The Bride (The Boss) Read online

  “Come on,” he said, patting my bottom. “Let’s go up to bed.”

  Snuggled beneath the thick blankets, I toyed with the ring around my finger. I lifted my hand, and I could still see the stones glittering, even in the dark. It was a nice ring, but it paled in comparison to the other gift he’d given me tonight. Neil was worth a thousand times more than any diamond, no matter the cost.

  His lips brushed my shoulder, and his arm tightened over my waist. “I can never sell this place now, you know. It’s the place where I proposed, there’s too much sentimental value.”

  I smirked to myself and wriggled down closer to him. “So, I got three things I wanted for Christmas.”

  He growled and buried his face in my neck.

  * * * *

  Neil and I decided not to announce our engagement right away. He wanted to wait for the perfect time to tell Emma, in person, when we were all together. My mother would be the first person to hear, but I could hold off calling her until we got back to New York.

  Our additional three days in Reykjavik were relaxed, happy, and totally boring. We ignored our phones, slept in, snacked a little too much, and prepared for our upcoming return to reality.

  I’d worried that it would be strange, going back to life in New York after spending so much time in England. Having a life at all again, after cancer had isolated us from the world for the past year. We’d slowly been coming back to normal since Neil had gotten out of the hospital in August. But returning to our Manhattan apartment after the holidays felt like an official stamp; the hellish past year was over, and now we could get on with our lives.

  I called my mom on our first night back. While Neil was on a video conference with Valerie and a man from a German publishing company, I paced the huge living room, trailing my fingers along the back of the leather couch as I got the courage to place my call.

  “How was Iceland?” she asked right away. “Was everybody nice to you?”

  She’d asked me the same thing after my first day of kindergarten. I had to smile. “Everyone was great. Neil’s family is really nice. I’m actually calling because I have some news.”

  “Oh?” The sudden high, tight pinch to my mom’s voice clued me in that she might know what was coming.

  “Neil asked me to marry him.” This felt more awkward than I’d expected it to feel. “And I said yes.”

  There was a split second of silence. Then she said, “Honey, that’s great.”

  “Is it?” Suddenly, I wanted her approval about this more than anything.

  “No! You’re way too young. What were you thinking?” she shrieked.

  “I was thinking that my boyfriend, whom I love very much, proposed to me, because he loves me so much that he wants to make that love legally binding in public.” My back teeth gritted so hard, I swore I could hear the enamel shearing. “I guess I was thinking, ‘wow, we’re perfect for each other, and I’m incredibly happy.’”

  “Let me guess, he made some grand romantic gesture on a boat or something? Some textbook move like putting the ring in a glass of champagne?” She made an impatient noise. “Sophie, you are twenty-five years old. That stuff might work on you now, but ten years down the road—”

  “He proposed to me on New Year’s Eve. A little bit before midnight. We had just come from Christmas with his family, we were in our PJs and exchanging gifts with each other alone,” I interrupted. Like hell I’d let my own mother paint me as some stereotypical vapid child-woman who’d say yes to anything, so long as there was a yacht involved. “There was no grand gesture. He didn’t even get down on one knee, and the ring didn’t fit. I know you desperately want this to not be a thing, but it’s a thing. You can either deal with it, or—” Go fuck yourself, my brain finished for me, but I decided to end with a stuttered, “—n-not.”

  “How can I deal with this? You’ve never introduced me to a boyfriend before, and suddenly, it’s ‘here’s this middle-aged man I’m dating, and by the way we’re getting married.’ You can’t just keep dropping this shit in my lap!”

  “This shit? This is my life, Mother!” I realized how loud I was and lowered my voice. “And if you want to continue to be a part of it, then I don’t care how you deal. But you have to.”

  “I know!” Mom sighed. “Do you think I don’t know that? I’ve been with you through all your twists and turns.”

  Oh, Mom. I had to admit, I occasionally felt bad for her. When she’d had me, she’d had no idea what she was getting into. I’d always been headstrong, even as a child, and my wants had hardly ever lined up with hers. But this wasn’t an argument over an Easter dress or my curfew. I couldn’t compromise to keep her happy. “Then don’t give up on me on this one.”

