Mail Order Tiger Bride Wars: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance (11 page)

28

Cole made sure Ellen was fast asleep on the large bed before he let himself out.

He felt awful about the whole thing – starting from the ad and onward. And he couldn’t blame his father for making him do it as well, because no one could ‘make’ anyone do anything they didn’t want to do. He was just as culpable.

But he saw it now, as clearly as he could see what he was about to do next.

I chose the easy path.

I know better now.

He didn’t want to tell Ellen about what he was doing either. He didn’t want to tell anyone, just in case the whole thing fell through.

The bag he was carrying felt very light in his hand.
He squeezed the handle. His entire adult life depended on what was in that bag.

But did
it really?

All his life, he had
worked himself to the bone because he was so passionate about his job. But was that the wrong thing to do? There were clearly other things in life that he enjoyed. Sex for one. Sex with bondage, in particular. But the women he had sex with were always conduits for his lust. He had never felt more than a physical connection to them.

Until Ellen.
She was different on every single level. So different that he did not dare admit it to himself until now, when he was forced to question everything in his life.

Still, now was not the time to ruminate.

He had to do this.

And then everything else would fall into place.

29

Cole was expecting the call, but not this early.

He was in bed with Ellen. They
had made love again in the wee hours of the morning and had fallen fast asleep for the second time that long night. There was a finality and urgency in their lovemaking. He felt it as much as Ellen did.

Then she told him, “
I’m going home.”

Now this jolted him wide awake.

“Home? To America?”

“Yes.
If I still have a home to go back to.”

Wh
-a-a-a-t? OK, this was a surprise.

Not just a surprise, but a rude shock. Somehow, he
had expected her to be around . . . kind of, like,, forever. While he deliberated what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

Now that he thought about it, that was kind of douche-y.
Why should she put her life on hold for him, right?

“She can’t do anything to the house, Ellen. It’s just a vile and empty threat.” H
e felt guilty about this. He was feeling guilty about a lot of things lately. And rightly so too.

“That’s not what I mean. ‘Home’ is not a house. ‘Home’ is
where loved ones and family are.” Her voice broke slightly towards the end.

A
painful spear stabbed him.

“You don
’t have to go back, Ellen,” he said.

Oh yes, she does.

No, she doesn’t.

“I can’t stay around here . . .
waiting
, Cole. I have to get on with my life. I’m thinking of getting a job.” Pause. “Yes, I really am.”

“That’s great,” he said, though he was feeling a bit hollow, as if a
void had just opened up in the pit above his stomach.

“I know. You’ve made me see a lot of things. You honestly have, Cole. I’ve taken all our conversations to heart.”

“Glad to hear that.” Now he was getting queasy. He pulled in a deep breath, sucked in his stomach, and said, “You know, you don’t have to go home so
early
.”

“Why not?”
She sounded hopeful.

“I mean . . . I could give you a job at the dig.”

“As a digger?”

He could feel her arching her eyebrows in the dark.

“Yeah. A digger. Or a chronicler.”

“Huh?
”

“You know,” he said lamely.
“Someone who chronicles the day to day activities. Kind of like Captain Kirk’s starlog.”

“
So you figure that an archeologist is like being a starship captain?”

“I like pointy ears, so sue me.”

“I thought you had your laptop for that.”

“
For making pointy ears?”

“No, f
or chronicling.”

He kept his diary very updated. It was essential to his job, and future publication of his findings.
He didn’t need a chronicler, or whatever job he was making up at the drop of an eyelid.

“
I still need someone to update it. I’m not real good at updating stuff myself,” he lied.

There was a silence on her end.

Then:

“Cole
Devereaux, are you trying to keep me around?” Her tone was light and amused. And yet, there was an underlying sadness.

He was amazed at how much he could read into her voice
in such a short period of time that he had known her. It was almost like how he could read into everything his father said (and threatened), but with Ellen, it was in a good way.

“Sure,” he replied, just as lightly.
He added, for good measure – lest he lead her down the wrong path again, “But only if you want to. Because you probably need some time to think, you know, about what you really want to do.”

Pause.

“Besides,” he added again, “you can always apply for jobs through the Internet. You can even go for interviews on Skype, provided your potential employers are OK with it, of course. The world isn’t such a big place anymore.”

Yeah, now he was making excuses to keep her around.

That was when his sat phone rang.

Cole jumped
up. Groaning, he rolled over and reached for his phone. He groaned even louder as he looked at the display.

“He’s here,” he said. “And he’s early.”

30

Nothing but the best would do for Cole’s parents, it seemed.

Ellen was very nervous
as both Cole and she alighted from the Range Rover. She wore a plain yellow sundress with a yellow hat. Demure neckline, decent hemline and all that. She even wore stockings just in case Cole’s mother disapproved of women who didn’t.

But what did she have to be nervous about?
she admonished herself. It wasn’t as if Cole wanted to marry her against his father’s wishes. Cole didn’t want to marry anyone.

