“What movies do you have?” I asked.
“You can look through them and see. If you don’t see a movie you like, we can head back out, catch a later one.”
I unscrewed the water’s cap, nodding my agreement. Two minutes later, I was standing in the theater room, mouth agape.
To say that Brad had a movie collection would be a gross understatement. Imagine an entire video store—back when those still existed. That would be close to the selection that the damn man possessed. The walls of the theater room—walls that I had dismissed in my initial glance—were spring loaded. If you pressed the edges they popped open slightly, and you could then slide them to the side, revealing floor-to-ceiling shelves, all the height of a Blu-ray disc case. I rolled my eyes, amazed at the wealth of movies in a format that was relatively new. Brad handed me a large binder that was a catalog, the movies organized by genre, with small images of the covers and brief descriptions for every film, along with a notation of where they were housed. I quickly realized it would take hours to peruse the damn thing, and instead flipped to the index, scrolling down the titles.
The first two I suggested—
Bruce Almighty
and
Collateral
—Brad rejected, but the third he agreed to, and I followed the indicated shelf/section notation and pulled out
Good Will Hunting
, handing it to him.
We settled in, side by side, in the love seat–style theater seating, and I tilted my head toward the wall, now closed, the cases hidden from view once again. “You know that’s OCD at its finest.”
“That’s called organization. Can you imagine trying to find a movie without a system in place?”
I squinted at him, trying to imagine the big man painstakingly organizing the thousands of movies, cataloging them in proper order. That didn’t mesh with the Brad I knew—the Brad who couldn’t sit still for five minutes without his leg jiggling, or pulling out his cell phone. “And you organized it?”
“Do you
think
I organized it? You know me better than that.” He turned up the volume, the previews beginning, and put his arm around me, pulling me to him. “One of the interior designers handled it all. I told her I like movies, to get me a big collection. They kind of went overboard, but I don’t mind.”
“I just can’t believe we were about to
pay
to watch a movie when you have so many choices here.”
He laughed, and squeezed my arm affectionately. “God, you have issues.”
I looked up, kissing him on the neck. “I can only see one issue that I have right now. One
big
issue.” I poked his side.
He looked wounded. “Not me!”
“Shhh—we’re missing the movie,” I whispered laughingly, and snuggled close to him, pulling a soft fleece blanket over my body. Brad pressed a button on the remote, dimming the lights, and we settled in, forgetting for a brief moment the danger hanging over my head.
Forty-Five
Brad sat across from the two girls, his expression pained.
“Let me get this right,” the brunette said, her intelligent eyes peering at him with distrust. “You are
proposing
to Julia tonight. You haven’t bought a ring, you don’t have anything romantic planned and you have dated her for a grand total of, what, three weeks?”
“It’s been almost two months—”
“No, no, no,” she interrupted him, waving her hand. “I’m not counting all the time where you were chasing her, and you were both single, and you were probably fucking half the town at the same time. I’m talking about committed relationship time.”
Three weeks was probably overstating
that
qualifier, but Brad wasn’t going to bother pointing that out.
The other one, a petite beauty with breast implants, a nose job and, in Brad’s opinion, entirely too much makeup, slapped the girl’s arm, interjecting herself into the conversation. “Well, I think this is
the
most romantic thing ever! Do you have any friends—single friends? I need to find a guy like you, one who is ready to settle down.”
“Becca, he is
not
ready to settle down. That’s the whole problem!” The aggressive one, who he thought was named Olivia, whipped out a finger, pointing it at Brad. “Why? Why propose now? Why not wait, get to know her a bit?”
He wanted to leave, to say “screw this” to the two spoiled brats in front of him, get up and continue on his way. But these were Julia’s friends, her
best
friends, and he needed to stack the deck with every card he had if he wanted Julia to accept. He weighed how to communicate his intentions without bringing up the predicament they had found themselves in. The attorney in him looked at the angles available, the weaknesses of the jury. Reason might work with the pit bull; emotion would win the Barbie’s heart. The problem was, all he had was emotion. A foreign tool in his belt. He spread his hands in a helpless gesture and tried his best pitiful look. “Because I love her. And I don’t want to wait. I know, unequivocally, that she is the one for me.” The word
love
rolled off his tongue, convincing and believable, so smoothly that he almost missed its significance and weight. Love. A concept he had avoided for so long, and which now felt so right in his heart. Expanding, pushy, it took up unnecessary space, crowding out so many hostile emotions—anger at his mother’s abandonment, at his family’s business, at his own stubborn independence—he had harbored for so long.
