73 - Tranquility

Sheridan toyed with the elegantly eclectic choker at her throat, admiring the handiwork of Jon’s assistant.   The monotony of a simple strand of pearls was broken by the occasional ivory bead tucked between every fifth and sixth pearl.  What gave that ivory bead its eclectic twist was the fact that it was carved into a tiny skull.

It wasn’t obvious unless you looked closely, and that positively delighted Sheridan.  What could be a more perfect compromise between her classically elegant public face and the sex kitten diva that ventured out only behind the closed door of a rock star’s bedroom?

Necklace and matching earrings in place, she twisted a stubborn tendril of hair around her finger and sprayed it, giving it the faintest illusion of being curled.  Shaking her head, the mass of blonde waves slithered into an artfully disheveled cascade.  It didn’t particularly suit her classically tailored look, but when Jon had noticed that she was pinning her hair up, he’d frowned and shook his head.

Seeing as she had practically dictated his wardrobe for the ceremony – right down to the socks – she put the pins away.  Her reward had been a very naughty promise in the eyes of her soon-to-be husband.

I’m getting married in an hour.

That life changing acknowledgement should be more unnerving.  Anyone with the sense God gave a goose would be running scared about now, but not Sheridan.  Jon had worked his ass off helping her get to the pool of serenity that lay beyond that ocean of fear and, at this point, marrying him felt like the most natural thing in the world.

That’s not to say she wouldn’t be suffering from a bout of pregnancy-induced panic tomorrow, depending on what new information she stumbled across, but for now…  She was at peace with her poppy seed and he was the one who’d held her hand while she got there.

She grinned.

At the risk of getting sliced to ribbons by a seizure-riddled cat. 

A final swipe of lip gloss and she bent forward to peer into the bathroom mirror for a closer inspection of her makeup.  Foundation smoothed out the appearance of her skin and the bit of afternoon sun that kissed her cheeks had rendered blusher unnecessary.  Eyeliner and mascara had been applied with a bit heavier hand than usual, but she was pleased with the effect.   

Nodding at her reflection with approval, she picked up the tube of lotion from the vanity and squeezed a dollop onto her fingertips.  The champagne shimmer was applied liberally over chest and shoulders, which were left bare by the strapless ivory gown that had been waiting for her at Chanel.  There was something very Marilyn Monroe about it and she had instantly fallen in love with the elegant simplicity of the A-line dress.

An experimental twirl on the toe of her sling-back Jimmy Choo sandals had the gently flared, chiffon hem tickling the back of her calves.  The shiny stones winked across the tops of her freshly pedicured feet, courtesy of the spa time provided by her thoughtful fiancé.  The nails shone a glossy, fire-engine red, the same shade as her newly-painted fingertips. 

A demure French-manicure probably would have been more appropriate, but Jon liked her blood red nails – and the way she used them.  He had told her that on multiple occasions and, honestly, she wanted to please him.

Never had she leaned so heavily on another person as she had this man in the last few days.  He’d stood unwaveringly by, letting her work through her issues, helping where he could and holding her when he couldn’t.  She appreciated it more than he could possibly imagine, but it was time to gather her gumption about her and stop using him as a crutch.  He deserved a wife that could stand on her own two feet firmly enough to be his crutch when he needed one. 

There would be no more ‘woe is me’ moments from Sheridan. 

Smooth sailing.  Tranquil seas.  This I vow to you, Mr. Bongiovi.

She wiggled her toes with excitement.  It wasn’t time for the ceremony just yet, but she thought it might be time to voice her commitment. 

§§§

“Very handsome.”

Securing the final loop of a Windsor knot on his black silk tie, Jon’s lips tipped up into a sinful smirk as he met her eyes in the floor-length mirror.

“Seems only fair,” he remarked mildly, dipping his head to piece together the cuff of the ivory shirt’s left sleeve and secure it with a cufflink that matched the skulls in Sheridan’s necklace and earrings.  “You’re abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous.  I can’t have you outshining me in the wedding pictures.”

Even as she called him a doofus her cheeks glowed pink with the compliment.  He was getting good at this romantic shit, he thought, fastening his other cuff before turning to her with a smile. 

“You about ready?” he asked, reaching for the suit jacket that was the same pitch-black as his pants and tie.

“I’m ready, but can we wait a few minutes to leave?”

Pushing back his sleeve, he flipped his wrist around to check the time.   It was half past five and the chapel ceremony was scheduled for six, so they were still good on time.

“Yeah, sure.  Some certain reason you want to wait?”

She tilted her head toward the suite’s living room, a gentle smile tugging at her mouth.  “I thought you might like to unwrap that big shiny thing I brought along.”

“Hmm…”  He skated an open palm from the ball of her shoulder to the Possession bracelet at her wrist, reveling in the goose bumps that sprang to life with his touch.   “I’d rather unwrap you, but seeing as that’s out of the question for another hour or so…  Sure.  I’m intrigued.”

As she pulled him along after her, he would swear she was putting an extra swing in her hips just to taunt him.  When his ass was pushed to the sofa with the guidance of a lone cherry fingernail planted in his sternum, his suspicion multiplied. 

The little vixen was teasing him.   

Jon was ready to call her tease and throw that skirt up around her head when she turned to him, frothy skirt swirling around her legs as she presented the package with an uncertain nibble at the glossy red coating on her lower lip.  Excitement and love shone from her brilliant emerald irises almost as brightly as the metallic silver paper and bow adorning the package she proffered.

Jon had learned to read those eyes with a fair amount of accuracy in their short time together.  Now was not the time to throw her to the ground and fuck her. 

Sheridan was practically bubbling with a vivacious energy that had been stolen by the rampant bouts of fatigue accompanying the pregnancy.  There was no way he was going to steal whatever fireworks she wanted to shower him with.  He could make sleepy love to her later.

“Sit with me,” he invited patting the cushion with one hand while balancing the flat, oversized gift on the floor in front of him with the other.

Carefully smoothing her skirt under her bottom, she perched on the sofa’s very edge so as not to wrinkle herself.  She crossed her feet at the ankles, angling herself to him and gracing him with an ethereal smile. 

“I’m not sure whether I want you to open it first, or if I want to give you my spiel first,” she tittered a bit sheepishly.  “I know.  Open the gift first.  Then I can tell you why I bought it and all the things that go along with it.”

