Chapter 15

"O uch! That's me, not the dress."

"Sorry," the woman muttered, but she looked very stressed so I said it was ok, although the straight pin going into my side had hurt a lot more than I'd expected. Brenna's final fitting, just before I'd stepped up onto this little platform, had been horrible for this woman. I needed to give her a break, but I did check to make sure that I wasn't bleeding on my bridesmaid dress. Brenna had also picked these out, a different style for each of us but the same beautiful green and the same flowy fabric, and they were gorgeous. Except…

"It's too tight on me," Nicola hissed. "I didn't breathe until I unzipped it. I told Brenna that I wasn't quite back to my old size yet and that my boobs are huge because of the milk. I can't believe she ordered it so small! She's such a brat."

As if she'd overheard, our younger sister called out some advice from across the room. "You need better underwear, Nicola. Something strong enough to hold in all that baby weight." I watched Nic's face turn red.

Despite that setback and despite the fact that yes, I had been bleeding and we'd needed to pause to quickly staunch the tiny wound, the fitting was going well. It was still stressful, though, especially with Brenna the Brat in charge, so four of us (minus Nicola, who had to get home) went out for drinks afterwards. Before we left, my oldest sister pulled me aside.

"JuJu, I got the name of a doctor," she said quietly. This was an oncologist, but not Beckett's. "She's happy to email with you or talk on the phone to answer any questions you have." Nic looked at me carefully. I hadn't told her why I needed to speak to someone, but I figured that she had a very good idea. "How is everyone doing?"

"He's—everyone is ok right now," I said. "I just want to hear what another specialist thinks." He hadn't let me sit in on any of his appointments, as I'd originally planned to do. Part of the reason, he said, was that I would probably get sick (and that was a valid concern, since I was such a weenie about the medical stuff). But I believed another part of it was that he was downplaying his illness to me. A doctor wouldn't do that, though.

"She won't have access to his medical records, so it will only be general information," Nicola cautioned, and she looked concerned. "This is a hard thing to deal with. Are you doing ok?"

"I am," I assured her. "And I know it's all going to be fine."

She nodded in answer, but I could still see the worry in her face. Then Brenna yelled at us to get our butts in gear, and we left that poor seamstress alone and headed out.

We would only have one drink each and maybe share an appetizer, because my sisters were always cheap dates—and now I was, too. Anyway, after all the months of frugal living and with my stint as a criminal, I was doing much better with money. I was almost ok, in fact, but I was never, ever going back to spending how I'd spent before. Nicola had been right to be so stingy, I thought, and if people wanted to get money out of me, they'd have to peel some pennies out of my closed fists.

But tonight was a time to celebrate. "To Addie, the bride to be," I said at the restaurant, and we all held up our glasses and clinked. Even the Brat was smiling at something that Sophie had said and Grace was here, in one piece, and seemed to be paying attention. Addie discussed her fiancé for a while, because she loved to talk about him since she also loved him so much, and then Brenna complained about her boss for a longer while because she loved to do that, too. We got some details out of Sophie about Daniel, but her face said it all, anyway. She was beaming as she told us about him. Grace was a clam, but did share that she had a new job. I assumed it would last for the same duration as all her other jobs and started the stopwatch on my phone.

Then they turned to me. "Well? What about this Beckett person?" Sophie asked, and sugar. I realized that I was smiling the same way she just had been.

"It's good," I said, and got busy stirring my ice with my straw so that I didn't have to look at them all.

"You're dating your boss?" Brenna asked. She sounded disgusted.

"It's more complicated than that," I answered, and she told me that it always was.

"When did you turn into a sour sixty-year-old?" Sophie wondered, and they sparred for a moment.

"Seriously, JuJu. Is this thing between you and Beckett Forsman a good idea?" Addie asked me. She was genuinely concerned so I tried to alleviate her fears.

"He won't be my boss for much longer because I'm looking for a new job. It would have happened anyway, since I don't particularly like the one I have." But I wanted to be there right now, in case Beckett needed me, and I knew that he would take on my workload himself if I left suddenly.

"That doesn't seem fair," Brenna said. "Why do you have to go and not him?" Even Grace was agreeing with her.

"He's not driving me away. I've known since the day I started at Whitaker Enterprises that it wasn't something I enjoyed. I want to like what I'm doing," I told them. "I don't have to faint in happiness every day, but I don't want to feel a sense of dread as I drive into the building, either."

"You feel that way now?" Addie asked, concerned again.

Well, no, but it was only because Beckett was there and I could see him from my desk. "What should we do about Patrick's wedding outfit?" I asked, with an eye on changing the subject. "How about if he has a pocket square made out of the same material as our dresses? Those things are very cool."

