End With A Bang (Slap/Bang Duet #2)

31. Cinnamon and Roses

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cinnamon and Roses

“I can’t do this, Sever. I just... I can’t ...”

“Are we on this again? Ivy, it’s just nerves.”

“No, it’s more than that...”

“What else is it? Talk to me.”

“It’s a solo show!” Ivy spread her arms wide, a different shoe in each hand. “In Paris! I’m not good enough for this. What if they think you bought it for me? I should stick to running a foundation.”

“In other words,” Sever said, striding up to her, stepping over her discarded choices of clothes and shoes, “nerves.” He ducked his head to force her gaze. “You have fuck-all to prove. Your work speaks for itself.”

“But does it say ‘I suck’?”

“Love.” He brought her close. “The only thing you suck at,” he said with deep sincerity, “is Daddy’s cock.”

She smirked. He was such a scamp. A sweet, gorgeous, funny scamp who always knew what to say. “Okay, we need to trademark that and put it on a mug.”

“My cock? Or the quote?”

“The quote.” She dropped the shoes, reached down to cup him and purred, “Your cock should be patented.”

“Ooh, there’s my little Dolly...” He rubbed his hands down her back, to the Spot. “I think there’s an ‘on’ button back here...”

She snapped out of it. “Stop. Are you kidding? We can’t do this right now!”

“You started it. I was just giving you a pep talk.”

“Well... stop what I started. It’ll wrinkle the outfit. And I’m not done panicking.”

He chuckled, and touched her hair. “Take a breath.” She breathed with him, in, out. “Imagine yourself wrapped in latex, cracking a whip. You have all the power, tigresse , you just have to tap into it.”

She cocked her head. “Is that what you do?”

He shrugged. “Minus the latex.”

“I keep learning new things about you.” She clasped her arms around his neck. “You’re like an onion.”

With a pout, he teased her, “‘Cause I make you cry?”

She moved her hips as she teased, “Cry, and moan, and scream, and—Stop!” Ivy jumped backward.

“Again, had nothing to do with any of that.”

Ivy made a decision: tall black boots. They rocked with her gold cowl-neck top and short asymmetrical skirt. Plus, it helped with the whip-cracking visualization.

“ Très chic ,” he said, standing behind her as she checked her reflection one last time.

Ivy needn’t have worried. Their friends were there in full support, people were raving, and when the critics came, she put on her metaphorical black latex and ran the room.

At one point, Sever put an arm around her and said in her ear, “I love you in latex.”

“What a shock,” she said, touching his hand.

“There’s our star,” they heard behind them, and Aidan’s big hands cuffed their shoulders. “The next feckin’ Mitchell. No—Frankenthaler. I always liked her better, anyway.” As they turned to greet him, he looked to Sever. “Can I hug her?”

“Above the waist,” Sever said, and Ivy rolled her eyes, but let them continue their usual negotiation.

“For how long?”

“Three seconds, no more.”

“Five. Final offer,” and he was already coming in for a hug.

“Hi Aidan,” she said warmly, and he picked her up off the ground, squeezing.

He put her down. “Did I hear it’s your birthday, too?”

“Tomorrow. When we’ll be on a plane to New York.”

“Then we’ve got to celebrate!” He looked to Sever. “Unless you’ve got some grand romantic gesture planned.”

“No plans,” Sever said. “Saving it for the plane.”

Aidan was still holding her left hand, and noticed she was ringless. “Are you two not hitched yet? What’s the holdup?”

“She refuses,” Sever said. “Wants to be independent, pay her own way.”

“What you want that for?” Aidan leaned in to conspire, “The lad’s loaded, you know. How will we get half when you leave him?”

Smiling at Sever, she stage whispered to Aidan, “That’s a really good point.”

“Oi!” Sever pulled her away from him. “Get your grubby paws off my not-wife.”

She touched the nape of Sever’s neck, and told them both, “I said in a year, I would think about it.”

“When was that?” Aidan asked.

Her eyes met Sever’s, and she realized, “A year ago.” Almost to the day.

“Well, happy days.” He told Sever, “I’ve got a Claddagh in my wallet, you can use that.”

“You’ve still got that dodgy thing?”