The tiny one practically came in her seat, dissolving into a sea of emotion and grabbing his arm in support. The brunette simply snorted, the word
bullshit
stamped clearly across her features.
It took fifteen minutes, every iota of debate experience he possessed, Becca chiming in her support at every opportunity, but Olivia finally cracked. And, after their crab cakes, fruit plates and a bottle of champagne were finished, the two girls and Brad walked across the street and entered the jewel-encrusted, chandelier-lit elegance of Lorenzi Jewelers, in search of the perfect ring.
Forty-Six
Brad already regretted his decision to involve the girls in this process. They had fully settled in at Lorenzi, taking charge as soon as the manager had gleefully greeted Brad and shown them to a private lounge. They now sat on velvet chairs, fresh champagne in hand, and critically surveyed the options. Every five minutes, a new black velvet tray with five carefully chosen rings was presented, and they would pick apart each ring one by one. It had now been over an hour, and they were no closer to a decision than when they first walked in.
Brad paced in the small room, occasionally taking calls, drinking sodas and trying to quell the nervous ball in his stomach. Nervousness was a foreign concept and he hated every ounce of it.
He already knew the ring, had it pictured perfectly in his mind, but hadn’t seen anything close to it in the ten or fifteen trays that had paraded by. Julia was unique, different. He didn’t want to take a normal setting and stick a huge stone in and be done with it. He wanted something exceptional, something that, when she saw it, she wouldn’t be able to say no. Something that, if he wasn’t enough, the ring would push her over. He was confident in his sexual prowess, but his relationship skills were rusty at best. He didn’t have the option of fucking her into an engagement. Tonight, all he would have was himself and the ring. And he wasn’t sure if he, alone, was enough.
He ground his teeth in frustration. The jewelry associates didn’t seem to understand what he wanted or weren’t listening to him. He tilted his head at the manager, and they moved into a side room.
“You aren’t listening to what I am asking for.”
The man practically quaked in front of Brad, perspiration running down his face, his hands nervously clasping and reclasping in front of him.
“I am, Mr. De Luca! You want an elegant, refined setting—something antique, with a large stone.”
“Then what the hell is this?” He gestured to the velvet boxes, stacked to the side of the girls. “There isn’t a ring in that bunch that I haven’t seen a thousand times before! They are all the same, just slightly tweaked! Is there
anything
else in this store—something you have set aside that you haven’t brought out?”
“Did you see the marquis setting we brought out, it has—”
Brad cut off the man’s pitch with one smoldering look. “I saw it
all
. How long would it take for you to design one?”
“Design, sir?” The man acted as if it were a foreign concept.
Brad clenched his jaw and tried to maintain his cool. “I assume you do custom pieces?”
“Well, yes, Mr. De Luca, of course. But I thought you wanted to propose tonight.”
“I do. It’s four. Five hours is enough time. I’ll give you until nine.”
“But, Mr. De Luca, it’s Saturday.”
“Money never seems to have trouble getting over that hurdle. Give me twenty minutes and a pad of paper—then tell me if my expectations are unreasonable.”
He had the manager bring out all of their available large, loose diamonds, and the last three years of catalogs. He flipped through the catalogs, tagging certain settings, then sketched out a rough drawing of what he wanted. He called everyone back in and showed them the sketch and the stone that he had chosen.
There was silence for a full minute, as the girls and suited men looked at the black-and-white sketch. Brad inwardly groaned, hating that he had involved anyone other than himself in this process. Then Olivia beamed, gripping Becca’s arm and smiling brightly at Brad. Becca gave a little squeal and hugged Olivia, and then the closest jewelry associate enthusiastically.
“It’s perfect,” Olivia said, walking to Brad and giving him a strong hug. “She will
love
it.”
