The Kiss Plot by Nicole French

Twenty-Nine

We arrived at the party at ten past ten, after Eric had spent nearly the entire drive through a snowy Manhattan (filled with New Year’s traffic) on the phone, trying to convince his other family members to buy up as much DVS stock as they possibly could. It wasn’t an easy sell (oddly), because the family was already the majority stockholder by far at forty-nine percent of the company. But Eric seemed to think it was necessary to hold as much as possible—fifty-one percent or higher—and by the time we reached the party, he had convinced Violet and a few other relatives to direct their brokers to purchases smaller chunks.

By the time he was finished, victory practically radiated off the man. And I couldn’t lie. Watching Eric get his Gordon Gekko on was doing serious things for my apparently unquenchable libido. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it, because at that moment, we arrived at the gala.

Calling the DVS New Year’s Eve event a “party” would have been a huge misnomer. This wasn’t some frat house kegger, nor was it a tasteful garden soiree. This was a Great Gatsby-level bash like I had never seen before.

It helped that the space itself was gorgeous. Entering DVS was actually its own adventure, as the lobby was sunken a solid thirty steps below the sidewalk, over which thick glass walls arched inward before the main offices soared to the sky. The effect was that once you were inside, it genuinely seemed like you were completely ensconced in glass while streetlamps, passing cars, and other random lights from outside blinked off nearly all the surfaces in a remarkably celestial pattern. Now that the entire place was bedazzled with twinkling lights, silvery streamers, and fizzing champagne, it was like walking into the middle of Van Gogh’s The Starry Night.

As we descended the stairs, which had been covered by a midnight-blue carpet for the occasion, Eric and I took a moment to survey the scene. The lobby was packed—other than the usual craze in Times Square, the DVS party was obviously the hottest ticket in town for tonight. A full band wailed swing standards in front of a crowded dance floor, there were at least four open bars, and the entire party was bubbling over with champagne, hors d’oeuvres, and raucous conversation.

The guests themselves were just as stunning as the decor. Dior, Siriano, Rodriguez, de la Renta. It was like watching the pages of Vogue come to life. I recognized several faces from our wedding, though none of whom I’d been able to meet personally, considering the reception had never actually happened.

Was this what it would have been like, in the ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria? Was I even enough to compete with this kind of splendor?

“Is it always like this?” I wondered as Eric escorted me inside.

He turned and smiled. Not for the first time, I appreciated how completely dashing he looked. His tux was a custom Armani he’d commissioned a few months ago for tonight, with a navy and black embroidered cummerbund and a matching bow tie. He was stylish without looking like a dandy—that line between sophisticated and gaudy that Eric walked so well. His gray eyes shone, glinting like the bouncing lights around us.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t been to one of these in a long time. But I remember looking forward to New Year’s Eve every year when I was a kid—maybe even more than Christmas. It was the one day of the year everyone in my family let loose. Nina and I could get into as much trouble as we wanted so long as we stayed in the building and I kept my tails clean.”

I hid a smile. It wasn’t hard to see Eric and Nina as the only two kids at a party like this, sunshine-headed imps ducking around ballgowns. Eric, with natural charm, would have been the obvious instigator of whatever mischief they got into.

When he removed my coat to check, I heard a tight hiss of breath behind my ear. Eric’s fingers brushed over my bare shoulders, lingering just a bit too long around the diamond pendant that matched my earrings.

I twisted around. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been staring at me in this thing for hours now. You know what it looks like.”

“Not this close,” he murmured. His gaze burned over my bare shoulders. “If I didn’t make it clear before, you look incredible tonight.”

“Eric! Jane!”

We turned to where Nina was pushing through the crowds, looking impossibly gorgeous and tall in a white silk gown that shimmered like snow. She traded air kisses with both of us, but still looked genuinely happy to see us both.

“We’ve been waiting for you for hours,” she said. “Gerald Post got into the punch early, so Uncle Rufus has been trying to talk him off the stage ever since. Calvin disappeared forever ago, and I’ve been fielding questions from reporters. Everyone is waiting for the announcement.”