  I had her, and I knew it. She was silent for a long time before she said, “You know I’m not entirely comfortable with your situation. But if you’re happy, I’m gonna try to be happy for you. You just have to give me a little bit to warm up.”

  “I am happy.” I took a huge gulp of air in relief. “Neil and I are really good together, Mom. You just have to get to know him better.”

  “I don’t suppose I have a choice now.” There was a pause. “So. No grandkids then?”

  “Sorry.” Even if I had wanted kids, it was pretty much a non-issue, now that Neil had gone through so much chemotherapy.

  “Well, Marie’s kids will have babies, and they’ll probably need a sitter some of the time.” There was Mom’s always-looking-on-the-bright-side attitude. “I really will be happy for you. Even if I’m not the world’s biggest Neil fan—”

  “I think I have that covered.”

  “—I know he loves you. Because every day when you two were out, I cut another spring in that sofa bed frame, and he never once complained,” Mom said with no small amount of pride at her own craftiness. I wasn’t entirely sure why she believed that proved anything, other than the fact that she was a total nutjob.

  “That’s horrible!” I scolded. “What is this, a white trash community theatre version of Once Upon a Mattress?”

  “It’s a mother looking out for her daughter,” Mom insisted, and I had to bite my cheek to keep from pointing out that if anyone needed looking out after, it was a crazy woman who went sick house on her own sofa bed with a pair of wire cutters to prove some demented point.

  But I had to love that she was willing to go to furniture-wrecking lengths over my happiness.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next day, Neil went back to Elwood & Stern. Officially, that is. He’d been logging major hours from home on both Porteras and Auto Watch since November, despite his doctor’s instructions to take it easy and give himself time. He was itching to get back to work.

  His alarm woke me at six-thirty, but I stayed stubbornly cuddled under the duvet until I heard him emerge from the bathroom after his shower. The master bath in the New York apartment was so cool. It was accessible only through a dressing room, a bigger, more organized version of a walk-in closet, with floor level heaters.

  Seriously, how did I ever live without special vents to heat my feet in the mornings?

  I scooped up the shirt I’d sort of—okay, totally—ripped off Neil the night before, and slipped my arms into it. It was going to need a lot of new buttons, so I closed it by wrapping my arms around myself. I went to the dressing room, leaned against the doorjamb, and looked in. Neil was buttoning the cuffs of his blinding white button down shirt. His gray hair was mussed and sparkled damply in the overhead can lighting. He caught sight of me. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

  “I can always go back to bed.” Squinting through my just-woke-up haze, I noticed there was something different about him. It took me a groggy minute to realize what it was. “You shaved the beard off.”

  With great concentration, he picked out a navy blue tie with white pin dots. “It made me look middle-aged.”

  “The fact that you’re about to be fifty in March makes you look middle-aged.” I flipped my bed hair to one side of my head and yaw
ned.

  He looked up with his half-smile. He really did appear younger without the facial hair. “Shut that smart mouth and come help me with my tie. I have an assignment for you today.”

  My tummy fluttered. “An assignment? Is this some naughty student, hot professor role-play? Because I have to say, I’m kind of down with that.”

  He placed me in front of the big, built-in trifold mirror.

  “Hands to your sides please, you’re obstructing my view.” He lifted my hair to lay the tie over the back of my neck. “Stand up straight.”

  I put my shoulders back, and the shirt parted, revealing a long swath of my nude body beneath. He stood just a little too close behind me, the silky fabric of his navy trousers brushing the backs of my thighs. When he reached around me, I fought the urge to rub my face against his sleeve; I hadn’t taken my makeup off before tumbling into bed the night before, and I didn’t want to mark his shirt.

  “What are your plans for today?” he asked, his hands moving smoothly beneath my chin, looping the tie around itself. He didn’t need my help at all, he just wanted physical proximity.