Ivy asked, “Why would you carry a ring in your wallet?”

He got a faraway look. “I’m a fool for love, you see. It’s my curse.”

“It’s his game,” Sever said with a smirk. “How many fingers has it been on now?”

He shrugged. “Ten... twenty... thousand, who can say? American girls are mad for it.”

Ivy was still thinking about their previous discussion. She couldn’t believe it had been a whole year. It all went by so fast. Their life was a whirlwind: a tour of his world and the start of her own. New York, London, Rio, Seoul, and all points between, broken only by quick rests at home and on his island... It was dizzying, and she loved every minute.

All along, he’d pushed for marriage, despite her one-year ban on the discussion. He liked to bring it up when she commented on his spending, appealing to her practicality.

“You need to downsize. That apartment is way too big, and we’re hardly ever there.”

“You know, if we were married, you wouldn’t even have to tell me to do it.”

“I told you, when the year’s up, I’ll think about it.”

She was still pinching pennies, despite his attempts to spoil her. In point of fact, the skirt she was wearing cost forty-eight dollars, marked down 70 per cent. She depended on her own income, not his, and didn’t plan to change that. She made healthy a Los Angeles living wage, but it was, per her insistence, the same salary as every director in the foundation.

Of course, a relationship with Sever came with perks that only he could provide: the jet, the properties, the luxury living; the clearance of any obstacle that could be solved with money…

It was hard for her to reconcile. He’d pointed out that if she was his wife, she wouldn’t feel like she was taking from him, so much as sharing his life and his resources.

It made sense, but her emotions didn’t listen to sense. The thought of marriage filled her with anxiety. Not just because she’d destroyed her last one. Jason had moved on—with his shrink, no surprise there—and now they were expecting. Ivy was truly happy for him; glad he was starting the family she wasn’t willing to provide. But the trauma of that fateful day had locked her into fear of abandonment, and her fear of losing the man she loved—as if being his lifelong girlfriend would hurt less. Her therapist was helping her unpack it, but it was still there.

She wanted to be okay with it. She could feel Sever’s insecurity; she could feel that he couldn’t quite relax, that deep down, he was worried that she would up and change her mind about him. Empty her plate.

She was confident that she was in this forever, but he’d never be sure she was his—not until they made it official.

Bijou appeared, pushing through the crowd to congratulate Ivy with a slew of vulgar French words and expressions, all to say she was insulted she hadn’t come by to see her this time, but that’s okay she loved her anyway, and she was super impressed with her work. Behind Ivy, Aidan said, “Who’s this then?”

Ivy said snidely, “A bigger player than you.”

“I love a challenge?—”

Sever deftly steered him away so Ivy could chat with her friend without interruptions from a horny Irishman.

“You’re a superstar, pote .” Bijou said in a mix of French and English. “Painter prolifique , director of a charity for art? How do you say it? Zeet?—”

“Zeitgeist,” she said, pronouncing it zyte-gaist. In French, she said, “It’s German for ‘spirit of the times.’”

With a raspy squeal, Bijou grabbed her hands and said, “That’s so cool! I’m so proud of you.”

And with that, Ivy reached her life’s goal. She was stamped Bijou-approved.

“And your sexy Daddy,” she added, “ ooh la la. ”

Icing on the cake.

After the gallery cleared out, Ivy, Sever, and their motley crew of assorted friends trekked to a nearby bar. Ivy drank water. She didn’t need alcohol; she was high on accomplishment. Ten paintings sold, all of the proceeds going to Zeitgeist.

“I tried to get it in the show, but she wouldn’t let me,” she heard Sever say to Aidan.

Suspicious, Ivy turned her head. “Wouldn’t let you what?”

“Our masterpiece, love.”

Aidan said, “The Pollock of commingled medium.”

The sex painting? “Oh my god, are you telling people about that?”

“Of course I am. It’s a work of art.” He turned to Aidan. “She says art should be in museums for all the world to see, but she won’t let this one out of our bedroom.”

She had a flashback of him saying, Yeah, spill all over it, mix it in with mine, make a new color with your Daddy’s love. Suddenly amorous, she ran her hand up his arm and said, “I’m very mad at you right now.”