Eric waved at a few people who had already spotted him eagerly. “We’ll make it soon,” he said. “I just need to help Jane with her dress. She, uh, tore a seam getting out of the limo.”

“Well, don’t be long. Everyone wants to congratulate you. Considering I’m about to sink half my trust back into this company, I insist you make a good impression.” She tugged on his sleeve.

“I’ll be right there,” Eric said, shooing her away. Then he turned to me with a decidedly darker expression. “Go to the bathroom on the second floor.” His lips brushed against my earlobe, setting my skin alight as he gestured up the three flights of glass stairs above us. “Take off your underwear. Then bring them back to me. For good luck.”

I blinked as coquettishly as I could manage. It seemed to work—Eric glanced around and adjusted his pants with a lightning touch.

“What if I told you I decided to forgo undergarments tonight?” I asked.

“Are you serious?”

I pursed my lips, making Eric’s gaze beeline right to them. It was hard not to smirk. “Well, yes. Panty lines don’t really go with couture. Plus, you removed them at home…and I never put them back on.”

His gaze seared down my dress all over again, and I was thankful for the structured bodice—otherwise everything I was thinking would be evident across my chest.

“Then I think,” he said as he lifted my hand to his lips. “You need to go into the bathroom and wait for me there.” He lifted one brow. “That’s all.”

I bit my lower lip. “Right away? Won’t people be a little suspicious if we just disappear like that?”

Eric offered a positively wicked half grin. “It’s my party. I’ll fuck my wife if I want to.”

And just like that, all flirtation vanished. My mood, a complete and total roller coaster, took a nosedive all over again. Right into a pool of ice water.

Wife, he said. Except I wasn’t. Not really. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, and neither did I. Last I saw them, they were sitting in an acrylic tray at home, right next to my favorite magnolia-scented soap and Eric’s cologne on the bathroom counter. Doing absolutely nothing. Just like the certificate in the office.

“Jane.”

I looked up, blinking furiously. I would not cry, I would not cry, I would. Not. Cry.

Eric’s expression, thankfully, was heated enough to evaporate any tears that threatened. Ah, and there was my libido again.

“You have five minutes,” I said. “Otherwise I’m leaving, and you’ll have to wait for as long as I want.”

Eric grinned. “Game on, gorgeous.”

* * *

The second-floor bathroomwas empty as promised, so when I stood in front of the marble countertops, it didn’t take long for my thoughts, which had been pinballing all evening, to jump right back to the revelations I’d already had that night.

Pregnant. Holy shit, I was pregnant. I was…people were going to wonder already, I realized. They were going to see me do things like not drink champagne and get extraordinarily tired for no reason. They were going to see me cry at the drop of a hat and wonder if I’d gotten a sudden boob job.

I grabbed one of my breasts. Was it bigger? More sensitive? Honestly, I couldn’t tell. Maybe that was going to happen later. How far along was I, anyway?

Would Eric want to know? Would he want to know now?

Tears mounted again as I also realized this couldn’t be happening at a worse time. True, I was thirty—if I was going to have a kid, it was better now than later. But at the same time, we had a sycophantic madman after us who was obsessed with not “sullying his bloodline” with the de Vries genes. He already nursed a nasty vendetta against Eric. What would he do if he knew I was carrying his enemy’s baby?

Behind me, the bathroom door swung open, and Eric strode in, already unbuttoning his jacket in anticipation.

“Hands on the sink, pretty girl,” he ordered, but stopped immediately when he got a good look at me trying and failing not to have a nervous breakdown. “Whoa. Jane, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I coughed and turned to the sinks, just like he had told me to. But now I had absolutely no desire to get busy. I just wanted to be left alone so I could calm the hell down.

“Liar.”

I looked up, my temper flaring. “I’m a liar? Who just told everyone I had a faulty dress, huh? How do you think that makes me look when they all know I design clothes? They already like to laugh about it.”