My sisters were staring at me.

"They're great," I insisted. "Beckett wears them and he always looks amazing. He's not just smart, he's so…he's just everything. Everything."

"Holy Mary. You're in love with him!" Sophie stated, and they all nodded. "I've never seen you like this, JuJu. You always said that you'd never, ever settle down."

"I like Beckett and you cleaned your house. Miracles can happen," I told her, and she seemed to agree. "I never said I was in love with him, anyway."

I was. I was absolutely in love with him.

They didn't believe me. "You know, if you had told me about him earlier, I would have invited him to the wedding as your plus-one," Addie said, all worried again, but I told her it was ok.

"We haven't even said that we're…anything," I explained.

"Are you sleeping with him?" Brenna asked. "Because that's something."

"It doesn't have to be," Grace said, and Brenna told her that there better not have been another Curran grandchild on the way.

"It isn't anything," I stated more firmly. And we weren't sleeping together, not yet. Mostly we were kissing, and then yesterday when he'd come home from work, he'd walked up behind me as I was making dinner and slid his hands over my hips to pull my back against his chest. Then he'd leaned to brush his lips against the side of my neck, up behind my ear and down again.

I'd dropped the spoon that I held, splashing low-sodium sauce with pureed organic vegetables all over the stovetop. That had ended the moment but I'd hoped, maybe, that it would start up again—then he'd had to take a call with someone in California where the three hours of time difference meant they were still working. When that was over, he looked so tired that I suggested that we go to bed. I went to mine, in the guest wing, and he went to his, upstairs. Separately, in other words. I didn't tell my sisters that and I got them all diverted by talking about the babies' wedding outfits.

Things were going so well, I thought as I drove home in the car that I'd hated but had come to appreciate. This moderately priced vehicle got me where I needed to go and it did it on very little gas. What were a few cupholders and some (maybe fake) wood trim in comparison to brakes that worked? The car was good, my job search was humming along, Addie's wedding had come together almost perfectly, my nieces were happy and thriving.

And Beckett was healthy, and that made me so glad. I was relaxing a little about that, because although the threat of illness always hovered (and maybe he was downplaying it), he really seemed ok. I could look at him and never know that his cancer had returned, and he exercised, he went to work, he relaxed and had fun on weekends, and in general behaved just like anyone else going about his life. It was still there, I knew that, of course! But I was really feeling like everything would work out. He was going to be fine.

When I walked into his kitchen, he was studying a sheet of plans laid out on the island, and there were cabinet samples and pieces of countertops stacked neatly next to him. "Hello, Juliet," he said. It sounded like a bland greeting, the type he might have read off his monitor when we'd talked in the past, but he was smiling as he said it. He looked so happy to see me and I felt that way about him, too. It was why I walked right over and tilted up my face for a kiss, which he gave me. Then he put his arm around me and I snuggled against him.

"I don't understand how this works," he commented.

Did he mean me? Relationships? Moving beyond kissing? I glanced up and waited.

"I may need to talk to Brenna," he continued, and I was totally confused. "Putting together countertop colors and cabinet styles isn't like getting dressed in the morning," he said, and then I knew we were talking about kitchen design. "After it's installed, if I decide that it's not an attractive combination, I can't fix it by walking back into my closet."

"I'm sure that Brenna would be happy to come over, insult what you've picked so far, and tell you what would be better. She'd also like to see the art on your walls."

"Invite her," he said, and added, "please."

"I will, but after the wedding. She's really busy with all the details," I explained, and I told him some of those. He had been peripherally involved in various fundraising galas in the past but had mostly supervised professional planners, so he was impressed by her work. I was, too. "She's a machine," I said. "A mean one. I got poked by a pin and she told me that blood was nothing in fashion."

Beckett laughed and listened as I told him more about Nicola's dress problems, Addie's veil dilemma, and an issue with the flowers. Heads were going to roll (courtesy of the Brat) if the bouquets didn't come out right. "She would be a tough person to have as your superior," I noted, and looked up at him again.

"Have I actually threatened you?" he asked, and put his other arm around me. No, he hadn't. All he had done was made sure that I had my seatbelt fastened, my life jacket on, enough blankets on my bed, a coat, a good lunch…

"You've only been nice to me," I answered, but he said that wasn't true.

"I've been very tough on you, but you've given it back." He rested his chin on my head. "I enjoyed that."

I told him about a job opportunity, one that would take me away from our sparring. "Addie's fiancé Granger is starting a new business, a garage for old cars. Expensive ones, I think." But I knew next to nothing about them. "They need someone to run things on a day-to-day basis, and to manage the employees. She suggested that I could do that. I'm not sure, but it's an interesting idea. I could study all the automotive stuff."

