Faster Hotter (15 page)

Spread out across the table that stands before the window is a full, gorgeous meal. Perfectly plated dishes, bottles of wine, and unassuming candlelight come together to create a picture that’s almost too pretty to look at.

“There you are,” I hear Harrison’s voice say across the suite.

I turn to face him, moved to the edge of tears.

“Harrison,” I whisper, “This...This is...”

“What is it, baby?” he asks, moving toward me across the spotless room.

“This is just...not what I was expecting to find here,” I laugh through my tears, suddenly feeling shy.

“What were you expecting?” he asks, taking my hands in his.

“When you said you’d checked into a hotel, I thought...I mean, that was a pretty terrible fight this afternoon—”

“You thought I was leaving?” Harrison asks, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“I guess I did,” I admit softly.

“Siena,” he says, pulling me into his arms, “No fight will ever be bad enough to come between us. You know that, don’t you? There isn’t a thing you could ever do to make me want to leave you.”

“There’s nothing you could do either,” I tell him, the tears coming hard and fast now.

“I just wanted to do something to apologize for acting like such an ass this afternoon,” he goes on, leading me toward the gorgeous table.

“You didn’t have to,” I smile, wiping the salty drops from my cheeks, “This is so wonderful, Harrison.”

“Then why are you still crying?” he asks with a sad smile.

“I just totally got myself worked up into thinking you were going to call this thing off between us,” I tell him, “I had this whole speech prepared about how I’d fight for us, for you, how you’re the most important person in my entire life—”

“I’m sorry I worried you,” he says, pulling out a chair for me, “I just got so pissed off at those Ferrelli guys for making you explain yourself like that. As if you’re not a brilliant, capable adult. But I realize that my butting in was only a different version of bulldozing you. I should have kept my big mouth shut.”

“And I should have just spoken up right on the spot instead of stewing about it,” I add.

“Look at us, figuring out this whole normal relationship thing,” Harrison grins, popping open a bottle of white.

“I don’t think anyone would ever accuse us of having a normal relationship,” I laugh, “I don’t know any other couples that had to go through their first couple of fights with bloodthirsty gossip hounds nipping at their heels.”

“You make a fair point,” Harrison allows, “But I think we can still give ourselves a little credit.” He raises his wine glass to me, eyes intent. “To you and me, Siena. May nothing ever come between us.”

“Here, here,” I reply, clinking my glass to his and raising the glass to my lips. I’m just about to take a big, lovely sip when my common sense kicks in. Can’t exactly be swilling wine—not as I’m nearing the end of my first trimester. By the time Bex’s micro-wedding goes down in just a few days, the first three months will have already passed. If only new dilemmas would stop cropping up long enough for me to figure out how to come clean to Harrison about my being pregnant.

“You look awfully pensive,” he observes.

“Just...content,” I tell him, looking out across the glorious array of food, “Mind if I help myself to this smorgasbord?”

“Be my guest,” he says.

We help ourselves to a little of everything. There’s smoked salmon on toast points, pesto risotto with crushed hazelnuts, a vibrant green salad of kale and chard with tons of feta cheese. It’s simple and plentiful fair, and my appetite seems suddenly boundless. Harrison and I tuck in to our meal, basking in the comfort of each other’s company once again.

“I guess this eating together thing will be a rare treat, once the next season kicks up,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“It’ll come sooner than we think,” Harrison says, spearing a chunk of filet mignon with his fork, “We’ll both be busier than ever, I’m sure.”

That’s for certain. By the time we’re in the thick of it next year, I’ll have an infant and a brand new career. That should be a fun time.

“I know we’d talked about you moving in with me, into the London house,” Harrison goes on, “But I...I don’t want you to feel pressured about it, one way or another.”

“Pressured?” I reply, “Harrison, I love that house. And that city. We came to that decision together, I don’t want to go back on it now.”

“I just want you to be able to be in Italy as much as you like, too,” Harrison goes on, “For work stuff, I mean.”

“That’s what private jets are for,” I wink, “Or rather, Ferrelli jets. It’s the least they could do, if they’re going to insist on manhandling my public image.”