“Whatever you say, baby.  This is your show.”  He lifted his eyebrows questioningly and his hand hovered over the wrapping.  “So open it?”

She nodded confidently, her eyes zeroed in on the fingers that were pushing under the end flap of paper.

With an unceremonious ripping of paper, the painting inside became readily visible in only a few seconds.  Jon recognized the driftwood-style frame as that of the Christmas gift she’d given him.  Peeling back the remnants of shiny silver, he saw that the painting was similar, yet completely different.  Whereas the other one was a turbulent storm, this one was… serene.

“It’s called ‘After the Rain’,” she enlightened him as he propped the artwork against the suite’s cocktail table.  “I was shopping for a wedding dress yesterday and, between stores, I saw this in the window.”

“It’s beautiful.”

She smiled, still gnawing at her lip gloss.  “Our wedding will be a civil ceremony with only the most basic vows.  I don’t want anything more than that, because the world doesn’t need to know what I vow to you.  That’s between you and me.”

“So there are vows that go with this.”

Just when you thought you were doing good with the romantic shit...

One shimmery shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug.  “I didn’t plan it that way, but yes, there are.”

 “Okay,” he drawled, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat.  He hadn’t planned for something like this and hated being caught unprepared. 

Pay attention, you goon.

“You notice it’s an ocean scene, like the other painting I got you.”

“Yeah.  No storm this time, though.”

The resulting smile illuminated her face with an angelic radiance, making him glad that he had done something right.  “Exactly.  That’s why it caught my eye.  I was walking along thinking about how tired I was of all the… crap.  That storm came through our lives creating a magical kind of havoc, throwing us together in its wake and I’m grateful, but…  Well, I’m done.  The storm has passed and this… tranquility is the life I want for us now.  No more drama, no more allowing circumstances to stir up our ocean.  When all hell breaks loose around us, our home and hearts will be peaceful and serene.”

Reaching for his other hand, she squeezed both of them, inching closer and locking into his gaze with a blistering intensity.  “I’m not going to be the weak link in our family.  You’ve been there for me the last couple of days, holding me up when life knocked the wind out of me and I want you to understand that this isn’t a one-way street.  I will wake beside you in the morning, walk beside you throughout the day and, when the end of that grueling day comes… I’ll be there to hold you up.”

Silky blonde waves slithered off her shoulders and down her back when she tipped her chin up, boldly informing him, “I’m not going to be just another obligation for you to take care of.  I plan on being your partner in every sense of the word – someone you can respect and be proud to call your wife.  I’ll be the one you can count on when it feels like there’s nobody you can count on.  I’ll find whatever strength and energy you need to carry on and give it to you every single day of our lives.”

Fuck.  Just… fuck.

Sometimes there were things you just knew without being told.  When he’d asked – bullied – her to marry him, he thought he knew her.  Hell, he did know her, but now he had a whole new appreciation for the beautiful woman beside him. 

Because, even if he had assumed all of what she’d said to be true, the words…  the effort and determination that she had taken to ensure that he understood what was going on inside her head …  they calmed his duck-infested waters in a way he hadn’t known he needed.  The nervous energy that had been fueling his thoughts and actions simply ceased to be, bringing his mind to a state as calm and tranquil as her gift.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have something nearly as eloquent prepared – “

“No,” she interrupted with an abrupt shake of her head.  “This wasn’t meant to be a flowery love-fest exchange of… whatever.  This is me telling you where my head is and my heart is, not some subtle ploy for schmaltzy romantic gestures.”

He loved her.  That’s all there was to it.  He flat-out fucking loved her.  Their circumstances might not fall into a cookie-cutter-happily-ever-after mold, but there was no doubt in Jon’s mind that he’d found the right woman. 

Or, rather, that Karma had sent him the right woman. 

Now how did he make sure the woman in question knew that he was doing this not because it was right, but because it felt right?

Squeezing the feminine hands still clutched around his bigger ones, Jon slowly slid off the couch and planted one knee in the plush carpet.  Lifting her hands to his lips, he gently dusted the knuckles with a light kiss and met the eyes of the woman he was ready to face forever with.

“Sheridan King, will you marry me?”

72 - For the Love of a Poppy Seed

You couldn’t ask for more perfect weather.   The Jamaican sun shone brightly overhead and the palm leaves stirred in the warm saltwater breeze.  It was the idyllic setting in which to spend a relaxing morning on the beach with his fiancée. 

If only Jon were relaxing instead of strategizing.

[11:35 AM]JON:  Send me the press blurb as soon as it’s ready.  Nothing gets released without my explicit approval.  That includes TIME of release.

[11:37 AM]JERI: Of course.  Vague details I assume? 

[11:38 AM]JON: The vaguest.

[11:40 AM]JERI: I’m on it. 

And he knew she would be.  Unfortunately, he also knew that the press vultures weren’t going to be content with what he wanted to tell them.  They never were.  They would be digging and hounding, looking for more dirt on this sudden marriage.  While an unplanned pregnancy wasn’t exactly headline news, he still didn’t want it paraded out there for the world to pass judgment on.

To that end, he would have to school Sheridan on the Bongiovi press rules.  They were simple, yet effective – smile, wave and don’t say shit.  It was a way of life that she would become quickly accustomed to, he was certain.  Dorothea had learned it very early on.

Probably better not mention that helpful little factoid to Sheridan.

The bottom line was that the press could be controlled with proper planning and precaution.  The public would take his two sentence blurb, happily accepting it as long as he continued to shake his ass.  He was living proof that you could hide anything you wanted to from the public.  There were plenty of skeletons in his closet, but he kept them under a firm lock and key.  A vague rumor might float around here and there, but there was no confirmation of anything. 

He was that good at spinning and controlling PR.

His family however…

That was more of a concern.

His parents might go a little nuts, considering that they hadn’t even met Sheridan or known they were dating.  He could grovel to his mother, playing the star-crossed romance card to work his way through it.  In the end all they wanted was for him to be happy, and Sheridan made him happy. 

The kids, at least, had met her and seemed to like her.  Children were typically more resilient than adults, and it was all a matter of how he presented it.  Almost like a mini press junket.  He wasn’t particularly worried about them or his brothers.   