Brad turned his gaze to the manager. “I have faith in you. Make it happen.” He stood, slapping the pale man on the shoulder and heading for the door. The man nervously followed him, speaking quickly and waving his hands frantically.
“Mr. De Luca, I don’t really feel comfortable guaranteeing—”
“Mr. Thompson, you have the stones, and the tools. I will be happy to pay whatever is needed for you to call in the staff necessary to create the ring. Olivia or Becca, do you know her size?”
The brunette looked up, startled. “Um, sort of. I know she’s worn one of my rings before. You can measure my finger.” A female employee materialized and beelined for Olivia, reaching for her left hand.
Brad glanced at his watch and pulled out his wallet. “I have to go. Ladies, it was a pleasure. I greatly appreciate your help. Mr. Thompson, I will expect the ring delivered once it is ready. Please call my cell and we can coordinate a meeting location then.” He pulled a black credit card from his wallet and passed it to the man. “Go ahead and authorize this for whatever you need. I’ll stop by tomorrow and complete any paperwork that you will require.”
He nodded to the group and headed to the door, feeling very satisfied with himself.
* * *
B
RAD
HAD
LEFT
the house, saying he needed to meet Clarke to sign the new partnership documents, but had promised me a late dinner at Cypress. I had never been there, but I assumed if Brad was taking me, it was probably a white-tablecloths type of place. I grabbed my black dress and hunted through Brad’s closet until I found an iron. The best thing about the dress was it went perfectly with my new shoes, and matching them was all I cared about anyway.
I soaked in Brad’s jetted tub, dimming the bathroom lights and turning up his thermostat. I had found some bubble bath in a decorative basket in the guest bathroom, and poured the entire bottle into the tub. I was a little unsure if you could use bubble bath in a tub like this one, with three different kinds of jets and more buttons and handles than anyone would ever need. My concern was quickly validated by the huge mountain of bubbles that formed within minutes, pouring out of the tub on all sides. I spent the first five minutes of the bubble brigade with a bucket I found in the air conditioner closet, scooping and dumping the bubbles into the shower. After five minutes, with more bubbles billowing out of every available jet port, I gave up scooping, and turned off the jets, settling for a normal, plain-Jane soak with a mountain of freesia-scented bubbles everywhere.
Even without the jets, it was a great bath. The tub was huge, big enough to accommodate Brad, though I couldn’t picture him surrounded by light purple bubbles. I closed my eyes in the near darkness, letting the hot water penetrate my core. I looked forward to tonight, to seeing Brad, to wearing my new shoes and later on, to having his hands on my body.
It was surreal to dress for an event, to be excited, when you know you should be panicking. Surreal to put faith in a man that everyone thought would cause me harm. Granted, “everyone” didn’t know the full story. Then again, I didn’t even know the full story. I wouldn’t for quite a while. It would take years of lunches, midnight chats, holidays, family gatherings, cuddles and fights. Years. And I didn’t know if Brad was a “years” type of guy.
I did know that I had professed my love, and he had said nothing. The blowup, the moment when his face had shaken and his voice had wavered, that had told me more than anything. In that loss of control, I had seen vulnerability, love. I recognized it, but he—he was a long way from it.
* * *
O
N
THE
WAY
HOME
from Lorenzi, Brad stopped at a flower stand set up in the back of a Ford truck. A tarp provided some cover, and buckets of flowers occupied three parking spots of an old Exxon gas station. He ducked under the tarp, coming face-to-face with an ancient, hunchbacked man who was missing a few teeth. Brad reviewed the limited selection, and picked out almost all of the orchids and lilies, having the man wrap them together in cream tissue paper and plastic. Giving the man three twenties, he ducked back into the car a few minutes later. Setting the flowers on the seat, he pulled out his phone and called his assistant.
“It’s Sunday night.” Rebecca’s voice was clipped, and in the background he could hear the loud chatter of a bar.
“Exactly. You should be home, heading to bed early, so that you can give me a hundred and ten percent tomorrow.”
“You should know by now that I never give a hundred and ten percent.”