"Hm," he said again. "Who is this Granger?"

I filled him in with as much as I knew, which was not sufficient for Beckett to feel comfortable with the venture. I wasn't totally comfortable myself, which I also explained. "I would need to meet with him and his partner and ask a lot of questions. Maybe we could work on a list of those together."

I felt his fingers flex a little on my back, as if he was imagining how he would type them out. "It does sound like an interesting idea, and I would be pleased to help you with any research and preparation."

"I would be pleased to take off this dress," I mentioned. I hadn't needed to wear anything fancy for our fittings, but since Brenna had been in attendance, I'd done my best to look nice. I'd put on my expensive dress with the (very faint) salsa stain that had made it impossible to sell at the consignment shops or online. The Brat had pointed out that it looked like I needed to go to the dry cleaner (or maybe straight to the dumpster, she'd suggested, because my outfit was so ugly).

"You want to take off your dress? Go ahead," he told me, and let his arms fall to his sides.

Well, ok. I nodded and walked out of the kitchen, and when I looked over my shoulder, Beckett was behind me. "This way," he said, and put his hand on my shoulder to steer me. Instead of heading toward the guest wing, we walked to the stairs.

"What?" I asked.

"Go ahead," he repeated, and I climbed the wide steps to the next story. "To the right," he directed, and I looked at him again. We walked toward the back of the house where all the rooms had beautiful views of the lake. "Through that door."

We had entered his bedroom. "Juliet, I would like us to engage in a lot of activities that are banned in the Whitaker Enterprises employee handbook," he told me.

"Like, we're going to sell our garage parking passes and drink on the premises?"

"We'll start with that," he agreed, but then he reached around my back. "Actually, we'll start with this. You said you wanted to take it off." He pulled on the zipper and put his hands on the bare skin he'd exposed. "Now we'll continue," he remarked, sliding up his palms to my shoulders and then removing my arms from the sleeves.

"Yes, let's continue," I said, and I was busily unbuttoning his polo shirt and then pulling so that it came over his head. Of course, he had on a belt, too, and his jeans had a button fly. No loafers today, but socks, and…

"Are those little otters on your boxer shorts?" I asked as I stared down. "Are they holding hearts in their paws?"

"I enjoy animal underwear," he told me, and bent his head. Like every activity that he undertook, he was skilled and thorough at kissing. He kissed me so well, actually, that I was breathless and needy when we stopped, and I hadn't even noticed that he'd adeptly unhooked my bra and then he slid off my (otter-free) underwear. I was naked, and his boxers went away, too.

I couldn't help but check him over—I'd seen him plenty of times in his bathing suit, but fully nude was a whole new story. All the work he'd done at the gym while he listened to financial podcasts showed up beautifully, but more importantly, there was nothing about his gorgeously cut body that told me that he was sick. I put my arms around his neck and pressed tightly to him and he obligingly kissed me again. This time, he moved us, too, as if we were dancing. We did a funny two-step over to his big bed, which looked like the most comfortable place in the whole house. I sure wanted to be in it.

Beckett lay on his back and tugged me on top of him, my thighs straddling his so that we fit together like puzzle pieces. He rocked his hips a little as we kissed more and his fingers explored my breasts, rubbing and caressing.

"I like it when you make that sound," he said softly.

"What?" I murmured.

"It's the same as when you eat something salty or get warm in the sun. You sound so satisfied."

"That feels really good," I said. "Your hands are the source of my satisfaction right now. Yes, when you do that," I encouraged, because he was playing with my nipples and it was very, very satisfying, except that I wanted more, too. I moved my own hips and stroked myself against him, to encourage that, and he made a sound of satisfaction, too. His hands went from my breasts to my butt to rock us together and my breath caught at the feeling of it.

He rolled us so that he was on top but kept up the rocking, and now I could feel his butt as well. It had always intrigued me a lot but I'd only seen its outline under the swim trunks that he wore in the lake. I'd enjoyed being the second person to climb into the boat so that I was able to watch as the water sluiced down the dark blonde hair on his legs and over that nice, round rear as he moved up the ladder. Under my hands, it was even better, very muscular and very squeezable. He laughed as I squeezed several times.

"It's like testing organic fruit," I explained, and he laughed harder. Then he picked up his head and kissed me fiercely. He shifted his weight so that we could continue that as he touched me, massaging my shoulder, my breasts, my hip, my thigh. He massaged my clit and I moaned into his mouth, and as he kept going, my legs started to shake. I tilted my hips and rode his hand, moaning more and louder as I tried to pull him against me to feel him against my breasts, against all of me.