It was terrible to say, but the one he was most concerned about was Dorothea.  She hadn’t displayed any type of fondness for Sheridan thus far and if she decided to bare her venom-dipped claws it wasn’t going to be pleasant for anyone. 

As long as she doesn’t try and turn the kids against it, it will be fine.

But then…  Jesus, there was Sheridan’s family.  If he’d thought it hard to look her father in the eye when they were sleeping together, what was it going to be like when the shrewd lawyer figured out what was at play here?  And was Cole the stereotypical big brother type?  Riley was the only one of the Norrises that he was fairly certain who might be in their corner.

A quiet ‘harrumph’ found his ears as her yellow polka-dotted rear flipped into the air.  Concern and curiosity had his eyebrows climbing high in his forehead.  Dropping his phone to the center of his bare chest, he peered toward her through the dark tinted lenses of his sunglasses.  “Something wrong?”

“No,” she huffed, glancing at him over her shoulder as she propped her iPad on a wadded towel.  Her toes wiggled into the hot sand as the only part of her that wasn’t under the shade of their oversized beach umbrella.

Last night had been cathartic for both of them.  Coming back to the scene of the crime, as it were, reminded them of how much had transpired since that one very heated hook-up.  They weren’t horny ships passing in the night anymore.  They had common respect, beliefs and goals – and they had found a safe harbor in one another. 

To Jon, while people and circumstances around them were whirling out of control, things between the two of them felt settled.  He liked that.  He liked it a lot.

But his epileptic cat was trying to go into seizure mode for some reason.  He steered his quietly flapping duck feet in her direction to find out why.

“What are you reading now?”

Earlier it had been something about expelling mucus plugs and he had immediately tuned it out while he supportively patted her sunscreen coated thigh.  If he’d survived through four births without coming face-to-face with a mucus plug, he was confident he could escape one more time.

It can’t get worse than mucus plugs, right?

“Pregnancy information, what else?”

Lord, God please don’t let it get worse than mucus plugs.

“And you’ve found something about it that displeases you, I guess.”

She flipped the iPad face down on the towel and rolled to sit on her bottom, bending her knees up and turning her head so that her tinted lenses were pointed at his tinted lenses. 

“Do you realize this baby is the size of a poppy seed right now?  A poppy seed.”

Apparently that should have outraged him in some way, shape or form?

“Everybody’s gotta start someplace?” he offered lamely, unsure as to what kind of stance she wanted him to take.

Her ponytail flipped back and forth as she shook her head.  “All these books and articles talk about a maternal glow and bonding with your unborn baby.  It’s a poppy seed!  How the hell am I supposed to love a poppy seed, Jon?  I don’t even LIKE poppy seeds!”

He dragged a hand over the still-unshaven lower half of his face to cover the grin that bloomed under her outrage. 

Do not laugh in her face.  Hormonal pregnant women are vicious.  Remember the time you told Dorothea her jeans were about to split in the back??

“Kitten…  It isn’t always going to be a poppy seed.”

“No.”  Her eyebrows arched wayyyy above the rim of her sunglasses and she gave a humorless bark of laughter.  “Next week it will be an apple seed.  As in a seed at the core of an apple.  I don’t love those either, Jon.  I SPIT THEM OUT AND THROW THEM AWAY!”

This time he couldn’t control himself.  He would likely have to do penance, but it felt good to throw his head back and laugh.  It was one of those things that got funnier the longer he thought about it, morphing his amused chuckle into one of those hearty, gut-busting laughs.  The kind that forced him to draw his knees up and cross his forearms over his stomach as he cackled with delight. 

This was going to be a fun nine months.

“Stop laughing!” she ordered with a light smack to his arm, even though she was fighting her own reluctant laughter.  “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, baby, I hate to tell ya, but yeah... it is.”  He rolled to his side, reaching for her hand and placing a quick kiss on the back of it as his half-hearted apology.  “I never thought I’d see you this worked up over something like a fucking poppy seed.”

“It’s not a fucking poppy seed, you goofball, it’s our baby!”  All traces of humor gone, she tugged free and pursed her lips in helpless frustration.  “Pardon me for being a little concerned that I might turn out to be one of those mothers who eat their young because I have no emotional attachment to it.”

“Okay…”  He pushed himself up into a seated position that matched hers and turned his head in her direction, dangling his forearms over his knees.  “I think the fact that you’re even thinking about this is a pretty good indication that you’re not going to ‘eat your young’, for Chrissake.”

“You don’t know that.”

Her petulant tone had him sitting up straighter.  She was pouting.  Sheridan was pouting!  Un-friggin’-believable.

All bets are off.  Confirmed pregnant only two days ago and she’s already become an alien life form that I don’t recognize.

“No…” he slowly agreed, scratching his head.  “But I know you.  You’re going to take care of our baby as well as any mother ever has – if not better – because that’s who you are.  You’re not going to go rogue cannibal.  I can guarantee that.”

“Probably not.”  She let herself fall back onto the towel with a heavy sigh and placed both palms over her lower abdomen, her fingers experimentally poking through the material of her swimsuit.  “But you can’t guarantee I’ll ever have anything besides this empty feeling inside.  I mean, if they hadn’t personally shown me the results of the blood test I would have said they were lying.”

“It’s too early to feel anything yet.  When the baby gets bigger, you’ll feel it.”

“Yeah, but do you see this?”  She poked at a spot directly between the points of her hip bones.  “I have a teeny little pooch already.  Poochy, yet empty.”

He snorted as quietly as he could, intent upon not getting clawed in the midst of a seizure.  Jon hoped this neurotic phase would pass soon, because if the hormones he knew were building inside of her got dumped on top of this, it was going to be more of a clusterfuck than the Three Stooges – with him playing Larry AND Curly.

“You’re probably just constipated,” he offered helpfully.  “Vitamins will do that to ya.”

Oversized sunglasses were slipped up onto her forehead so that he could benefit from the full force of her emerald-green glare.  Practicality clearly had no berth in this race.

“I haven’t started taking vitamins yet, and you’re not helping.”  The glasses were reseated on her nose as she shook her head in disgust.  “You’ve had four kids.  I was hoping you would be able to tell me that, at some point, I will feel something for this baby besides responsibility.  That I’m not a heartless freak forced to bear offspring that I will view with all the affection of alien pod-child.”

