Burn for You
“It’s always like that,” he replied instantly. “What else is wrong?”
My eyes snapped open. He sounded a little too sure of himself there. “Are you speaking from experience?”
His silence was fraught. I bolted upright in the chair. “You’ve been married before?” I attributed my unnecessary shout to my breakdown and gave myself a pass.
“No. I have. Not.” He punctuated his words with a hammer like he did when especially miffed, but I sensed something more behind this denial than his usual pissiness, so I decided to poke the bear.
“Are you lying to me?”
Over the phone came a bristling animal noise which, had I heard it while walking outdoors in the dark, would have made me wet myself.
“I. Will. Never. Lie to you. Never. Do you understand?”
Oh dear. Poking the bear produced unpleasant results. “Sorry. It just sounded like there was more to what you said.”
I don’t know how silence can vibrate with emotion, but his did. Finally after a few incoherent growls and grumbles, he muttered, “I was engaged once.”
That was like dangling a brand-new, catnip-filled feather toy in front of a cat. My ears perked up, my eyes narrowed, my tail started twitching. “What happened?”
“She didn’t love me is what happened,” he thundered. “She was only after my money!”
After a few moments I realized that sound in my ears was the pounding of my pulse. I breathed out slowly, feeling sick.
“It’s different with us,” he said more gently, guessing why I couldn’t speak.
“How, exactly?”
His voice turned vulnerable, almost boyish. “This time I know.”
Shot through the heart. Bullet to the brain. Fall from a forty-story building. With that one sentence, he killed me in a dozen different ways.
“Jax,” I breathed, trembling. “Oh God.”
“It’s ancient history, Bianca. I’m over it. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it if you hadn’t asked.” His voice took on a brisk, brittle quality. “And I’m the one who offered this deal, remember? This was my idea. So don’t blame yourself for anything.”
Oh, but I could. And I did. I blamed myself for ever thinking this would work, and for being a cold-hearted, cash-hungry mercenary.
For a moment I hated myself with the blinding fury I usually reserved for people who walk too slow and block the sidewalk.
“This is crazy,” I whispered, so full of guilt that if someone falsely accused me of murder, I’d confess and demand the electric chair. “We can’t do this.”
“Is that what you’re going to tell your mother? That you can’t get the money for her surgery?”
I went from anguished guilty person to outraged shouty person in two seconds flat. “That is so not fair!” I hollered, slamming my hand on the desk.
“Life isn’t fair,” he countered bitingly. “This is a business deal, Bianca. A good one for both of us. We’re not doing favors for each other. No one is getting taken advantage of here. We’re going into it with our eyes open, fully informed and consenting, with an exit strategy that’s painless and precise. Which is a hell of a lot more than most people can say about their marriages.”
God, the bleakness of that. Whoever she was, the woman he’d been engaged to had certainly done a number on him. That . . . man-eater.
It dawned on me that those scars on his jaw he said had been caused by a man-eating shark were from his ex-fiancée. What did she do, hit him with a pitchfork?
Pushing aside the knowledge that I myself had wanted to do that very thing to him when we first met, I threw myself headfirst back onto the desk.
Sounding worried, Jackson said, “What was that noise?”
“My head and the desk getting better acquainted.”
A low chuckle, and he’d officially cycled through every emotion a human can have in the course of a three-minute phone conversation. “Funny, I never pictured you as a drama queen.”
I never pictured myself as the bride of hot Frankenstein, either, but here we were. “So what’s the next step?” I said, recovering enough to attempt rational conversation.
“Do you own or rent your home?”
I wrinkled my nose at the phone. Now he was a Realtor? “Rent.”
“Give notice. We need to have you transferred to Rivendell by my birthday on the sixteenth.”
He made it sound like a women’s prison. “What about my things? Furniture, clothes, books?”
“Pack what you want to keep, and leave the rest. I’ll send over moving boxes and arrange for a storage unit. If your landlord charges removal fees for anything you leave behind, I’ll take care of it.”
My lip chewing must have been audible, because Jackson prompted, “Spit it out, Bianca.”
“And the wedding itself? When will that happen?”
“As soon as you meet my parents. Ideally we’ll go this weekend, but if you need to arrange—”
“Wait. Meet your parents? Go?”
His voice turned dark. “We need to make a quick trip to Kentucky before we get married.”
The realization of what he meant made me suck in a horrified breath. “Oh Lord. Your parents have to approve me, don’t they?”
His silence was my answer. I hollered, “I have to audition for the role of your fake wife?”
“It’s just a formality. They’re going to love you.”
I groaned and covered my eyes with my hand. I could picture it now: Jackson pulling up to his boyhood home—in my mind it looked like the plantation Tara from Gone With the Wind—and introducing me to his rich, conservative, and very white parents.
His mother would get a pinched look. His father would turn purple with anger. All the servants who’d lined up to greet us like they did on Downton Abbey would titter behind their hands at Jackson’s audacity for bringing home a colored girl.
Mercy! Is that his maid?
“I know you’re thinking again because I can smell something burning,” said Jackson drily.
Think of Mama. Think of Mama. Think of Mama.
“I can have Eeny cover for me for a few days,” I said weakly. She’d have to cover for me forever after I died of humiliation when Jackson’s parents had their dogs chase us off the plantation, anyway; might as well get her up to speed.
“Good. We’ll leave Friday, then. When can I meet your mother?”
Feeling like I was in a dream, I said, “I’ll find out.”
DAVINA’S FAMOUS CREOLE JAMBALAYA
Makes 8 servings
½ pound raw bacon, diced
½ pound fresh pork sausage, casings removed
½ pound andouille sausage, sliced
3 tablespoons butter
4 boneless chicken breasts, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 large yellow onion, diced
1 green bell pepper, diced
3 celery ribs, diced
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 cups long-grain white rice
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 bay leaves
½ tablespoon chili powder
1½ tablespoons paprika
1 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon celery salt
1 can diced tomatoes
2 cups homemade (or organic) chicken stock
1 cup good-quality red wine
1½ pounds wild-caught raw shrimp, peeled and deveined
8 scallions, chopped
fresh parsley
Preparation
In a large Dutch oven or high-sided pot, melt butter. Cook bacon and sausages for three to five minutes or until lightly browned, stirring frequently. Season chicken breasts with salt and pepper, add to pot, and cook additional 5 minutes or until browned.