I came when he bent and tongued my nipple, and then suckled hard. "Oh, sugar, Beckett," I called, and repeated his name as the waves and waves of pleasure rolled through my body. He kissed me deeply enough to make me lose my breath again and turned onto his back, bringing me along. I sat up and watched him roll on a condom as I told him to go faster, I wanted him now, that he had to hurry, I needed him so much. Then I caressed his chest with mine as I slid up his body, and when I moved back down, he held himself steady so that he slipped inside me.

"Juliet, that sound…" He closed his eyes, and it felt so good that I probably made it again and again. I rode him, holding him with my thighs and holding my breasts in my hands, and he played with my clit which was so sensitive I could hardly stand it, until I yelled out his name as I came, again, and so did Beckett.

I lay on his chest, trying to catch my breath because I was panting like I'd just sprinted down the pool. He rubbed my back, massaging the muscles I'd used to hold him so tightly. I thought I might go to sleep like this, with the two of us joined together, but he lifted my hips so he could discard the condom and then he moved me to his side. He brushed my hair back from my face and studied me carefully, as if he were learning each of my features.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You're so beautiful," he told me. "I look at you at work, too, but you don't notice. I watch you hide your phone on your desk when you talk to your sisters and I watch you stick out your tongue at your computer sometimes."

"It doesn't always work the way I want it to," I explained.

"I watch you and I want you to come talk to me," Beckett said. "I want to hold your hand and hear how your day is going, and then I want to kiss you. And have sex with you on my desk."

"That escalated a lot," I told him, and he shrugged.

"We could have a long conversation first. That may be why the employee handbook is strict about this kind of thing. Now I perfectly understand the distractions involved in coworker relationships." He moved onto his side and leaned his head on his hand. "Do you need to wear a bra all the time?" His finger circled my nipple then traced carefully over the tip.

"Oh," I sighed at the feeling. "What? A bra? Yes, I…ohhh…"

He was suckling me gently and then broke away to speak again. "At work, can you go without one?"

"The employee handbook says that we have to dress appropriately," I said. "For me, that means a bra. Beckett…" It was so hard to carry on a conversation. Now he was palming both of my breasts and using his thumbs to caress my nipples.

"I would enjoy looking at you and thinking you're unconstrained," he remarked. "I would enjoy the thought of pulling you into the stairwell and doing this." He bent to bite me, very gently, and he slid his palm up my inner thigh as he did. "What do you think, Juliet?"

"I'll go without," I promised. I would have said anything to keep him touching me that way. "I could go naked, too."

He smiled. "The handbook doesn't specifically preclude nudity," he said. "It's an excellent idea." Then he kissed me.

Sometime later, after dinner and then extra hours of that kissing, touching, and so much more, I heard my name.

"Juliet." Soft lips nuzzled my shoulder. "Juliet, angel."

"What did you call me?" I smiled sleepily, not awake but already enjoying myself.

"I went downstairs and I heard your phone ringing. You have several missed calls. I brought it for you."

I sat straight up and grabbed it from his hands. It could have been Nicola—no, she was ok, she'd had her baby—but Esme—or Addie's wedding—

"Patrick? What's wrong with Patrick?" I asked aloud when I saw his name listed again and again in my missed calls.

"Ask him," Beckett advised, and kissed my shoulder again. He cupped my breast, too, but then sighed and lay down on the bed next to me. "I'll leave you alone," he said. He had on new boxers, I realized. These had camels and shamrocks, and I reached over to hold his hand. He kissed my knuckles.

"What's wrong?" I asked as soon as my brother answered. "Why did you call so many times?"

"Why didn't you answer?" he demanded back. "You always answer."

"I was busy." I glanced at Beckett, who sat up and started to massage the muscles of my back and shoulders. I was a little sore there, actually, because we had gotten acrobatic at times.

"I want to meet up and talk to you," Patrick said. "I'm close to your building and I'll come over."

"You mean the Falstaff? I don't live there anymore. I haven't for a while." He hadn't known, though, because he hadn't paid attention to what I was doing or to what our other sisters were up to, either. Or his daughter. That thought made me snarl, "Why do you want to talk to me now?"

"Where are you, JuJu? Let's meet face to face."

I gave him the address and hung up when he said that he was on his way. "Is it ok that my brother is coming over?" I asked Beckett.

"He's welcome, as long as he doesn't try to drop off another infant and flee."

"I'm pretty sure he won't." But really, who knew? I couldn't trust my twin right now.