She was really serious about this.  Quite probably the most together, capable and logical woman he knew and she was terrified that she wouldn’t love her baby.  Wasn’t it obvious that she already did?

“Kitten…”  Jon rolled over and stretched his arm out toward her, laying his palm over the one she still had splayed over her stomach.  “I want you to stop for just a minute and think.”

Her head swiveled in his direction and the sunglasses were once again flipped up.  “About?”

He showed her the same consideration by removing his and tossing them behind him onto his towel.  “About the best Christmas present you ever got.  What was it?”

“Jon, this is – “

“Don’t argue…” he interrupted with a placating smile.  “Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know...  My first car, I suppose.  The Christmas after my seventeenth birthday.”

“Mom and Dad had the keys wrapped up under the tree for ya, huh?”

“Yes.”  Her eyes got a faraway look in them as she recollected the scene as vividly as he’d hoped she would.  “It was a package the size of a ring box, wrapped in shiny red paper.  It had the biggest curly, green bow on top.  I was just sure it was the class ring they’d promised me earlier in the year.”

“You were happy enough thinking it was a ring?  You would’ve worn it and been proud of it and all that stuff?”

“Of course.”

“But when you ripped that paper off and found car keys inside?  What was that like?”

She laughed quietly.  “I think I screamed.  I was so excited not to have to share a car with Riley anymore that I danced around the tree and threw my self at Mom and Daddy, declaring my undying love.  Which lasted until I hit a tree later that week.”

He laughed with her, turning her hand sideways so that he could twist their fingers together.   Squeezing gently, he said, “That feeling…  That’s exactly what it feels like when they hand you your baby for the first time – only better.  There won’t be enough room in your heart to hold all the love you have for him.”

Her eyes sparkled with a glimmer of hope as they searched his, seeking confirmation that he actually believed what he was saying.  “Really?”

“Really.”

“You promise?”

Leaning over to dust a soft kiss over her lips, he whispered, “I promise that if you don’t, I’ll buy you another car.”

She grinned against his mouth.  “I love you.”

“Of course you do.  I rock.” 

And then he swallowed her pretended outrage and her giggles with a soul-searing kiss. 

71 - Welcome Back

“Ah ah!”  Jon admonished, his lightly restraining grip bringing her to a halt as she prepared to enter the penthouse suite immediately behind the bellman.  “What’s your hurry?”

She blinked up at him with sleepy eyes and made a concentrated effort to stifle her crankiness.  This whole pregnancy thing was a pain in the butt so far.  All she wanted to do was sleep or lie around like an oversized slug.  Even the hour long in-flight nap hadn’t made a dent in her fatigue. 

“There’s a bed in there that’s calling my name.  Very loudly.  Don’t you hear it?”

He grinned down into her face, the affection in his eyes making her feel like a spoiled brat for being whiny.  “What you hear is coming from the bed alright, but I think it’s the Ghost of Orgasms Past doing the calling.”

Sheridan’s chin fell to rest against her sternum while her shoulders shook with silent laughter.  Jon trying to be cute was irresistible, but if he…  if he wanted to have sex tonight?  That was going to be challenging without a very large pot of very strong coffee.

I really need to find out why caffeine is so damn detrimental to unborn children. 

“Am I going to interrupt the making of new Orgasms Past if I hurry in there?  Because I’m telling you now, if there’s somebody in there having an orgasm, I’d like another room, please.”

His laughter bounced jovially along the quiet corridor and a warm palm nestled into the curve of her back.  Leaning in, he pressed an easy kiss onto her forehead and promised, “If there’s somebody in there having an orgasm, I want the manager’s head on a platter.  Just gimme a minute to stick my head in and make sure everything is in order.  Okay?”

“Oh my word…  What have you done?”

“Be quiet and let me look.”  He released her arm and nodded to the bellman that had delivered their luggage and was now leaving.  Inspecting the nametag on his chest, Jon requested, “Samuel, man.  Keep an eye on her.  If you can keep her safely outside the room until I come back, there’s a big tip in it for ya.”

“Aye, sir.  I will stand right here and keep da lovely lady comp’ny while you tend to your bid-ness.”

“Jon, you have got to be kidding me.”

He shook his head and held up a single finger.  “It’ll just be a minute.”

“So are ya here on a long holiday or a mini one, if ya don’ mind my askin’?” Samuel the Bellman inquired pleasantly when the door had clicked shut behind Jon, leaving Sheridan standing awkwardly in the hall beside an empty luggage cart. 

Knowing that it wasn’t his fault she was being kept separated from a good night’s sleep, Sheridan dredged up a sociable smile and fingered the neckline of her too-warm sweater.  It had been a frigid fifteen degrees at the Teterboro airport, but it was seventy-five in Jamaica and she hadn’t thought to wear something lighter. 

Naked in a cool bathtub with lots of bubbles.  That’s where I’d like to be right now.  Come ON, Jon.

“Just a mini one this time around.”

“Oh, so ya been here before have ya?”

The sociable edge dropped off of her smile.  Being here, in this corridor, with its distinctive tropical bouquets decorating the hallway tables and flooding the air with their accompanying aroma gave her an odd awareness.   It stirred deeper recollection of memories that she thought that she already recalled with vivid clarity. 

Chill bumps formed along her arms and legs when the mental image of Jon’s seductive smile, shadowed by flickering candles, invited her to revisit that pivotal night.  She’d known at the time that it was going to change her life, but she hadn’t realized to what extent.  How could she possibly?

“Yes, in the midst of a storm.  My… fiancé and I were caught in a power outage here at the hotel.”

Her smile flickered as she contemplatively tilted her head at the slightest angle.  Forehead furrowed, she acknowledged that it was the first time she’d ever applied that term to Jon.  Sheridan wasn’t quite sure it was appropriate, since he hadn’t really asked her to marry him.  Did it still count?

Of course it does you silly woman.  You’re too tired to think rationally.  Betrothed equals engaged equals fiancé.  He’s your fiancé. 

“Okay, I think we’re good,” Jon announced, popping himself back out into the hall and extracting his wallet.  Pressing a bill into the hotel staffer’s hand, he grinned conspiratorially.  “Samuel, man, thanks for your help.  ‘Preciate it.”

“Oh, ‘tis my pleasure sir.”  He nodded politely to Sheridan.  “Here’s to a holiday filled wit’ Jamaican sunshine dat is as radiant as you are, miss.”

