Anew: Book Three: Entwined (26 page)

I assure her that nothing could
possibly make me happier and seize her hand. Together we escape. Behind us, I
can hear the others laughing.

Amelia

“T
hank you, thank you, thank you!” The moment we reach
the garden, I throw my arms around Ian’s neck and kiss him, enthusiastically if
just a bit chastely. My relief knows no bounds.

“I love them all,” I add. “They’re wonderful
but oh, my, I had to get out of there!”

His laughter rumbles through me. Holding
my waist, he draws he against him and kisses me in turn, far more deeply and
thoroughly. By the time he lifts his head again, I’m flushed and gasping. I
need to bring up the possibility that occurred to me earlier but he’s making it
very difficult to concentrate.

“You smell good,” he murmurs,
nuzzling my hair.

“It’s the same perfume I usually
wear.” I answer absently, so distracted by his nearness and his touch that I
hardly know what I’m saying.

“No, there’s something
more…vanilla?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You caught
me. I’ve been sampling wedding cakes. There was one with a vanilla custard
filling that’s so good it should be outlawed.” A little abashedly, I confess,
“I’m sticky with it.”

He leans back and looks at me. His
gaze is at once amused and darkly salacious. It’s enough to curl my toes.

“Really?” he asks. “Where exactly?”

Suddenly self-conscious yet so
tempted by him, I hold up my right hand and slowly fan my fingers. “Here”

“Here?” His gaze holds mine. He
leans down, catches my index finger between his teeth and draws it into his
mouth. His tongue strokes the tip before swirling around it once, twice, again.
Smiling, he releases me. “That’s vanilla, all right. You taste delicious.”

It’s really so unfair what he can
do to me. We’re standing in the garden, for heaven’s sake, in plain sight of
anyone who happens to glance out a window. Cars and pedestrians are passing on
the street nearby. Security people roam the grounds.

Yet all I want to do is push him
down onto the soft grass and have my wicked way with him. Or even better, be
pushed up against a wall and--

What I get instead is Ian slowly
and thoroughly licking each finger clean as all the while his smile grows. It’s
not alone. I can feel his erection pressing against me but he seems disinclined
to do anything about it.

In desperation, I’m about to
suggest that we sneak up to my bedroom. As though he reads my thoughts, he
suddenly sucks my thumb hard and bites the soft pad.

“Behave,” he says as he releases
me.

“I could say the same to you.” I
pout but after a moment my good humor returns. I’m simply too happy to be with
him to let anything spoil that.

Feeling rather wifely, I ask, “How
has your day been, dear?”

I’m teasing but his response
doesn’t reflect that. At once, his mood shifts. I see it in the subtle flicker
of his eyes and the slight tension around the corners of his mouth. But he says
only, “Fine, just long. All I wanted was to be with you.”

“That’s sweet.” I answer
automatically. Meanwhile, my thoughts are racing.

His playfulness of the morning when
we spoke on the link is gone. Something has happened between now and then but
what? And how to get him to tell me? He’s still so determined that I have to be
protected.

I appreciate that, up to a point. But
at the same time I obviously still need to disabuse him of any notion that I’m
somehow weak or fragile.

Before I can decide on the best
approach to draw him out, he glances over his shoulder. A black vehicle is
pulling up in front of the portico. My brother steps from it and heads into the
house.

“I need to speak with Edward for a
few minutes,” Ian says. “After that, I’d like to take you out to dinner. All
right?”

“Yes, of course.” Perhaps I can
bring up my concerns then although there are other matters we need to discuss.

As I change for dinner, I go over
in my mind what could be responsible for Ian’s preoccupation. I know that Davos
had allies, I saw them at the club. Are they becoming a problem? Is the
Council? Or, contrarily, is the workers’ one-day strike the prelude to a much
greater confrontation? Whatever the answer, I have no doubt that both my
brother and the man I am about to marry are in the thick of it.

By the time I return downstairs,
Ian and Edward have concluded their conversation and joined the ladies in the
drawing room. To my relief, Heidi and her staff have departed. She’ll be back
tomorrow and she’s left me a list of questions she’d like answered by then but
I’m glad of even a brief respite.

Still, I can’t lose sight of the
fact that planning a wedding is hardly a burden, especially compared to what
other people routinely deal with. It’s true that, as Helene said, such rituals
have a deeper purpose but still--

“There she is,” my grand-mother
exclaims as I join them. “We were just saying how marvelous you’ve been,
dealing with Heidi and Zosimo, keeping your head, making wonderful choices--”

I’m more than a little embarrassed
at the fuss being made over what seems frivolous in the face of far greater
concerns. Before I can stop myself, I say, “Oh, yes, I’m an absolute whiz at
picking colors, sampling cakes, and choosing flowers. With some effort, I might
even learn how to fold fancy napkins.”

The others exchange a glance. At
once, I feel as though I really am the child I sound like.

Backtracking quickly, I say, “I’m
very grateful for all the effort everyone is making. I just don’t think I
should take too much of the credit for how well it’s all going.”

Helene smiles kindly. “Whatever the
case, dear, you’re doing a wonderful job. But now I think we should let you and
Ian have some time to yourselves.”

She stands as my soon-to-be sister
does the same. For a moment, Marianne glances in Edward’s direction. Her
expression surprises me. I know she’s interested in him but just then she
appears uncertain, almost puzzled. I can’t tell whether it’s with him or
herself. A moment later, she’s entirely composed and smiling as she joins her
mother in saying their farewells.

“I’ve booked a table at Ultra,” Ian
tells my grandmother and Edward when we are alone. With a nod to my brother, he
adds, “Don’t worry, I’ll have Amelia home at a decent hour.”