Luckily, it took him a while to drive over, because Beckett and I showered together and that took some time. He had discovered other parts of me that were very sensitive and I had found good spots on his body as well, and we spent a while looking for more. When Patrick arrived, my hair was still dripping wet and Beckett had returned to bed for a nap.

I opened the door to my brother's shocked face. "What is this place?" he demanded. "You told me it was a house, but it's a castle!"

"I know," I said, and led him into the formal living room. You really were allowed to sit on the chairs, although both of us did it cautiously and I wrapped a towel around my head so that I didn't stain anything with water. I didn't offer any refreshments, like the finger sandwiches or gin and tonics that this room seemed to demand. Instead, I opened the conversation by asking, "So? What do you want?"

My brother still seemed bowled over by his surroundings and it took him a moment to respond. "It's like a museum…ok, why am I the only one of us not in Addie's wedding? Mom said that all of you girls are bridesmaids."

"Why don't you ask Addie that?" I returned, but he shook his head.

"I don't want to make her upset. I figured that she'd be worried about it, like how she got worked up before she went to her senior prom and she couldn't make her hair look like Nicola's."

I stared at him for a moment. "You remember that? You were worried about Addie?" I questioned. "I have to say that it surprises me a lot that you were thinking of someone besides yourself."

"JuJu—"

"No," I interrupted. "I'm not interested in hearing an excuse about why you haven't answered any of my texts or calls for the last few months or why you took off for another state without your baby."

"Holy Mary, I'm not here to fight with you! Can you cut me some slack?"

"No, I can't. Why did you come over? Was it really because you wanted to know why you're not in the wedding party? Ok, here it is: Addie didn't trust you to show. She thought that you would ghost her like you did to your daughter. You ghosted all of us, Patrick. While you were off screwing nameless women and getting them pregnant, I was falling apart! I needed you," I said—no, I had yelled it.

"What do you mean that you were falling apart? Are you talking about the money you owe?"

I looked nervously at the door, but there was no way that Beckett could have heard that from his bedroom. "I don't owe it anymore, but thanks for your concern," I hissed back. "I worked my butt off and did things…" I had managed not to think about Gigi for a while, at least a few days, but now the mental picture of her hand, limp and dangling from that gurney, returned to my mind.

"What are you talking about, Juliet Maria? What did you do?" my brother asked loudly.

"Don't you talk to me like that, Patrick Oliver! I did what I had to, and lower your voice! Beckett could be sleeping!" I lowered mine as well, since I'd returned to yelling. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

He wouldn't meet my eyes, and kept his gaze on what was probably a very expensive rug under our feet. I should have made him take off his shoes.

"Ok, I'll say it," I told him. "Ready?" I cleared my throat and imitated his voice. "I'm Patrick Curran and I'm sorry," I announced. "I'm sorry that I broke up with Liv and that I treated her badly and I'm going to call her and tell her so."

"She won't talk to me," he mumbled.

"You can try," I said in my normal tone, and then switched back to the apology. "I'm also sorry for how I treated you, JuJu. I'm sorry that the only times I called were to ask for money. I'm sorry that when I learned that you were in trouble, my first instinct was to use it against you when we fought instead of asking how I could help, like you always tried to help me."

He looked up briefly and shook his head, then returned his eyes to the rug.

"I'm very sorry that I turned into a lying slut and ran around San Francisco spreading my sperm without using any kind of protection."

"A lying slut?" he blazed. "What are you—"

I kept going. "I'm sorry that I ran away from my newborn daughter instead of supporting her and her mother. I'm going to try to contact that woman and tell her so. I'm sorry that I came home to Detroit and dumped the responsibility for my child into Sophie's lap. I'll not only apologize, but I'll also figure out a way to try to make it up to her. I'm definitely not going to run off and take the baby away, because that will kill my sister. I'll get a job and show Sophie that I can be a trustworthy father."

"She'll never believe that I can take care of Esme."

"Do you want to?" I asked, stepping down from my soapbox. "I think that I know you better than anyone except maybe Liv, and I think it's in you." I'd held onto that belief for months now, although it had been slowly slipping from my grasp. "Do you want to try?"

He shook his head again. "I don't know why I came here," he said. "All you ever do is berate me."

"Was Addie's wedding party really the reason that you needed to see me so desperately? I don't think that's true. I think that you're making an effort, even if you won't admit it. Patrick, I love you," I said. "I love you, and I know you can do this. You can turn things around."

"I love you too," my brother told me. He stood up to leave, but then he hugged me, and I could tell that he was about to make a change.

At least, I had to hold on to the hope of that. I really, really hoped it.