When the man ambled down the hall with his bell cart to call the elevator, Jon dipped his head to murmur, “I leave you alone with another man for two minutes and you’ve already got him charmed.  I better get that ring on your finger, stat.”

She flicked her eyebrow up into a knowing arch.  “You’re not worried about a ring.  What you’re thinking is that I might actually be handy to have around for your public functions – even the Democratic ones.”

He chuckled and placed a quietly smacking kiss against her ear.  “Yeah, well, there’s that, too.  If you’re gonna roll with me, social skills are a big plus.  It’d be nice to have somebody pick up the slack.”

“I tell you what…”  She slowly twirled toward him, bringing an open palm to scrape over the salt and pepper whiskers that coated his jaw.  “You help me navigate these crazy pregnant waters, and I’ll make sure you come off looking like a well-heeled rock star whenever we’re out in public.  Deal?”

The laughter that she expected didn’t come.  Instead of taking her remark with the light-hearted humor that she intended, the glimmer in his eyes faded and his smiling features reassembled into something far more serious.  Somber.

“Definite deal,” he concurred, capturing the hand resting on his stubble and turning his lips into it.  With the incline of his chin, he coaxed her eyes to his.  “We’re good together, Sheridan.  You see that don’t you?  Baby aside, we’re a helluva team to beat.”

“That means you trust me to help you duck paddle when you get tired?”

“I do.  And do you trust me to make sure you don’t bite your tongue off during an epileptic cat seizure?”

She rolled her lips inward and bit them to keep from giggling.  When he got it in his head that he was cute, there was no dissuading the man.  She had a feeling she was stuck with the epileptic cat from here on out.

“I do.”

His arms lazily draped around her waist, hands knotting together in the small of her back as he captured her lips in a slow, sweet kiss.  It was all she could do not to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet when he softly rumbled, “Good, because everything else is just… shit that comes and goes.  We’ll share our lives together and that’s all that really matters.”

“Wow,” she breathed, flicking her tongue out to sip at his bottom lip.  “That was very profound.  You should maybe think about being a songwriter or something.” 

Now he smiled, somewhat bashfully.  “Nah, that one’s Sambora’s.  In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a real romantic guy.”

“I beg to differ,” she contradicted, tracing a gentle red fingernail down his throat until she reached his sternum and tapped lightly.  “Any man that sends an honor bar and a phone programmed to tell me that Karma is calling…  You’re harboring a little bit of poet’s soul down in there somewhere.”

“Come Valentine’s Day you want a bouquet of tequila bottles instead of roses, then?”

“As long as they’re full… sure!”  She smiled dotingly up into his face, her heart full for this cut-and-dried man who had trouble showing his softer side.  “I love you, Jon.”

“Love you, too, baby.”  His kiss held all the tenderness she would ever need from him.  “Now…  before we go inside I’m givin’ you fair warning.  Commit this to memory because you’ll need to refer to it on a regular basis.  When I forget your birthday, or our anniversary, or when I’m being a general all-purpose prick, remember that I can occasionally be thoughtful.”

With that, he pushed open the door and ushered her into the darkened suite. 

Dark, that is, except for the subtle light emitted by four pillar candles.  Their warm flames danced in the breeze that the open door stirred, throwing shuddering shadows over the coffee table and sofa and, in those shadows, Sheridan could make out two stemmed glasses separated by what appeared to be a wine bottle.  Behind those was a platter bearing assorted fruits and iced shrimp.

He had recreated their first ‘date’.

It was almost enough to make Sheridan misty-eyed.  She might have thrown herself against him with a teary kiss if they hadn’t already suffered such an enormous amount of ‘heaviness’ in the last few days.  Last few minutes even.  There was only so much sentimentality and heartfelt emotion she could take and Jon had a lower tolerance for it than she did. 

“Well?”  he prompted with a gentle nudge.

Sheridan sighed, deciding to spare him the blubbering gratitude and tossing her handbag toward the couch.  “I simply must meet your assistant.  The woman has done nothing but cater to me for weeks.  I’d like to personally thank her.”

“What the hell?”  The door slammed heavily behind him and he used rough hands to spin her by the waist.  “You want to thank my assistant?”

“Well, yes.  This wouldn’t have been done without her.  What did you tell me her name was again?”

He snorted down into her face, his expelled breath warming her twitching lips with a blast of heat.  “Her name is Jeri and it wouldn’t have been done if I hadn’t told her to do it.  C’mon now!  Give credit where credit’s due.”

She cocked her head curiously to one side while slowly walking her fingers up the front of his button-down.  “I thought maybe you’d rather have something else besides credit,” was her pondering response.  “Because this little scene has stirred all kinds of physical memories.”

“Oh yeah?” His hands climbed from her waist to cup the heaviness of her breasts and found two prominent points in the front of her sweater.  He rubbed at them and the candlelight made his grin positively feral, clenching Sheridan’s stomach in all the right places.  “I was gonna ask if they were good memories, but these two little stiffies answer that question.”

“I wanted you that night,” she confessed quietly.  “I didn’t care about food or wine or coming off as socially adept.  All I cared about was the way you made me tingle in all the right places.”

“Do I still make you tingle?”

“More.”

Fatigue completely forgotten, Sheridan arched into his touch.  Her own hands roamed the now-familiar plane of his chest, the toned muscles of his biceps – the firm curve of his backside.  Then, she’d had high hopes that he could fulfill the promises his body was making. 

Now?  She knew he could.

“All this food’s going to waste again, isn’t it?” he murmured against her lips while his hands were busy tunneling under her sweater. 

“God, I hope so…”

70 - Duck, Duck, Cat

“I’m sorry, but you’ll need to power-down your electronics for a few minutes, until we get airborne,” flight attendant Rhonda advised her passengers.  “But I’d be happy to bring you a magazine or a drink before we take off.”

“Nah, I’m good.  Thanks.”  Slumped in the plane seat that bore his ass-print and with eyes at half-mast, Jon angled his head to regard the woman seated at his right hand.

Sheridan politely declined and slid the power switch of her iPad, her drooping eyelids reflecting exactly the way he felt – ready for a power nap.  Even under the best of circumstances today would have been trying, but with his limited sleep and her condition, they were both pretty well drained. 

