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“Yep,” I gloat. “Almost too easy.”
He crows a skeptical snicker. “Not sure we should celebrate yet. Ivy is a smart girl. You think she’ll go for it? Marry a guy she just met?”
A broad smile splits my face because I know my Little Storm better than she knows herself. “Absolutely. She’ll reach out before the end of the holiday weekend.”
While the remainder of Saturday evening passed quickly due to both the anticipation and the adrenaline of finally having been officially acquainted with Ivanna Kingston, Sunday dragged on. I busied myself with work, distracted by where her thoughts were landing and hopeful she’d contact me before day’s end. She didn’t, and although I was disappointed, the fact that she was doing her part to research me and cautiously considering the wisdom in proceeding reassured me that she would indeed be discerning. Her initial excitement and willingness still lingered as a vexing concern.
Mid-morning Monday, my patience was thinning, blatantly obvious by the empty bag of Sour Skittles devoured for breakfast and half-consumed bottle of Macallan 18 I’d conquered over the weekend. But as initially predicted, she texted.
Little Storm: Hi, Wells. This is Ivy. We met in front of the Victoria Shops. If you’re still interested in hitching our misfortunes, I’d be open to meeting.
Clever girl.I promptly returned her text.
Me: I live in Starlit Hills. Mind driving out this way? Dinner @ 6 tonight. Shooters.
Several minutes later, her response pinged through.
Little Storm: Perfect. See you there.
Now, on Labor Day evening, I sit in a quiet corner booth, awaiting her arrival. The pub is a local favorite, known for its casual atmosphere, heavy pours, and excellent appetizers. The discretion is what I appreciate most.
It’s a few minutes after six, but I didn’t expect her to be on time. My eyes stay glued to the door, heart ratcheting higher in my chest when what struts through is a completely different version of the gorgeous mess from Saturday afternoon. Blazing curls drape her bare, creamy shoulders. Those big doe eyes, a darker blue here in the dim pub, shine so bright that they alone could guide lost sailors home. And her attire? Downright lethal. My cock strains against my zipper at the sight. A royal-blue deep-V halter jumpsuit. Classy. Sexy. Befit for any occasion and showcases the swell of her ample tits, small waist, and slight curve of her hips. I’m willing to bet the rear view is equally devastating.
Fuck, she’s stunning.
She doesn’t belong in this small-town pub, clear by the slack-jawed gawking from various patrons—jaws begging to be broken. I stand, button my jacket, straighten my tie, and wait for those sapphire beauties to latch on to mine. A smile blooms on her face when she spots me, cheeks blushing with each clack of her silver heels. Confident but still nervous.
That’s a good start.
“Ivy. You look positively radiant this evening.”
“Thank you. It’s good to see you, Wells.” She beams, allowingme to steer her into the booth before I unbutton my jacket and slide in across from her.
This is far more complex than a simple date, which by her rigid posture, I know she feels too. Whether for business purposes or not, bypassing the natural progression and diving straight into the idea of marriage is bound to be a bit awkward.
“Should we order first? Drinks and appetizers to take the edge off?” I suggest.
Her shoulders relax with a breath of relief. “That sounds wonderful. Small talk isn’t my specialty.”
“Then, you’re in good company. Mine neither.” I wink.
She blushes a deeper scarlet.
After we place our order—Macallan on the rocks for me, merlot for her, and a myriad of fried finger foods—she swallows, studying me with a quizzical softness. “As I admitted, Wells, I’m not great at small talk, so I’m going to plunge us into the deep end and get to it. You said we could help each other out. How does a marriage benefit you?”
Leading me to share information prior to volunteering her own shows she’s protecting herself. Let’s see how far I can push that.
“While I hadn’t initially considered it, this marriage will help me in obtaining an important position with a business associate.” All true.
She nods, ruminating on that while the waitress delivers our drinks. Ivy sips her wine, lowering the glass and raising her chin. “As a show of stability? You’re in finance, correct?”
A crooked grin tugs on my lips. “You’ve done your research, I see. But you can’t believe everything you read.”
She laughs. It’s bright and full, and it feels accusatory. Triumphant and poetic, like Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” So goddamn perfect. Some things need to be experienced up close. And this, her laugh, is one of them—brand-new.
Her nose scrunches, part humor, part skepticism. “Mysterious. So, you’re not in finance?”
I chuckle, swishing the amber liquid in my glass. “Is that what you took from my comment?”