He picked up on her mood, and said, “Well then, I think we’ll be off.”

Instead of going straight home, he suggested they take a walk along the Seine. Ivy was still giddy, so a romantic stroll felt like the perfect end to one of her favorite evenings ever. The riverbank was crowded, but that was to be expected on a warm night in June. Come to think of it, the only time she’d seen it deserted was during a downpour in April, when she ran under a bridge, barefoot, and Sever followed.

It was just beyond the bend, actually: the location of their first tryst, a desperate, primal dance against a stone wall. The memory always gave her goosebumps.

“Aw,” she said when they came to a long section that was under construction, unable to go any further. “It’s closed.”

“Is it?” Hand in hers, he kept walking toward it.

The entire area was encased by a tall, plywood structure. Pointing at a sign that warned, NO ENTRY! DANGER!, she said, “Um, shouldn’t we turn around?”

Still walking, looking straight ahead, he pulled something out of his pocket, deftly tossed it in the air and caught it, then let it dangle from his finger so she could see it. Then, just as quick, he closed it in his fist.

It was a key.

What was he up to? Slowly, she said, “Sever? What are you doing?”

There was a chained, padlocked door. The key fit.

An illicit thrill coursing through her, she gasped. “Oh, my god. Did you...?”

He winked at her, checked behind them for onlookers, and opened the door.

Did he? Of course he did. “Some people book hotel rooms,” she said as she entered, looking around. “Sever Mark gets horny, and he cordons off a riverbank.”

He slowly advanced, making her walk backward toward the wall. A very specific wall. “Is there anything that turns you on more than my power?”

Buzzing, she nodded. “You.”

With a sharp intake of breath, he kissed her. The memories came crashing back. Sever picked her up by her thighs and pushed her to the wall. Something crunched beneath his feet. The air smelled like wine, cigarettes and the Seine… and a spiced Yankee candle?

He lifted and bunched up her skirt, then froze when he found her underwear. She tried to wiggle against him, but he wouldn’t let her. “Daddy’s very cross with you.”

She let an aroused smile slip.

“Did I say you could wear knickers?”

Slowly, she shook her head. I’ve been naughty. Punish me.

His nostrils flared. “Hands on the wall. Now.”

All too eager, she followed his orders, hands flat on the rough stone. It really did smell good right here. Did he scent the walls, so it didn’t smell like riverbank? He really thought of everything...

He hooked his fingers under the lace on her hips, then lowered to his knees while he peeled the offending object off her ass, down her legs and boots, and off.

Sweeping his hands upward, he made a very sexy growl, and spread her cheeks. “I think you like this.”

She shook her head.

“You’re all wet.”

She waited for the first spank. Tried to see him behind her.

“Look at the wall, and think about what you’ve done.”

She turned her focus to the wall, and noticed a long, black string. She followed it up the wall, where it disappeared into a brick... or the absence of a brick. The string was tied with a ribbon that said, Pull Me.

“When I think of you, when you’re around,” she heard him say behind her, reciting the flamenco song he’d translated for her over a year earlier, “cinnamon and roses fall to the ground.”

She pulled the string. With it came a shower of rose petals and cinnamon sticks... and at the end of it, a velvet box.

He let go of her skirt.

Stunned, heart banging in her chest, she opened it. A light shone inside, revealing a bejeweled black snake head, jaws agape, a gleaming ring on its lower fang.

She spun around.

He was on one knee, eyes catching the street light above. “Marry me, tigresse.”

Ivy was speechless. Sever Mark was the most romantic, most thoughtful man on earth. And he was all hers.

He kept talking: “I know you don’t want to marry again, but I promise you?—”

“I want to marry you.”

“...I will never—” Thrown, he stopped talking. “You do?”

Every cell and atom in her being alight with adoration, Ivy sank to her knees before him. Without breaking eye contact, she reached into his suit pocket, took out the key to the padlock and presented him with the ring it hung from. “Only if you marry me first.”

She expected him to grumble something like Bloody feminists, but he didn’t.

Instead, Sever gave her his hand.

Tucking the velvet box in his pocket, she freed the ring from the chain, chuckling as it fought with her. On his finger, it was loose, a simple metal circle, but he was staring at it as if it were the eighth wonder of the world.