His phone had been glued to the side of his head since six o’clock that morning.  Checking in with his mom to let her know he was headed out of town, deliberately avoiding Dorothea’s pointed questions as to why he would be out of town, consulting with Sheridan on attire for the ceremony, talking briefly to the kids, working with his agent on the legal aspects of the movie tracks, fielding a call from the record label who wanted details about the next Bon Jovi project… 

The list went on for days, ending with the lawyer and the jeweler, two tasks that went off without a hitch.  Prenup was signed without fanfare and the rings were stashed in his flight bag, having been chosen within minutes. 

In the midst of the madness, Jeri had been in contact off and on all throughout the day, requesting information necessary to the wedding particulars.  That included inquiries that he had to pass off to Sheridan because he didn't know the answers – namely her vital information for the marriage application.   Jeri’s foresight had enabled them to get a jump start on the twenty-four hour waiting period, thereby setting the stage for tomorrow’s sunset exchange of nuptials. 

He was pleased. 

Sunset was kind of a romantic thing, and considering the complete and total lack of romance surrounding the kickoff of their union, an ‘idyllic sunset ceremony’ – as Jeri tagged it – assuaged his conscience.  Women were all about hearts and flowers and shit.  The least he could do was ensure that something about their wedding hit one of those categories.  ‘And shit’ was better than nothing.

I’ll make it up to her on our wedding night.

Which they now got to have in Jamaica.  If the hidden pitfalls of Jamaican bureaucracy had forced them to wait for a Friday wedding, they would’ve been rushed from altar to airport to be back in New York for the weekend.  This was infinitely better. 

And, if it all went off without unwanted media pests, Jeri would be getting a substantial token of Bongiovi appreciation.  As it stood now, she was the one providing tokens. 

When they had boarded the plane, there had been two wrapped gifts waiting to be stowed.  One was a smallish black box with ivory ribbon that bore a written note from Jeri.   “Something new for the bride to wear at the ceremony.  Or borrowed if she doesn’t like them.” 

Sheridan elected not to open it, citing fatigue as a major drag on her level of appreciation and tucking the gift into her carry-on bag for later.  He figured it was jewelry.  Jeri designed eclectic necklaces, bracelet and stuff in her free time.  Jon even owned a couple of the funkier pieces, but he couldn’t imagine Sheridan ever wearing the edgy creations.  

Maybe he was wrong.  Only time would tell.

The other gift-wrapped package waiting to go into holding was bigger and wrapped in silver.  Something vaguely identified by Sheridan as a ‘wedding gift’.  Whatever the hell that meant.  She offered nothing more, merely burying her nose in that iPad while he continued his quest to answer the most phone calls in a single day.

Taking a quietly deep breath, he forcibly shoved away the hectic pace.  Strategic PR shit was still bubbling in the back of his brain, but his give-a-damn was currently out of commission.  Right now he was on his way to a stolen paradise with his fiancée and her endearingly frazzled French braid.  They needed the respite and he would damn well take it for them.

He reached his right hand out, easily flipping hers over on the armrest and locking their fingers together.  “Now that my fucking phone has been forced into the ‘off’ position – thank you Jesus – talk to me.  You found a dress?”

“Mhm.”  The serenity of her smile was cathartic.  “Simple, yet elegant, and your suit will be the perfect complement.”

She had put her order in for a dark suit, light shirt and dark tie, all of which he had hanging in his closet already.  New and unworn, in fact, purchased for an event that he was playing next month.  As she said, simple. 

And easy.  He liked easy.  It worked for him.

No way in hell could I have squeezed a shopping trip into my day.  Even if I managed to physically find time, there’s no way I could’ve focused enough to give a rat's ass about what I was gonna wear. 

“Jon…” 

He mentally reset his sails again, tuning back in to find her thoughtful gaze on him as the plane’s wheels lifted off the runway.  “Yeah?”

Sheridan lifted their joined hands, touching soft lips to his knuckles.  “I’ve never seen your press smile in person, but I’m almost certain you’re wearing it.”

“No,” he frowned with his entire face – creased forehead, knitted eyebrows and downturned mouth.  Very, very few people saw behind his game face and the ones who did had known him most of his life.  It was second-nature to immediately deny it.  “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” she gently corrected him. 

“I dunno what you’re talking about.” 

A shiny red thumbnail swirled swept circles over the back of his hand and she lifted one side of her mouth in amusement.  “You’re doing something that I always think of as a duck impersonation.”

What the fuck?  A duck?

His frown creased deeper to keep even with his confusion level.  “Now I really dunno what the hell you’re talking about.”

“A duck.  You give the appearance of being cool and collected, surrounded by calm waters.  Below the water’s surface, though, you’re paddling like hell to stay afloat.”

Jon’s eyes narrowed a little and he took a moment to really look at her.  Selfish and self-centered were two descriptions which he would’ve never considered applying to Sheridan, but evidently he hadn’t really believed that.   He couldn’t have, because her astute observation took him by surprise. 

Now that she’d explained herself, he realized he felt like a damn duck.  Often. 

“I don’t admit that to anybody.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to admit it to me.  I can see it.”

She can see, huh? 

The wave of relief that washed over him was so intense that he was half-afraid he'd suffered from VERY premature ejaculation.  Pulling this deal together and the ensuing stress were hard enough, but acting like it was a piece of cake on top of it all was enough to kill a guy.  To realize that he was doing it for someone who didn’t require his game face was… nice.  Overwhelmingly nice. 

“PR,” he confessed on a tension-relieving sigh, sliding further down into the seat and angling his body toward hers as much as the seatbelt would allow.  “I’m working through logistics of how much to release and to whom in such a way that will deter any unwanted digging.  I don’t place full trust in the PR people for my band, much less my personal life.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m stuck in my own pregnancy fog and really hadn’t even thought about PR.”

He mimicked her gesture of a moment ago, touching his lips to her lifted knuckles in a soft kiss.  “No reason to be sorry.  This is something I do.  You be pregnant and I’ll deal with the press.”

“That sounds fair.” She agreed with an angelically sleepy smile.  “You’ll do trash, too, right?  Since breast-feeding is mine?”

“Mm.  I’ll make sure it gets done.”

She snickered softly.  “Does that mean you’re going to hire somebody to take out our trash?”