“Hey, hey.” Eric stepped back, holding his hands up. “It was just a joke, gorgeous. No one cares if you have a torn seam.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He frowned. “I always call you gorgeous. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with me? Just because I’m not interested in playing one of your stupid games right now? Did it ever occur to you that I don’t always want to be your weird arm candy doll?” Good God. The hormones were messing with my comebacks too.

“What in the hell. Where is all this coming from?”

Eric’s eyes widened, like he was witnessing an animal going suddenly berserk in a zoo. He walked around the bathroom to my other side, giving me a wide berth. The mask was in place, and all I wanted to do was tear it down.

“Fuck,” I muttered toward the sink. “Fuck.”

“Jane.”

I stood up and faced him, suddenly livid. “What? What do you want?”

“I want to know why you’re acting like a goddamn maniac, to start,” Eric snapped back. “Two seconds ago we were ready to tear each other’s clothes off, and now I’m a pariah. What the hell happened on the way upstairs?” He started as something occurred to him. “Shit, Caitlyn’s not here, is she?”

“No,” I sneered. “Do you wish she were? Caitlyn and her magical red panties? Maybe you could stuff those in your pocket. Or, you know, in our bed.”

I scowled at my dress, suddenly hating its bright red color, though not as much as I hated the words coming out of my mouth. Good fucking God, if this was what pregnancy did to a woman, I already hated it.

Eric glared at me. “This again? Sometimes you are really a fucking headcase, Jane, you know that?”

“Don’t gaslight me, asshole—”

“It’s not gaslighting if it’s true.”

“That’s exactly what a man would say to make a woman feel crazy!”

“Come on, really?” Eric protested. “I’m only trying to help. I just want to know what the hell is wrong with my wife, and she won’t fucking tell me!”

“Stop calling me that!” I shouted, suddenly feeling like my mind was outside of my body.

Eric scowled, but crossed his arms and remained silent. I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just looked cold. Cruel. Like he wanted to be done with me.

A hot tear slid down my cheek. I couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or sadness.

“Is this some game to you?” I demanded as I swiped at it. “Some fucked-up game where you toy with my emotions? How do you think it feels when you call me that in front of people, knowing it’s not really true?”

“Call you what?”

“Your wife.”

“What are you talking about, it’s not true?” he demanded. “I call you that because you are my wife.”

“NO, I’M NOT!” I shrieked. “How many times did you say that? As soon as you got back after the wedding, again and again and again! You made it absolutely clear that we are not married. In any fucking way!”

Eric sucked in a harsh, impatient breath. “Jane, you know it killed me to say that. I thought we were past this. We just ran away together for a month. We’re here together. I’m about to announce that I am chairman of my family’s company with you by my side!”

“And for how long, huh?” The tears were rivers now. It was going to take forever for me to redo this makeup, even if it was only to look normal as I walked out the doors.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

I shook my head, trying in vain to suck back my tears. I sounded like a dust buster. Super-hot. “Nothing. It means nothing.”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t keep up with you!” Eric exploded. “Hot and cold, hot and cold. You’re practically quicksilver, you’re so unstable!”

“I’m unstable?” I choked. “Wh-wh-who treated m-me like a g-ghost for w-weeks! You’re giving m-me whiplash!”

“I was doing it to protect you!”

“It still hurt!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He turned toward the door, rubbing his brow like he was exhausted. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Is it? Two days, Eric. Two days, and you’ll be rid of me. This marriage will be nulled. You want to tell me you’re not basically counting the minutes until you can leave me, this company, everything. Get rid of your crazy ‘wife’ who’s basically good for one thing? I’m just the town whore—you said so yourself.”

Eric’s mouth dropped like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A part of me couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t really believe I was saying it.

“Is that what you think?” he asked finally, his voice low.

I swallowed painfully. “I—what else am I supposed to think? You’re playing me like a damn drum.”

He watched me for a long time. And then, to my complete and utter shock, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, whipping it open and smacking it onto the countertop between us.

