Crime & Counterpoint (43 page)

Despite the number of cars outside, the inside of the house was inordinately quiet and dark. They must all be in the backyard, she surmised. She felt the creep of despair set in and had to forcibly swat it aside though the task was considerably harder than it used to be – especially when she thought of things like what occurred upstairs four months ago.

She hadn’t slept in her old room since.

Warm drafts swept around her as someone opened a door in the house and then closed it again. She caught a snippet of conversation though.

“
We need more chairs!
”

Ugh. They really were going to have a party. She, on the other hand, felt ready for bed. Maybe she should have declined her dad’s invitation and just gone straight back to the apartment. What was she going to do now? Hang out here ‘til three a.m.? Not sleep. And then play her deep sorrows away until morning’s light?

She could just hear her pathetic musical pandering now.

Her ears pricked.

Wait a minute. The notes in her head were real. And coming from the library.

Heart pounding, wondering who could possibly be at the piano, she hastened towards the French doors. There was an elaborate purple bow on the vintage handles. She let out a pleasant breathy gasp but eager to enter, she ripped off the bow and opened the door with less care than she should have.

And the dark-haired man seated at the bench –
her
bench – stole her every sensibility. She swam inside, somehow, but her legs melted beneath her and she grabbed the first chair she could for stability. Watching
him
play. It was elementary and halting, but to her it was the best performance she’d ever heard.

Unable to think past the overwhelming ache as his scarred hands depressed the ebony and ivory, piecing together a melody she knew well.
Für Elise.

Three weeks of ice baths, sports medicine doctors, and almost a hundred hours of intensive physical therapy, and he was walking normal again. Kneeling still brought on knife-stabbing shockwaves, but that would improve given time. The episode aboard the Black Orpheus had nearly reinjured him worse than his career-wrecking championship game. But with regards to the latter, he could now finally think about the whole incident without wanting to drive his fist into brick walls.

But at this moment, he couldn’t have contemplated anything except the girl who’d just joined him. He hadn’t set eyes on her yet, but he could feel her. He wondered if she’d liked the ribbon on the handles – his idea.

The rustic doors to the lit backyard had been thrown wide open, letting in the night breeze. Gentle. Refreshing. Deliciously cool and warm.

His fingers plodded their way through the rest of the minor-key, haunting piece he’d taken great pains to memorize. When he’d been in England, he’d heard one of his young cousins play it. The melody had so resonated with how he felt about Shelley that even though he was sure he could never have her, he’d struggled to learn the piece. Not in its entirety, of course, just the sad refrain that tugged at his soul.

He let the final notes linger in the air before removing his foot from the sustain pedal. The spring zephyr swirled the echoes around the coffered ceiling before carrying them out to the trees waving their richly-laden branches. A shower of pink petals from the dogwoods rained down with the next flirtatious gust. Zach watched the beauty and remembered a little girl in yellow who ran through a sun-soaked field to get to her father. He smiled as the image played powerfully in his mind’s eye. He could smell the fresh-cut blades of perennial rye. Feel the sweat dripping down his brow. See the way the light danced on that little girl’s glossy hair. Hear the wind carrying the conversation of father and daughter towards him.
I’m already proud of you.

And he understood.

Reluctant to face the birthday girl or relinquish the memory, he slowly turned on the bench to where Shelley stood by her father’s winged chair. He thought he wouldn’t be a complete tongue-tied idiot, but having her this close filled his spirit with intense, unadulterated longing.

The breeze rippled across the skirt of her fluid gown and teased tendrils of her hair around her face and uncovered shoulders. She lifted her free hand to smooth the locks away, her other hand holding an envelope against the chair. But she didn’t move. She just stood rooted, unwavering, like the Statue of Liberty. Tears magnifying her already-large chocolate eyes.

But she was his freedom, and he needed her to come to him.

The tension in his gut mounted as he waited, begging her to know how sorry he was for leaving in the first place. For not fighting for her. But just when his hope nearly died, one crystal-studded foot stepped forward.

Towards him.

His heart swelled with relief, throbbing from the near attack. The breeze continued toying with her, encouraging her, it seemed, to hurry.

But she stopped at a safe distance, just out of his reach, and met his gaze. “How did you learn to play that? So fast?”