  I met his eyes in the mirror as he cinched the knot loosely around my neck. “I’m going to have lunch with Holli today. And Deja, so make sure Rudy gives her a lunch break at noon, okay?”

  “Darling, I am returning to my company after a year away. I may be unable to devote time to micromanaging lunch breaks at Porteras.” He leaned down and sniffed the hair behind my ear. “I love the way you smell in the morning. Like sweat and sex and hot skin.”

  “Mmm,” I said, wriggling away. “And morning breath, so don’t get too close. Come on, tell me what my assignment is. What’s this all about?”

  He went to the wing chair beside his ridiculously overblown—and this is coming from someone who worked in the fashion industry—shoe collection. He took a pair of gleaming, mahogany-colored crocodile loafers down, as well as a pair of Berluti leather ankle boots.

  “Whoa, whoa,” I said, holding out two fingers in the shape of a cross. “You can’t wear those. You made one of your magazines go cruelty free, remember?”

  “Valerie made the magazine go cruelty free. I was just along for the ride. Do you want your assignment or not?” he asked, slipping his foot into a navy sock.

  “Fine.” I leaned against the wall and yawned.

  “Since you’ll be going out for lunch, I’ll have to revise my plan. I was going to ask you to edge fifteen times, then come by my office and give me your sopping wet panties and let me get you off. But I don’t want to intrude on your lunch with Holli. So, why don’t you come back from lunch, edge fifteen times, and then call me so I can give you permission to come?”

  He might have phrased it as a question, but he spoke in my Sir’s tone of voice. It was a command, and it thrilled me to my toes.

  “Yes, Sir!” I bounced on the balls of my feet, coming fully awake. There was no chance I’d get back to sleep now. “How do you want me to do it?”

  He considered as he pulled on his boots. “Just your fingers, I think.”

  “Penetration?” That was an important distinction. Sometimes, I wasn’t allowed.

  “I don’t see what the harm would be. I’ll probably be working late, so give yourself a good seeing to.” He stood and came to me, and slowly stroked the backs of his fingers down my cheek, across my jaw, to my throat. My breath hitched, and my nipples hardened beneath the shirt.

  “I’ll just need my tie.” He smirked and slipped it over my head before stepping back, leaving me wanting.

  He put on his tie and his sleek suit jacket and checked himself over in the mirror. “Not bad. Sleeves are bit tight, perhaps.”

  “You look fine,” I reassured him. He seemed to find his slight post-chemo weight gain distressingly conspicuous. “Everyone is going to be so glad that you’re back.”

  “That remains to be seen.” He chuckled and gave his jacket one last tug to straighten it. He picked up his loafers—for changing at the office—and as he walked past me, he dropped a kiss on my forehead. “When you call, do make sure you’re wet. I want to hear it over the phone.”

  * * * *

  Even though I’d just seen Holli in New York before I’d flown home for Christmas, I was beyond excited to meet up and tell her my amazing news. She was going to freak when she found out I was getting married.

  The truth was, between the two of us, I’d always imagined Holli would be the one to get hitched. And I’d expected it would be to someone who got rich from something to do with the internet. Or Pixar.

  We’d had so many conversations where I’d resolutely declared that I would never get married. She was going to be shocked.

  When I arrived at the restaurant—a trendy bistro near the High Line—Holli was already there, seated at a table for four in the center of the floor. Holli is a fashion model, and her recent career explosion meant that now when she went places, she got recognized. She loved it, hence the middle-of-the-room table. Everyone could see her that way.

  And people really were noticing her; I saw a busboy step from the alcove near the kitchen to surreptitiously snap a photo with his iPhone. Holy shit, my best friend really is famous.

  “Sophie!” Holli hopped up from her seat, all arms and legs in her tight jeans and fitted black blazer. A thin chain suspended thick silver teardrops around her neck, and her hair—still growing in from the pixie cut she’d sported a year ago—was curled behind her ears. “I missed you!”

  “I know. A year, and then ten days? Definitely too long.” I hugged her, a little tighter than usual. “Where’s Deja?”

