but neither of us cared. We both preferred to continue pursuing the intimacy we’d missed out on over the years.
I lay in Christian’s arms and lightly traced the tattoo on his bicep. I turned to face him and leaned up. With my head propped on one elbow I prompted, “I guess you work out a lot. I’m a sucker for big muscles.”
“Didn’t have much else to keep me occupied in prison,” he said gruffly, the memory obviously not one he liked to indulge.
“It worked out for me because I love how big your arms have gotten since I saw you last.”
He gave me a sly smile and said, “And I love how big your boobs have gotten since I saw you last.”
I rolled my eyes and playfully slapped at him. He caught my hand and studied my wrist. The bruises were bolder, and I watched his mood go from spirited to dark. In an effort to not let him go down that road, I got up and peered down at him. Tilting my head to one side, I asked, “Shower with me?”
Without waiting for him to answer I headed for the bathroom and was inwardly delighted when he immediately joined me.
After an exploratory dousing that took way longer than a regular shower, we eventually succumbed to the cold water and turned it off. Besides, the drain was starting to back up and I was concerned that it might overflow into the bathroom.
Later, I was making us breakfast when he came in and rummaged around in one of the kitchen drawers. He looked over at me and asked, “Do you remember me waking you up last night?”
I quickly glanced his way, and returned my attention to the pancake I was getting ready to flip. “You didn’t wake me up last night.”
I heard him chuckle and say, “Yes I did. I thought I heard someone on the porch, and I woke you up—which wasn’t easy—and told you I was going to check it out. You really don’t remember?”
I peeked over at him and shook my head.
“You told me it was probably a bear or some kind of animal and I shouldn’t be worried. You also said your grandfather doesn’t even lock his doors at night because there’s no place safer than the mountains.”
“That’s all true, but I don’t remember having this conversation, Christian,” I confessed.
“Do you remember yelling at me when I took my gun out of the nightstand?” he prompted.
I turned to him and placed one hand on my hip and waved the spatula I was holding at him. “Are you kidding me? You brought a gun with you? You shouldn’t even have a gun, Christian. You’re a convicted felon. If you get caught it’s an automatic trip back to prison!”
“That’s what you told me last night,” he laughed, giving me a wicked smile. “Found it!” he quickly added and held up a screwdriver.
“You are exasperating,” I huffed. “And what do you need that for?” I asked, turning back to the griddle.
“Something needs fixing,” he called back to me as he walked away.
I flipped the last pancake onto a plate, and contemplated the irony of our relationship. A Bible in one nightstand and a gun in the other. Sounds like my parents, I mused, as I set the table for breakfast. But instead of being intimidated at the prospect of being with someone so completely opposite, I warmed to it. My parents weren’t perfect, but they were in love, and their marriage—as odd as it might seem to an outsider—worked. I was starting to feel hopeful, but wouldn’t let myself get too excited. I still had many secrets that needed to be shared with Christian. And I could only hope that those secrets wouldn’t cause him to reevaluate our newly established relationship. At least with Christian, what you saw was what you got. He didn’t hide things. If anything, he was a little too bold.
&
nbsp; After calling out to him twice that the pancakes were getting cold, I went in search of him.
“You must really be engrossed in whatever you’re fix…” My words died off as I entered the bathroom, and found him hunched over the shower drain. He had a disgusting heap of hair piled next to the opening, but it wasn’t the hair that sent a wave of shame over me. It was what clung to it that stopped me cold.
Our eyes clashed, and I could see the questions in his.
“I didn’t do this, and I know it’s not left over from whoever stayed at this house last.” His eyes weren’t accusing, but warm and concerned.
“I was sick that first night…” I stammered.
“Don’t,” he interrupted. He stood up and said, “I knew something was up with you, but couldn’t place it. You do this a lot, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to talk about this now,” I stated as I headed back to the kitchen. He was right on my heels, and grabbed my elbow, whirling me around to face him.
“Tell me about it, Mimi. I know there’s a name for it, but I’m not sure what it is. All that food I’ve watched you shovel down over the last few days. It’s not staying down, is it?”
I shook my head, but couldn’t meet his eyes. “No. Not all of it.”
“Why not?” His eyes were challenging, but not accusatory. He really cared.
My shoulders slumped as I tried to appear smaller, and a wave of tears followed. He pulled me to him and guided me toward the leather couch, taking the seat next to me. He sat on the edge and rested his elbow on his knee and with his other hand, grabbed mine tightly. The concrete walls that’d been holding in my family secret finally started to crumble, and I told him how my shame began, and why I continued to nurture it.