Somehow when he spoke, he sounded perfectly normal. In control. “You motivated me,” he said, his voice low and tender. “Plus, I’m actually an adult prodigy.”

Remarkably, she laughed and the musical sound bathed his heart. The tension broke. He held out his arms, and she came, willingly. And the moment he touched her, his soul sighed – complete and filled to overflowing. She folded into his lap, hands tight around his neck, and kissed him like she was a half-starved tigress. Passionately. Aggressively.

She tapped his desire until it gushed forth like a waterfall, reminding him of all the nights they’d spent together. But aware of where they were, he rescinded from her intoxicating lips.

“You left me,” she murmured, tears trickling. He pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to her. She wiped at her face, careful not to smudge her mascara. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying, I’m just so tired.”

He smiled softly. “Are you too tired for a wedding?”

Blowing her nose, she looked at him. “What?”

From his breast pocket, he withdrew a shiny object. He took her left hand and slid a sparkling deep blue, princess-cut diamond set in platinum onto her ring finger. Perfect.

She gasped with undeniable pleasure.

“Being away from you for two and a half months was torture. But it needed to happen for me to realize that you’re under my skin.”

Her face contorted. He cupped her cheek, brushing away an escaped tear with his thumb.

“For however many days I have left, I want to spend them with you,” he said in earnest. “You’re my rhapsody. Will you marry me tonight?”

“Tonight?” she asked in shock.

He nodded, smirking. “Right here.” He pointed to the front windows. “Right out there.”

An exhilarated smile spread across her features, making her shine. His blue eyes matched the hue of her new ring to perfection. Her orbs glittered with unspeakable joy. “Yes. I will.”

The gazebo was lit with torches and strings of twinkling LED lights. Chairs had been set up in rows of five along the front lawn, filled with only close family and friends. No state senators, no attorney generals, no kings of countries. Abigail Weston sat up front beside a very subdued David Ericson and his wife, who were miraculously still married. Several members of the Force were also in attendance, including Lieutenant Jordan Fox and his wife.

Richly-shaded rose petals from the backyard bushes littered a wide swath of satin forming the aisle, leading from the grass right up to the fairytale gazebo where Zach and his groomsmen stood waiting – Carter, Jared, James, and Rick – with Judge Blankenship, hands crossed in front of her, a black book in her grasp.

Zach glanced at her. “Thanks for doing this, ma’am.”

Her mouth quirked the slightest, but she kept her sights focused dead ahead. “Anything to keep you off the streets and out of my courtroom.”

Carter heard and elbowed Zach. “Did you tell her?”

Judge Blankenship’s brows elevated. “Tell me what?”

But just then, the bride appeared on her father’s arm with flowers in her hair and a priceless glow on her face. Her self-proclaimed bridesmaids – Ashleigh, Carrie, and Shelley’s cousin Jessica – lined up with fresh bouquets and girlish grins, ready to march down the aisle, while Melissa hung back as matron of honor, fixing Shelley’s hair and dress with last-minute touches.

Patiently, Zach watched as Carol ran over to Shelley. Yes, ran. Hair still in delightful free-fall and barefoot with her violin and bow clutched in one hand and the folds of her gown hiked with the other.

Zach thought again as Carol embraced Shelley, how much they looked alike, especially now that Carol let her hair down. Almost like sisters. Henri, of course, had to grab his wife and kiss her – keeping her warm, no doubt, for dessert later. Zach smirked. He’d count himself inordinately blessed if that was him and Shelley in twenty-five years.

“You ready?” Jared asked, drawing his attention.

“Never been more ready for anything,” Zach replied.

“You mean you’ve never
been
ready for anything,” Rick joked, earning himself a punch in the arm.

Pensive, James observed his sister’s radiance. “Look at her. I haven’t seen
that
smile in a long time.”

“Yeah. She definitely wasn’t that happy at our wedding,” Jared said.

“At least you saw her at yours,” Carter griped.

Rick stepped around Carter to get real for a moment. He gripped Zach’s shoulder with a serious hand. “I just want you to know, Z, if this doesn’t work out, I’m ready and willing to be her number four.”