“Hell no,” he snorted around a yawn.  “I have an able-bodied teenage son.  He can do it.”

Brushing the hair on his forehead to one side, Sheridan shamefully clucked her tongue and traced her fingertips down the stubbled jaw he hadn’t bothered shaving today.  “Lazy, lazy man.  Maybe I can express my milk.  Then you can get up in the middle of the night to feed the baby.”

“What the hell?”  One eyebrow arched accusatorily.  “Yesterday you could barely spell pregnant and now you’re going off about breast-feeding and ‘expressing’ your milk.  You’ve been holding out on me.”

“There was a reason I chose a bookstore as my livelihood, Rockstar.  I’m an information junkie, and I’ve been downloading pregnancy books and magazine articles to my iPad all day.  I was reading an article on the importance of breast feeding right before take-off.”

He chuckled, wearily rubbing at his left eye with the heel of his hand.  “Sounds like you’re doing your own fair share of duck paddlin’, there, Kitten.  Lawd help me, I bet I learn more about pregnancy this time around than I did the last four times combined.”

“Yeah, but did you know I was duck paddling before then?”

“Baby…”  He shook his head sadly.  “I was being nice by calling you a duck.  You’ve been more like a seizure-riddled cat doing the funky chicken.  Nobody doubted that you were flailing a little.” 

She reared back and gave him a playful smack on the shoulder while swearing at him through her laughter.  “You ass!  What a mean thing to say!”

The delicate giggle made him go a little soft inside.  He genuinely loved her.  Baby or not, family or not, media hell or not, this was where he wanted to be. 

God I hope she knows that.

“The truth hurts sometimes,” he informed her with an indifferent shrug, taking note of the exhaustion glazing her eyes.  “Now gimme a kiss and go lay down in the back before you pass out.”

“But where will you be?” she asked, unfastening her seat belt with no argument.  Obviously she was just as tired as she appeared.

“After I check in with Jeri, I’ll be crawling in beside you.”

He had one more last-minute special request to make of his assistant.  It wasn’t much, and it was sappy, but Jon hoped Sheridan might appreciate the sentimentality.

69 - Into Each Life A Little Rain Must Fall

Huffing quietly, Sheridan pulled her scarf tighter as she stepped out of Bloomingdale’s door onto Lexington Avenue.  She had been to five stores so far and had come to the conclusion that Upper East Side had nothing suitable.  Nothing. 

It shouldn’t be that hard to find a simple dress.  Everything was too fussy, too formal, not formal enough, too long, too short.  Determined that she would wear something already in her closet before she would look like a sugary confection, Sheridan passed up gown after dress after frock in search of a garment that represented the classically tailored woman she was. 

Those racks packed full of frou-frou lace and rhinestone creations were for young, dewy-eyed women walking in a romantic cloud of fantasy.  There was no fantasy involved here – only two responsible adults solemnly joining their lives without delusion as to what the future would bring.

Her last stop was going to be Chanel, which was about four blocks away.  Maybe they would have… something. 

She turned from Lexington onto to East 58th, lamenting the society who had determined that timelessly classic designs were outdated and undesirable.  Timelessly classic was self-explanatory, wasn’t it?  It didn’t GO out of style!

You’re only bitching at the faceless moguls of the fashion industry because it’s a distraction.  Thank God Jon gave you an assignment to occupy your mind, or you would be quietly going nuts, dreading this whole thing.

No.  Not dread.  She didn’t dread marrying Jon.  While it was true that they hadn’t been ‘together’ very long, they’d been together enough for her to know that he was different than Ian.   In a good way.

Ian didn’t understand her, and had never really tried.  While she hadn’t confessed this even to herself, at the time, Sheridan had believed if they had a child together that she would end up taking care of Ian as well as the baby.  That was his perception of a woman.  He had doted on her, but he had expected her to fulfill a “woman’s role”. 

Being a mommy to her husband had never been on her agenda.

With Jon…  With Jon she wouldn’t have that problem.  He didn’t need a mommy and, unless she grossly misunderstood him, he respected her as much as she did him.  They were well-matched on many levels, and there was the added bonus that he was experienced with parenthood.  She felt comfortable that she could turn to him for help filling the gaps that her own lack of experience created. 

Did that mean he was going to step in and change diapers?  No,  probably not, but she didn’t need someone to do for her, she needed someone to stand beside her and help her figure it out.  He was the man to do that.

We’re going to make a good life.  A life free of the drama that’s been plaguing us so far.  We’re going to get through this post-wedding, post-pregnancy announcement storm and it’s going to be smooth sailing. 

Absently glancing in the window of the next store, Sheridan drew up short, mesmerized by something behind the huge sheet of plate glass.  A funny feeling of déjà vu traveled from the pit of her stomach to the fine hairs standing rigid on her neck and arms. 

Green eyes flicked to the elegant sign seated over the door. 

Spanierman’s Gallery. 

Karma.  We meet again.

The same gallery where she had found Jon’s Christmas gift now displayed a piece of art that perfectly mirrored the thought she had just processed.   She had to get a closer look.

Chanel forgotten, she tugged on the brass door handle and crossed the threshold into the quaint little gallery that Suzanne had unwittingly introduced her to.  She made a bee-line for the painted canvas that hung in the window, yet far enough away to minimize its exposure to the direct, damaging light of the sun.

Sheridan bounced onto her toes, peering around the driftwood-framed edge that closely matched that of Jon’s storm painting.  That and the ocean were the only resemblance the two pieces shared. 

Whereas the storm painting had been a representation of darkness, turmoil and passion with its inky colors splashed with a vibrant streak or two, this one…  It was totally different.

The ocean bore scarcely a ripple under a pale yellow sky.  The only darkness in this tranquil scene was the occasional stroke of dark umber that was used to lift the pastel palette of yellows, oranges and pinks to a plane of pure serenity.

Her eyes darted to the tiny placard tucked in the lower corner of the frame, and Sheridan felt a sweet peace steal over her soul.  Appropriately enough, the piece was entitled “After the Rain”.

After the rain comes the sunshine as God’s reward for weathering the storm.  We needed the storm to find one another, but it’s over now and I’m claiming this sunshine for us.  No more rain, only a tranquil sea on which to sail.

Tranquility.  That was her vow to Jon and their marriage.  And the baby. 