“I guess what I mean,” Harrison says, “Is that I don’t mind splitting our time between countries. England, Italy, America—whatever we have to do, in the future.”

Future. God, how I love the sound of that word on his lips. My imagination does somersaults through the next few years of our life together. First we’ll welcome our new little one into the world, then we’ll go back and forth between all of our homes—my parents’ place in Italy, Harrison’s in London, Aunt Bex and Uncle Charlie’s here in New York. For this first time, I realize what a wonderful, rich, cultured life we can give this baby of ours.

“Is that a little smile I see?” Harrison asks.

“I guess I just like the idea,” I tell him, pushing my plate away, “Quite the world travelers, our little family.”

“I like to think of us that way,” he says, placing a hand warmly on my knee, “As a family I mean. Just the two of us.”

Future. Family. This talk is making my heart burst with wondering. I remember the conversation Bex and I had, trying on wedding dresses together. I do want to marry Harrison, more than anything. But it has to be on the right terms.

“I like to think of us that way, too,” I tell him, sliding off my chair and onto his lap, “Even though the Lazio’s can be a bit hot tempered. Even if your mother isn’t my biggest fan.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Harrison says, wrapping his arms around me, “The only things she actually likes in this world are Diet Coke and my dad’s life insurance policy.”

“You’re horrible,” I tease, running my hands through his hair.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, cupping my chin, “I don’t know what it is, lately, but I swear you’re just...luminous.”

“Huh,” I say, dodging hard to avoid any talk of me
glowing
and why that might be, “Must just be the New York light.”

“No. It’s all you,” Harrison says, scooping me up into his arms as he rises, “You get more beautiful to me every day, Siena. And I know you always will.”

“Until the gray hairs start popping up, right?” I laugh.

“Even then. Especially then,” he tells me, bearing me across the room with ease.

“How can that be?” I ask, as he nudges open the bedroom door.

“Simple,” he says, setting me down on the sprawling king bed, “It’s because I love you. And love only gets better with age.”

“I know a few rather bitter divorcees who might say otherwise,” I say, as he lowers himself onto the bed beside me.

“You’ll see,” he says, pulling me against him, “I know the odds are stacked against us, Siena, but I’ve never believed in anything more than I believe in the love we have for each other. Screw the statistics, screw the scandals and the rumors. We know what’s true.”

“Yes, we do,” I say, bringing my lips to his.

I do, I think to myself, as our mouths move as one, I do, I do...

Our hands tear at the layers of clothing between us, and our bodies meet as they have so many times before. How can each time feel so new between us? So singular? His hands on my skin never cease to be anything less than awe-inspiring. I am in awe of this person who has come into my life. This man who has changed me in more ways than I can even know of, and all for the better. I know, in that moment, that he’s right. There’s nothing truer than what we have together, here and now.

We make love for hours on end, our pace slow and gentle at first, building and changing into something intense and honest, something momentous. It’s like we’re clearing the slate with our every move, each ripping, rippling moment of pleasure the first in a new era of our knowing each other. We’re rewriting the rule book, one lick and caress at a time. From now on, nothing is going to keep us from being together, exactly how we like.

One thing’s for sure—Bex was not kidding about make up sex being the shit.

* * *

It goes on like that for blissful days. We hunker down in our gorgeous suite, leaving my little shoebox behind. As charming as it might have seemed during college, that six flight hike is not something I mind giving up in a hurry. Instead, I grab some belongings and join Harrison in his New York digs. We seal our new promises to each other in the only way that seems fit. Because when we say that we mean to live our life together exactly as we like...well, that way includes a whole lot of lovemaking.

Of course, there are other important matters to attend to, apart from screwing on every single surface in that hotel suite. In a heartbeat, Bex’s wedding weekend is upon us. The weeks have raced by in preparation for this event. It feels like only yesterday that we were all camped out in Dallas, celebrating Enzo’s and Harrison’s victories. But in reality, it’s been more like a month. In a single month, my best friend got engaged, my father passed away, I learned that I was pregnant, and I discovered how dearly I want to marry Harrison Davies.

One thing’s for sure—definitely filled my quota for life-changing events this month.