“Good point.” Rebecca was his secret weapon, hidden from the public eye; she was a three-hundred-pound powerhouse that H.R. had felt comfortable entrusting to him. She was a late sleeper, and rarely in the office before noon, but she made up for it by working late, being available on weekends and handling his odd requests without a blink of the eye. The woman was efficient to the point of being lazy. She handled tasks in half the time of others, so always seemed to be idle. But the best, and most valuable trait she had was calling him on his bullshit and standing up to him when needed.
“I need your help tonight.”
“That’s a shocker. Look, tonight’s not good. I put a lot of effort into looking hot tonight. And there’s this guy, he’s a little guy, but I’m fairly certain he’s packing where it counts, and—”
“Rebecca! I don’t want to know about your social life. I’m asking you to please pass up on the toothpick you are about to sexually molest, and be available tonight.”
A big sigh loudly sounded through the phone. “W-H-A-T could you possibly need? I’m not calling any hookers for your horny ass.”
“I need a nine-thirty reservation at Cypress.”
“That’s going to be impossible. Too short notice, and you know they only have, like, five of the tables you like.”
“That’s why I’m calling you and not trying to do it myself.”
His stroke to her ego worked, and after a moment of silence, she sighed again.
“And?”
“Lorenzi is making a custom ring for me. I need you to coordinate with the manager and go over there and stay on their ass. I have
got
to have that ring by ten tonight, ideally sooner.”
She was suddenly a lot more interested and he could hear what sounded like the clatter of heels, the bar sounds subsiding. “What kind of ring?”
“You’ll find out soon enough. Just make sure it is done, and that I don’t get ripped off too badly. I expect some bleeding, just don’t want to hemorrhage.”
“I’m going to skip the interrogation for just a minute, but don’t think it’s not coming. Okay, so you want me to breathe down their necks and make sure that they give me the ring, and then you want me to bring it to you at Cypress before ten.”
“No. I don’t want you bringing it. Have them bring it. Just make sure they leave the store, with the ring in hand, in time for me to receive it. Text me when they leave. I won’t be able to talk to you tonight, so I want to answer any questions you have now, so you can handle it all for me later. Do you have any questions?”
“I’m going to have to wait until I get to the jeweler to see if I have questions for you on that end. If you want me to properly do my job and help you, I’m going to need more information.”
“It’s an engagement ring. I’ve picked out the stone, and sketched out the design. The only questions they may have will be regarding the smaller stones. Just get the best of everything. I don’t want an engraving or anything like that.” He stopped talking and waited.
Her reaction was quieter than he expected, and a little confused. “Why are you designing an engagement ring? Is this for your brother?”
“No.”
“It’s for
you
?” Her voice was indignant and disbelieving.
“Yes.”
“I’m confused...” she said slowly.
“It’s for Julia.”
“Broward’s intern? You’re proposing to Broward’s intern. The girl you
just
started seeing. The one who refused to fill out the questionnaire.” She enunciated every word, drawing the sentence out slowly, idiotically.
“Yes. Any other questions that
pertain
to your completion of those tasks?”
“How many people in your Cypress reservation?”
“Two.”
“Have you told your father about this?”
“I’m not going to dignify that question with a response.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? This is so far out of De Luca–ville that I don’t even know how to respond. You have rendered me fucking speechless.”
“Well, that is a first. Thank you for your help. Text me if you have any dire emergencies.”
“Don’t you hang up on me, Brad. We are not even half through—”
He hung up the phone as gently as he could, given it was a cell, and set it on the seat, his home coming into view. Pulling into the drive, he parked in front of the garage, got out and shut the door, turning to face his house, the exterior lights illuminating the large trees in his yard. Inside, various interior lights were on. It felt good, coming home to someone. He had appreciated his freedom for so long, embraced it with a passion almost desperate. It would take a while to fully release that, to get used to not doing whatever he wanted. But while he had once yearned for independence, now he saw the possibility of something different, and he wanted it badly. Marrying her felt right and he was an impulsive but decisive decision-maker. Plus, it would protect her. The one golden rule was that children and wives were untouchable. His family would have no choice. As his wife she would be guarded, part of the inner circle. He strode up the driveway and headed for the back door.