“Can I help you, miss?” 

She turned to smile at the same young woman who would be earning a second sales commission from Sheridan in less than a month’s time.  “Yes.  You can.  I need this wrapped and delivered to the hangar at Teterboro Airport by five o’clock.  I don’t care what it costs.”

§§§

[3:45 PM]MANDI: Can you go to the movies Friday?

Jesse grinned when he saw the text message pop up on his cell phone. 

New Year’s Eve had been great.  Mandi was not only smokin’ hot but she was fun to be with, too.  Given half a chance, he could get into dating her and had been wondering when they would get their next chance to see each other. 

Things hadn’t worked out so well for them since they parted ways in the early hours of 2012.  With her sister having that emergency surgery, she had been at the hospital or under house arrest with her aunt every day that he had been in the city with his dad. 

He didn’t have a problem with Mandi’s aunt.  She was okay, but she had no clue about the social lives of teenagers and kept her niece on a short leash.  The dreaded ‘school night’ justification was the best one she could come up with for keeping Mandi confined to quarters so, while he had often talked and texted with the pretty blonde, they hadn’t been face to face – or lip to lip – for almost two weeks. 

It was encouraging to know he wasn’t the only one still interested in hanging out.  She was an amazing kisser.

Abandoning History homework in favor of something a little more current, he relocated from the desk to drape himself face-first across his bed. 

[3:46 PM]JESSE:  Mom won’t let me drive in the city and Dad’s going out of town.  If he’s back by then sure.

[3:47 PM]MANDI: I just heard my mom say Aunt Sheri is going out of town.  Is she going with your dad?

[3:49 PM]JESSE: Probably. 

[3:51 PM]MANDI: Don’t you think that’s weird?  

He frowned for a split second and mentally shrugged.  It wasn’t weird for him, but he guessed he could see why it might be for Mandi. His dad traveled all the time and, while he didn’t think about it much, Jesse automatically assumed there were women involved.  Dad was the great Jon Bon Jovi, after all. 

[3:52 PM]JESSE: Weird how?  You mean the fact that my dad is probably screwing your aunt?

[3:53 PM]MANDI:  OMG! Ewwwww!  Your dad IS kinda hot for an old guy but I don’t wanna think about his wrinkly butt having sex.

He didn’t want her thinking about his dad’s butt at all.  If she was going to think about any Bongiovi butt, it ought to be his.    

[3:55 PM]JESSE: But MY butt isn’t wrinkly

[3:57 PM]MANDI: If you take a picture of your butt and send it I’m never talking to you again.

Another grin snuck onto his face and he rolled onto his back to type out the tongue-in-cheek reply.

[3:58 PM]JESSE:  You can’t handle me in the buff baby.  XD

[4:00 PM]MANDI:  Oh puhleeze!  I can handle you and two more like you.

Oh, really?

The horny teenager that lived large inside of him reared his sleepy head at the subtle challenge.

[4:02 PM]JESSE:  Prove it.  Friday night.

Chances were that she was going to blow him off by laughing in his face.  He fully expected her to, but there was that glimmer of hope that led straight to his hormones. 

If he had held his breath waiting for her answer, Jesse would be dead.  The semi-serious text message hung out there in cyberspace, mocking him and going completely unanswered.  Two minutes...  four minutes… then six, then eight. 

[4:10 PM]JESSE:  Hello?  Did I scare you little girl?

For his taste, the answering text was still way too slow coming, but it did finally appear.

[4:13 PM]MANDI:  I’m not a little girl.  What do you mean prove it?

[4:15 PM]JESSE:  Use your imagination.

[4:17 PM]MANDI: If you’re asking me to have sex the answer is no.

Shot down.  You can’t blame a guy for trying, though.

[4:20 PM]JESSE:  Alright. 

Again with the noticeable pause.  Was she pissed?  Or – God – had he hurt her feelings?  You just never knew what was going to set a girl off.  He’d seen it a million times between his friends and their girlfriends.  The simplest question or comment was the catalyst to the biggest bitch fits.  Mandi hadn’t struck him as the type to do dramatic hysterical, but…

[4:23 PM]MANDI: Is that what you were asking?

Better back off anyway.  Just to be on the safe side.

[4:24 PM]JESSE:  Not really.  Unless you wanted me to be.

[4:26 PM]MANDI: I didn’t want you to be.

Okay.  He got the picture.  No need for that silent treatment thing that Steph was always doing with her boyfriend.  Could they move along now?  Jesse was in the process of typing out that question when she followed up with an unexpected tidbit of information.

[4:37 PM]MANDI: I’ve never had sex.

O-kayyy.  What the hell am I supposed to do with that? 

[4:40 PM]JESSE: That’s cool.  I’m good with what we did on NYE.

[4:43 PM]MANDI: You’re a good kisser.  So… You think your dad will end up marrying my aunt? 

Talk about your abrupt change of topic.  He didn’t want to talk about his dad and Sheridan.

[4:45 PM]JESSE: Doubt it.

[4:46 PM]MANDI: Why?

Why wouldn’t he take the time to enjoy his freedom after being married for so long?  Women threw themselves at him all the time.  Why tie himself down to one when he didn’t have to?  It made perfect sense to Jesse.

[4:48 PM]JESSE: Because he was tied down for a million years.  He’s playing the field and I don’t blame him.

[4:50 PM]MANDI:  Lol. You just called your dad a man whore. 

[4:51 PM]JESSE: No I didn’t.

[4:52 PM]MANDI: You SO did!  You’re jealous of him screwing whoever he wants. 

[4:54 PM]JESSE: I’m 17.  Of course I am.

[4:55 PM]MANDI:  That’s creepy that you envy your dad’s sex life.  Aren’t you afraid you’ll end up with another little brother or sister?  That would FREAK me out!

Jesse’s head fell back into the pillow as he laughed out loud.  If he was going to have little brothers or sisters, it would’ve happened before now.  It just wasn’t likely after all the safe sex talks Steph and Jesse had been forced to endure since they’d become teenagers.

There were a lot of things you could say about his much-absent father, but being a hypocrite wasn’t one of them.  Jesse respected that his dad was a straight-talker.  You might not like what he had to say, but the man believed everything that passed through his lips.

[4:58 PM]JESSE:  Never happen.  Trust me.