Zach swatted him away. Rick recoiled, smiling his perfect white smile.

Judge Blankenship cast the misbehaving moths a sideways glance and sighed. “You boys do know I’m right here.”

They all smirked and settled down.

Carol hurried up the aisle and stepped into the pagoda. “Look at you. Such handsome men.” She gave her favorite son a hug followed by some instruction in Spanish which he acknowledged with a “sure, Mom”. Her gaze swept across the lot of them and she patted Carter’s cheek with affection. Finally, she pulled Zach aside and indicated for him to lower himself so she could speak into his ear – just three little words.

“What?!”

“Shh,” Carol scolded, waving his voice down. “Nobody knows. Not Henri. Not even Shelley.”

“Then how do
you
?” he whispered back, pulse fluctuating.

“Trust me,” she replied, “a mother’s intuition is rarely wrong.” She stared meaningfully into his panic-stricken blue eyes. “Can you handle this?”

Perspiration formed around his collar. His mind raced. He seriously considered stepping off the pagoda. Fleeing the scene. But–

Carol grabbed his face and forced him to look at Shelley. “
Mira.
Would you leave her again?”

The moment he met Shelley’s shining gaze, even from the distance, the storm dissipated and his chest swelled with a calming breath. “No,” he answered with quiet resolve. “Never.”

Carol smiled and took her bow into her right hand. “
Bien.
Let’s do this.” She positioned herself off to the side of the white structure. With the attention of all present and her eyes set on Henri and the beautiful bride, she leveraged the violin on her shoulder, chin upon the rest, and drew her bow across the strings, playing a lush melody, which seemed to harmonize with the gentle waves of the bay.

The bridesmaids made their way down the aisle to the gazebo, each lining up on the bride’s side, facing the intimate crowd. Then it was Melissa’s turn and finally, Shelley’s. On Henri’s arm, she began her walk up the rose-littered satin, gaze fixated on Zach, pure love in her glistening smile. And the closer she got to him, the greater his confidence became in their future together.

By the time Henri finally handed her off, Zach was more than ready and took her into the gazebo with him, carefully. They gazed into each other’s eyes, neither wanting to waste this moment. Not content to just hold her hands, Zach put his arms around her. He could feel her softness as he held her against him and smell the pure and pleasurable aroma of her skin. He barely heard Judge Blankenship’s voice, drowning instead in a sonnet playing over and over again in his mind.

But when it came time for him to speak, he didn’t miss a beat. “I do,” he said.

Shelley’s voice quivered as she gave her clear assent, sliding a platinum band on his finger, which Melissa handed her.

And when Judge Blankenship declared them husband and wife and said “You may kiss the bride”, Zach eagerly took his cue. In the sight of God and witnesses, he lowered his head to declare his love. The salty breeze and scent of pine and roses commingled in perfect harmony with the fresh, honeyed taste of her lips.

Her hands lifted to frame the sides of his face, feeling his end-of-day stubble. She drank deeply from the outpouring of his heart. And even when the familiar Wedding March began, played by Carol and far from repugnant now, Shelley did nothing to staunch the tide of Zach’s passion.

But they reluctantly parted to the tune of applause and digital photography. Blissful, Shelley and Zach floated arm in arm back down the aisle. At Zach’s encouragement, Shelley stopped to give her father a hug, and Zach gave his grandmother a kiss on the cheek coupled with an ‘I love you’.

Perfunctorily, David shook his son’s hand in congratulations but that was all. In fact, Lexi had far more to say, gushing over Zach and telling him how happy she was.

At the end of it, Henri approached the newlyweds and presented their marriage license. “Still have to make it legal.”

Shelley smiled and took his arm. “Oh, Daddy. Always a lawyer.”

Zach and Henri exchanged all-business looks over her head. Henri made to withdraw a pen, but Zach stopped him.

“Don’t worry. I brought my own,” Zach said. And slick as you please, he produced the Montblanc pen given to Henri by his grandfather. “Will you be the witness?”

Considering the question and the pen, Henri dipped his chin, “Naturally.”

Finally, after thanking everyone for coming, and because Shelley was beyond exhausted, Zach firmly said goodnight for them both. He whisked his wilting bride away, a new sense of responsibility breeding inside him.