Edward just laughs but Adele says,
“See that you do, dear boy. Bright and early tomorrow morning, we must start
putting the guest list together.”

“Let me know if you think the place
is worth the hype,” Edward says as he walks out with us. At my quizzical look,
he adds, “Ultra is the hot new restaurant. Everyone who’s anyone wants a table
there. Of course, a few months from now the buzz will have moved on to
somewhere else.”

“I didn’t realize that you’re a
connoisseur of hot new restaurants,” I tease as Ian and I begin walking
eastward.

It’s a lovely night and apparently
our destination is only a few blocks away. Several security people follow us. I
can’t help noticing that there seem to be more of them than before and that
they aren’t quite so discreet as they were. Last night, they hung back a little
but now anyone who so much as glances in our direction will realize at once
that we aren’t alone.

I wonder if this is because we’re
on a public street rather than within the secluded confines of the park. Or if
the reason has more to do with the shift in Ian’s mood that I noticed earlier.

As I speak, he raises my hand to
his lips and kisses my fingers gently. “The truth is I have an ulterior
motive,” he says. “We should be seen together in public. As much as I’d enjoy
hiding you away, I don’t want people to think that I have any reason to do so.”

“Because of who I am?” My voice is low.
I’ve known that we would have to deal with this but still, it’s very hard. I
dread the thought of how people will react if--more likely when--they realize
that I’m someone most of them have been willing to think of as a piece of
property rather than as a human being.

Slowly, he nods. “Tomorrow, a
presidential order is going to be issued extending full human rights to clones.”

So quickly? I can’t hide my
surprise. “The president can just do that?”

Ian’s smile is wry. “Presidential
powers have been increasing since the last century, when our political class
gave up any pretense of working together and instead made itself irrelevant. On
occasion, when a presidential order has gone too far, it’s been overturned by
the courts. But there’s no chance of that happening in this case.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“No one would be foolish enough to
attempt it.”

His tone is matter-of-fact, without
any hint of boasting or even of satisfaction. We could be discussing the
weather rather than the fear he has instilled in others by killing Davos. This,
too, is the man I am about to marry. I accept it even as I regret that the
world we live in requires him to be this way.

 “Is that what you wanted to talk
with Edward about?” I ask softly.

Before he can reply, we reach the
restaurant. It takes up the ground floor of a marble- and glass residential
tower that even by the standards of the city is ultra luxurious. Hence the
restaurant’s name, I suppose.

There’s a line outside but we walk
right past it. Inside, the long bar sheathed in gleaming copper is packed with
people standing three deep. I recognize more than a few faces that I’ve seen at
exclusive social events, men and women who expect instant service and constant
deference.

None of that is in evidence now as
they’re forced to wait yet they appear more than willing to do so. I find
myself thinking what a demanding god fashion is, requiring endless sacrifice
and obeisance.

There is no such expectation for
us. A whippet-thin young man in an austere black suit with an almost priestly
collar appears at our side. Gravely but with an air of suppressed excitement, he
welcomes us.

“Good evening, Mister Slade, sir.
If you and--” His eyes flit to me and widen slightly. “--Miss McClellan will
come this way…”

Apparently, Ian alone would be a
coup for the restaurant but the two of us together are quite the item. We are shown
to a table on a balcony extending out above the main floor, within sight of
other patrons but still with a measure of privacy. Half-a-dozen servers flutter
around us, pulling out our chairs, filling water glasses, unfolding napkins,
offering menus. Their movements are so perfectly synchronized that I can’t help
but be impressed.

“Would you like a drink?” Ian asks
when we are left finally with a single waiter and the hovering maitre d’.

“What would you suggest?”

“Champagne, of course,” he says.
“Helene and Adele appeared to be enjoying theirs.”

I laugh. “They earned it, believe
me. I would have joined them but the mistress of matrimony wouldn’t have
approved. She insisted that I keep my head clear for the all-important cake
sampling.”

“The who of what?”

For the next few minutes, I
entertain Ian with little vignettes from my day with our wedding consultant. The
champagne arrives. Holding my gaze with his, he raises his glass.

Quietly, he says, “To the woman I
love. You’re the only person who sees all of me, Amelia. I was in pieces before
you came into my life. You put me back together. You make me whole.”

Tears clog my throat. I’ve waited
for this, hoped for it but I’m still not prepared to hear it, not without
warning and in these public circumstances. It’s all I can do to keep breathing.
On a whisper of sound, I murmur, “You’ve remembered.”

He shakes his head, puzzled.
“Remembered what?”

“What you said in the tunnel under
the club, right before Davos--”

His expression shifts, becoming
filled with understanding. Softly, he says, “So that was it. I knew it had to
be something important because you wanted me to remember on my own. But the
truth is that I haven’t yet and I may never.”

He covers my hand with his. His
touch is warm and gentle, his gaze even more so. “It doesn’t matter. What I
said had nothing to do with the circumstances of the moment. It’s how I feel
about you and how I always will.”

We’re in a public restaurant. People
below have recognized us. Many are staring openly in our direction. I have to
restrain myself but the impulse to leap into his arms is all but irresistible.

I take another sip of the champagne
and murmur, “Let’s go home.”

His mouth quirks. “Where’s that?
Your place? Mine?”

“I don’t care. Wherever you are.”

“Would you like to order, sir?
Miss?”

We both glance up at the waiter as
though he’s suddenly arrived from Mars. With an effort, Ian nods but he
dispenses with the menus. “Give us whatever the chef recommends.”

The waiter beams. “Of course, sir.
Right away, sir.”

When we’re alone again, as much as
we can be here, Ian observes my crestfallen expression. His own is determined.
“We should eat,” he says.