  “She’s on her way. Her a-hole boss kept her over,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Then, quickly, she clarified, “Rudy. Not, you know. Your a-hole.”

  We took our seats, and I scanned the menu, but I didn’t want to decide on food. I wanted to tell her my awesome news.

  Since I couldn’t, I asked how her visit home had been. Her stepbrother had recently eloped with his girlfriend, whom the family did not approve of. And they’d chosen Christmas day to announce that they were expecting.

  “So, it was a great year to introduce Deja to everybody.” Holli wasn’t being sarcastic. She beamed brightly. “My mom was so busy finding backhanded ways to call Patricia a slut, she never even bothered to bust out her racial micro-aggressions at Deja. But what about you?”

  “Christmas went fine,” I said, tilting my head. “Mom hates Neil—”

  “You knew she would.” Holli sipped her water.

  “I did. And um… I wanted to wait for Deja to get here, but I feel like I’m being dishonest if I keep going without telling you the biggest news.” I dangled my bare left hand in front of me and wiggled my ring finger. “It’s being sized. But I’m getting married.”

  “Oh my god! Sophie!” Holli leapt up and grabbed me over the table, her long arms hugging me tight. “I’m so happy for you!”

  “What are we so happy about?”

  I looked up at the same time Holli did, to find Deja shrugging off her coat beside the table. Holli released me and moved to hug her girlfriend. “I thought Rudy was going to keep you from us all afternoon.”

  “Well, he didn’t need me there. He was headed over to the big man’s office for celebratory whiskey. I’m guessing you guys are celebrating the same thing?” Deja’s smile flashed her impossibly straight teeth. She had some supernatural ability to wear the orangey red lipstick she had on without smearing it all over her blinding pearly whites. She stepped over to hug me. “Congratulations, Sophie.”

  I beamed at her.

  “So, funny you should bring up weddings,” Holli said, clearing her throat. “Because we have some news…”

  I looked between the two of them, blinking in disbelief. “No way… You guys aren’t…”

  They both held out their left hands. I had been so distracted with my own news that I hadn’t even noticed the sparkling princess cut diamonds on their fingers.

  “Oh my gosh!” I
knew we were all talking way too loudly, but I couldn’t help it. I was so excited; never in a thousand years had I imagined that I would be engaged to be married at the same time my very best friend was. “We both got engaged at the same time? This is like a movie!”

  “Father of the Bride part II?” Holli gasped.

  Deja shook her head with a smile. “No, baby. Bride Wars. Let’s not have this situation go down that way.”

  “I don’t think we’ll have that problem,” I assured them as I took my seat. “The last time Neil got married, it was this big giant thing in Italy. And I have a feeling you’re not going to do the traditional Plaza ballroom wedding.”

  “We want to get married at the castle in Central Park,” Holli effused.

  “And dress like princesses. Flowers in the hair, whole nine yards. And we want to have our pictures taken on the Brooklyn Bridge,” Deja added, then she frowned. “You know, we got engaged on Christmas day, and we have the wedding basically planned. I guess it helps when it’s two girly-girls getting hitched.”

  “Have you guys already set a date?” I had this weird little twinge in the pit of my stomach, the one I always got when I stupidly compared myself to someone else and found myself wanting. It didn’t make sense, but I had this little voice in my head suggesting that since Neil and I hadn’t talked endlessly about wedding plans, our engagement was somehow less valid.

  I pushed that aside. That kind of shitty thinking led to envy, and I never wanted to envy my best friend. That wasn’t how we worked.

  Deja was practically glowing. “Not a date-date, but we were considering an August wedding.”

  “Wow, that soon?” Did that sound judgy? I didn’t want to sound judgy. “I mean, don’t you need time to plan?”

  “With Miss Efficient here?” Holli nudged Deja with her elbow. “No way. We could get married on skates, center ice at Rockefeller Center next weekend, if she put her mind to it.”

  “Please don’t,” I laughed. “I just got back from Iceland and northern Michigan. I don’t need any more cold.”