“Here,” he said. “You want me to sign it? I was going to ask you to do it at midnight, but let’s do it now, Lefferts. No regrets. No doubts.”

I stared at the marriage license—the one that had been sitting in the desk. Then I stared at him. And then I turned into a fucking fountain.

“What the…” Eric pulled me into him immediately, apparently caring nothing for tear stains marring his immaculate tux.

“I’m pregnant!” I sobbed into his shoulder. “Oh…oh…oh my…I can’t—Eric, I can’t b-breathe—”

Eric looked like he’d been smacked across the head by a two-by-four. I just wailed harder, clutching around my middle and collapsing into the granite. My sobs physically hurt, and when I choked on one, it seemed to snap Eric out of his stupor. In less than a second, he picked me up and set me on the bathroom sink, then gathered me close.

The bathroom door opened—a woman stepped inside and immediately stopped when she caught sight of us.

“Get out,” Eric snapped, sending the woman running. He cupped my cheek. “Are you going to be okay for one second?”

Still weeping too hard to speak, I nodded. He looked at me doubtfully, then swiftly crossed the bathroom, locked the door, and returned. I collapsed into his chest, and his strong arms enveloped me completely, one at my waist, the other reaching around so he could splay a large hand over my bare back and rock me gently.

“All right,” he said in a calm voice once my sobs eventually turned to sniffles. “Do you think you’re calm enough to repeat what you just told me?”

I sniffed again, accepting a paper towel to dab under my eyes—I probably looked like a raccoon that made out with a clown. Eric watched me unblinking, but it wasn’t until my eyes had cleared completely that I realized he was shaking a bit too.

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Eric exhaled slowly. “So…you’re pregnant?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“And you’re upset,” he continued. “Because we aren’t legally married.”

We both eyed the license beside us. Just a piece of paper, really. But in that moment, it meant everything.

I gulped. I didn’t know what to say. Why did it bother me so much? We didn’t have to get married. And I had never wanted to get married before now. It shouldn’t have mattered, baby or not.

And yet it did matter. It really, really did.

Eric released me as if to examine the license, but instead braced his hands against the sink’s edge, rocking back and forth for a second like he was wrestling with something deep inside.

“I didn’t sign it,” he said finally, “because I didn’t think you wanted to.” He stood up, and his gaze was an arrow. “I forced you into this. The terms changed. You didn’t have to do it anymore. I didn’t—God, Jane, I thought this was what you wanted. Freedom. To be with me or not, but of your own accord.”

“Then why do you keep calling me your wife?”

“I guess I thought I should take advantage of it while I could.” One side of his mouth lifted in a sheepish half smile, and for a moment, Eric almost looked like the brash young twentysomething I had met on that first day on the Harvard lawn. “I really liked calling you my wife, pretty girl. Even if it wasn’t going to last.”

He shoved a hand over his face and forehead, knocking a few perfect strands of hair out of place. I fought the urge to fix them. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to know he was real.

“I thought if you really wanted it, you would have said something too,” he admitted finally, with a yearning in his eyes that almost broke my heart. “I gave you my vows, Jane. But you…you never gave me yours.”

Dread settled in my stomach like a stone. He was right. I hadn’t really consecrated how I felt. Not like he had.

God, I was so, so stupid.

“Eric?” I ventured, watching his heartbroken form wrestle with his vulnerability.

He looked up. “What, Jane?” The fatigue in his gray eyes said he thought I still wanted out. I was still crying. It was still painful. But not as painful as the idea of not being together.

“You said…you once said you wouldn’t have asked me to marry you if you didn’t love me,” I said. “Was that true?”

Eric nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It was.”

I nodded. My heart lifted, though I had to dab at a few more tears. “Well, I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t love you too.”

Eric watched me carefully. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…”

Another several streams of tears fell when I saw them mirrored on Eric’s face. His gaze dropped to my stomach. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment.