“Do I get one, or should I leave you two alone?”

He snapped out of it, a tear falling down his cheek. She caught it with a gentle swipe, and watched while he reverently slid her ring into place, then held her hand to take it in.

She could see what he was thinking. He was as easy to read now as she was. Caressing his face, she said, “I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

His glistening eyes met hers.

“I’m in love with you, Sever.” She brought his face to hers. “I’m in love with everything you are.”

“You sure? I’ve been told I’m ‘a lot.’”

As the one who told him that on the regular, she smiled. “I can take it.” She pet the nape of his neck, the soft, shorn hair above. “I’ll never change my mind. I know you worry sometimes, because back then, I was... a lot.”

“You were going through a lot,” he corrected her.

“Still. I need you to know. I’m one hundred thousand billion percent sure that I want to be with you for life.” She paused. “That sounded like I was talking about your money. I wasn’t?—”

He pressed his mouth to hers. “I love you,” he said between heady kisses. “I will always, always love you.”

He ran his hands into her hair, down her back, to her spot... She whimpered, and he helped her to a stand, picked her up, and pressed her against the wall.

No Daddy, no Dolly, just them, reliving the scene that changed their lives forever.

When both were spent, panting, holding on to each other, his Patek Phillipe watch beeped. He didn’t look at it, just said, “Midnight. Happy birthday, Ivy.”

“Happy new anniversary,” she said, making him squeeze her harder. “I do expect two presents next year, though.”

“Bugger that, you’ll get thirty.”

“That’s right,” she said, realizing she’d just turned twenty-nine. She teased him, “I’m almost as old as you now.”

“You’re closing in,” he agreed wryly. “I’ll stay put while you catch up.”

“Right here under the bridge? It could get uncomfy. And we’d need to eat.”

“Vik could come by, toss bread at us.”

She giggled. “And fruit, don’t forget the fruit.”

“Fruit for days.” He laughed with her, grinning. She realized he’d had a guard up this all this time, and it had finally dropped. She’d never seen him look so relaxed, so happy... so loved .

Her new ring caught the light, and she touched and turned it. It was so unique: a brilliant yellow-brown gem encircled with white diamonds. “It’s like you know me.”

“It’s a champagne diamond,” he said. “I thought the color suited you.”

“It’s ...perfect.”

“Thanks, I mined it myself.” At her snort, he insisted, “I’m not kidding. Flight to the Northwest Territories, twin engine to the site. I manned the truck, refined the rocks ‘til I found the right one, polished and cut it...” He conceded, “With some assistance. All right, a lot of assistance. I just wanted my hand in all of it, and they let me, because I’m rich.”

“That’s what you were doing in Canada?”

“Well, I couldn’t get you a blood diamond, could I? You’d lecture me for days.”

God, she loved him. “Now you’re making me look bad.” She ran a finger over the ‘ring’ she’d given him. He’d put it on his thumb to keep it from falling off.

“Only needs a resize. I’ll get my guys on it.”

“I love you,” she said, earnestly. “But my legs are going numb.”

“Sorry.” He unwrapped her legs from his hips, and put her down. “Let’s get home, we’re leaving at the crack of dawn.”

“I thought we were flying at eleven?”

“I need to make a stopover in Gibraltar. It’ll be quick, don’t worry.”

Suspicious, she said, “What’s in Gibraltar?”

He wouldn’t tell her then, or during the flight. It didn’t become clear to her until he led her to the country’s City Hall.

She should have known. A friend once told her that Gibraltar allowed same-day weddings.

As he opened the front door, he asked, “Is this all right, love?”

No fanfare, no planning, just the two of them? Cheeks hurting from the grin she couldn’t stop, she said, “It’s like you know me.”

Before they reached the front desk, she pulled him aside.

“Wait. Don’t you want a prenup?”

“No,” he said earnestly. “No safe words.”

“As a former paralegal, I’d like to advise you?—”

He took her face in his hands. “Ivy. Even if you left me tomorrow, I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“I wouldn’t ask,” she said.

“Well, that’s part of it,” he quipped.

Gazing up at him, she said, “Let’s do this.”