Bex and Charlie have chosen to go the super classy, very exclusive route for their nuptials. The ceremony and reception will happen in Bex’s parents gorgeous West Village brownstone, and the guest list is extremely short. Gus will be there, as Charlie’s father and the officiant. I’ll be pulling double duty as the maid of honor and best woman. Harrison will be there, of course, as well as Enzo. Bex’s parents, the ultra-cool Elliot and Susan, will be hosting the affair. Charlie’s delightful mother Eleanor will be in attendance, dabbing her eyes throughout, I’m sure. And that’s it.

I have to admit, I wouldn’t have expected such a modest affair from the Bex I knew in college. My best friend has always been glamorous, audacious, a party girl to the core. But maybe the pragmatic and preppy Charlie has helped refined that need for glamour. I know full well that this affair is going to be heartbreakingly elegant, but on a smaller scale. It’s a lovely compromise, a seamless collaboration, between my two best friends. And as we find ourselves at the wedding weekend at last, my excitement simply can’t be contained.

“I have an idea!” I tell Bex, as we pour over appetizer recipes in her parent’s spotless living room, “Let’s all go out tonight for bachelor-bachelorette party!”

“What, all three of us?” Bex laughs, “Isn’t that just the same as going out for drinks?”

“We’ll bring Harrison and Enzo too,” I say, “It’ll be fun!”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bex asks pointedly, staring hard at my belly.

“Oh, I’ll leave the drinking to you lot,” I tell her, “Please? I feel like I’ve been slacking in my maid of honor/best woman duties, with all my own personal drama.”

“First of all,” Bex says, “You’ve been a brilliant Girl Friday, even with everything you’re going through. Second of all...you win. We’ll go out on the town tonight, the six of us.”

“Six?” I ask.

“Shelby’s in town,” Bex says carefully, “Didn’t Enzo tell you?”

I take a deep breath, thinking about the leggy blonde that my brother met on the tournament circuit this year. Shelby is a part of Team McClain’s PR staff, and once had a fling with Harrison. For a time, I was certain that she was responsible for the blackmailing Harrison and I had to deal with throughout the tournament. I was also pretty convinced that she was gunning to steal Harrison away from me, but she took up with my brother instead. We’ve made peace, more or less, but it’s still hard to tame that knee-jerk reaction of anger whenever I hear her name mentioned.

“Swell,” I force myself to mutter, “The more the merrier.”

Later that night, the six of us set out for our rejiggered stag and hen night. We’ve settled on an incredibly fancy French restaurant in TriBeCa, and have dressed to the nines. Bex, Shelby and I rock sleek LBDs while the boys roll out in their best suits. Charlie goes for classic black himself, but Enzo and Harrison sport shades of gray. I almost couldn’t get myself to leave the hotel room with Harrison all dressed up like that:

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but a tee shirt and jeans,” I said wondrously, as I admired his warm, charcoal suit. The piece was cut perfectly for him, his broad shoulders and tapered waist only made the more balanced and cut by the fine material.

“You don’t mind a little change of pace?” he asked, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“Not one bit,” I said, moving toward him across the room, “Though I really don’t know how you expect me to keep my hands off you—”

“Look who’s talking,” he growls, letting his eyes rake all along my body.

I’ve wiggled into one my favorite dresses, pitch black bandage number with a sinfully low back. I have to admit, it’s fitting a bit tighter around the middle than usual. I’m pushing three months, and just beginning to feel my body expand. I try not to panic about the whole baby bump thing. I’m sure it will be a beautiful experience and all, but I’ve always been pretty careful about my body’s upkeep. Will Harrison notice when my stomach is suddenly less-than-flat?

“I’m the luckiest bastard in the world,” he told me, back in our hotel room, “I don’t know how I’m going to wait for the end of the night to peel that dress off of you.”

A little thrill of anticipation runs through me, remembering his lusty eyes. But we’ve reached the restaurant by now. Better be on my best behavior.

Enzo lets out a low whistle as we step inside. “Damn,” he says, looking around at us, “Sure they’ll tolerate lowlifes like us in a place like this?”

“Give us some credit,” I reply, “As long as we can hold off on the bar fights and screaming matches, I think we’re golden.”