“I’m saying I don’t want it to end.” The words were choked, caught in a mess of tears lodged in my throat. Tears that had been waiting years to be let loose. “I’m saying I want it to be real. I promise to be yours. Now. Forever. Until death do us part. P-please. I’m saying stay. Stay…stay with me. Us. Be my husband. Let me be…let me be your wife. Not just now, but for always. Marry me, Eric.”

He didn’t brush away his own tears, just watched me steadily with silvery eyes that seemed to have no limits, as deep as the ocean, but so much warmer.

“Jane,” he said finally, reaching out for my hand. “You ridiculous woman. I already did.”

I watched in awe as he reached into his other pocket and pulled out our rings. Both of them. His and mine.

“What are you doing with these?” I asked.

He offered yet another charmingly lopsided smile. “I took them with me tonight…sort of a good luck charm, I guess. Just in case you said yes at midnight.”

He held out my engagement ring with its deep black stone and the matching diamond band alongside the simple ring of platinum we had chosen for him.

“If I stay, I’m not fighting about this again,” he said. “I’m tired of having to prove over and over again that I love you. Every time you push me away, it’s like I leave some part of me behind.” He took my hand and pressed it over his heart. “There are only so many times you can walk away from the other fucking half of your soul, Jane. Even when she’s the one pushing.”

“I don’t want to push you away.” I stared at the place my hand covered. It took everything I had not to kiss him right there, above his heart, tuxedo and all.

God, how cheesy was I?

“Come here,” Eric ordered quietly, taking my hand and pulling me off the counter so I stood in front of him. He slid on my engagement ring and kissed it tenderly.

“Eric,” I said. “I’m not the Pope. I want you to take my hand in marriage, not kiss it.”

He shook his head with a crooked smile. “Well,” he said, holding out the other band. “Will you take me?”

I grinned so wide I thought my face might split in half. “Over and over again, you idiot.”

With glee, I watched as he slid my wedding ring next to the diamond.

I took his ring and asked him the same question. “Will you take me? Basket case and all?”

“Always, pretty girl.”

I slid his ring on and admired it for a full five seconds. Then I looked up, and his lips found mine with the kiss I hadn’t known I’d needed since that terrible day at the church. Sweet and full, it assured me that no matter what, we really did belong together. That neither of us had to be alone ever again.

“Come here, you beautiful, crazy, stubborn, gorgeous woman. You’re pregnant?”

I could barely grin under all the kisses that covered my face.

“And you want to…God, Jane, do you want to—” Eric shook his head. “You know, I’m almost afraid to ask.”

I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. “You goon. Of course I want to keep it. Why in the hell do you think I’m so upset about this? I want my baby to know its dad.”

Eric’s smile didn’t just shine. It fucking lit up the entire room.

“I need a pen!” he erupted, checking his pockets in vain and jumping around the bathroom like a bean. “Fucking hell, where is a fucking pen?”

I giggled uncontrollably while I searched my clutch—his sudden mania was contagious. When I managed to find one, Eric swooped down on the document and signed his name with violent flourish. But when he handed it to me, he was tentative.

“Last out, pretty girl,” he said, though there was no threat in his voice.

I took the pen and grinned. Hot and cold indeed. Suddenly, I felt like the sun was beaming through me.

I bent down and signed the document, taking a moment to admire our signatures, side by side.

“There it is,” Eric murmured from over my shoulder. “Now we’re officially Mr. and Mrs. de Vries. Or we will be on Tuesday when we file it.”

“Ah, that’s Ms. Lefferts to you,” I said. “I like my name very much, thanks.”

“I don’t care what you call yourself. As long as you call yourself mine.”

I grinned into the mirror. We really were ridiculously cheesy, but I couldn’t love it more.

“Come on,” Eric said. “As much as I’d love to consummate this marriage fully right here like we planned, right now, I just want a first dance with my wife.”

I beamed at our reflection. A marriage of opposites that somehow matched perfectly.

“Let’s do it,” I said as his hands spread over the life inside me. “Let’s go toast to new beginnings and the New Year.”