“You look great,” Cole said.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t worry. He won’t bite.”

“But he does.”

“He won’t bite
you
, that is.”

Still –

“And don’t worry,” he added. “I’m not going to be in the least bit interested in
her
.”

You might be if she’s a raving beauty
.
And if she’s thin
.

“I’m not worried,” Ellen squeaked.

It was telling that Cole’s father chose to stay in the best hotel in town, and in a junior suite. He also chose the first meeting place – the French restaurant in the hotel itself.

The Grand Continental’s doors were opulent, and Ellen almost tripped on the plush carpet as she gazed up at the chandeliers of the main hall.
Cole steadied her.

“You all right?”

“I will be when all this is over.”

“Remember . . .
he’s just a man like half the human population. He doesn’t have cloven hooves and curved horns.”

“Yeah, but
he’s a man who is a millionaire and who will disapprove of me being with his only son. And he does have a tail.”

“Only at midnight, once a month, when he chooses to shift.”

They made their way to th
e French restaurant, which was a sprawling affair overlooking the hotel gardens. Airy French windows looked out to hedges bordered by flower beds. The whole place would probably spell $$$$ on a tourist restaurant guide.

“Do you have a reservation for Mr.
Carter Devereaux?” Cole asked the hostess outside.

“Table for five.
Right this way, sir.”

Five
.

How telling. Ellen pictured the slim, willowy and very rich Julia
Fairchild in a midnight blue satin dress, a diamond and sapphire necklace flashing at her swanlike neck. Even her name suggested that she might have been on the guest list of William and Kate’s wedding, and that she even might have worn a hat to top Victoria Beckham’s.

The restaurant was surprisingly full for lunch.
The table in question was empty.

“My father likes to
make an entrance,” Cole said wryly. “He will be at least twenty minutes late, although he insists that I should be on time.”

He drew back the chair for Ellen, and she sat down self-consciously.
Cole sat beside her and reached for her hand.

“Hey, I’m right here,” he assured her. “Let me do all the talking, OK?”

“OK.” Then Ellen froze. “But that won’t do. If I don’t talk, then he’ll think I’m a bore. Or worse, he’ll think I’m mute.”

Cole glanced at his phone, and seemed disappointed that there was no message.

“He won’t think you’re a bore,” he said.

He signaled to a waiter. “Want a cocktail?” he asked her.

“No thanks.”

“It’ll calm your nerves.”

Maybe it will. And maybe the waiter should add a Valium into the alcoholic mix, though she was certain such things shouldn’t be consumed together.

So she ordered a
margarita, and Cole a bourbon. They finished both their drinks and she actually managed to lick all the salt from the side of the wide-brimmed glass when Cole’s parents came up.

Calamity!

“Cole, there you are!” Carter was a tall, slightly graying gentleman with Cole’s brown eyes and broad shoulders.

Cole stood up, as did Ellen.

“Hello, Dad.”

“Darling!”
Cole’s mother flew into his arms. She was as short as both her husband and son were tall. But Ellen could totally see Cole’s features in her face.

“Mom, it’s good to see you,” Cole said warmly.
It was clear that it was his father that he was wary of.

Then both he and Ellen turned to the newcomer at the table.

“Son,” his father said, “this is Julia Fairchild.”

Ellen was transfixed.
So this was her competition?

God!

Julia Fairchild was gorgeous! Stunning! She was a tall, willowy redhead, and every bit as svelte as Ellen had imagined in her nightmares. She wore an off-shoulder green number which made Ellen look fat and ungainly next to her, and she carried an upper class aura about her which must have come from years of finishing school.

Out of the corner of Ellen’s eye, she observed Cole.

He did a double take.

Oh shit
.

Her spirits sank lower than her yellow shoes. Now she regretted wearing all yellow. She must have resembled a sunbeam.

“Pleased to meet you,” Cole said, holding out his hand.

Julia took it.

“Enchanted,” she said in an English accent. Even her voice was melodious.

Ellen almost groaned out loud. If this was a tennis match, she might as well pack her racket up and tell the referee she was going home.

Cole said to everyone, “And this is Ellen . . . my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend?

Ellen was stunned again. This was the first time Cole had introduced her as his girlfriend. What did it all mean? That she was really his girlfriend? But he didn’t want to marry her! And wasn’t he attracted to Julia Fairchild?

Carter Devereaux did not look pleased. Still, he took Ellen’s hand.

“Ellen,” he acknowledged. “Cole has not spoken much about you.”

“Ah,” she could only squeak. Carter’s hand was large and cold.

“We are very pleased to meet you,” Cole’s mother said, smiling. “
Please call me Sharon.”

“Hello, Sharon.”
In contrast to her dour husband, Cole’s mother was a bundle of joy. 

It was Ellen’s
turn to shake hands with Julia. She had to keep herself from trembling.
Come on! He called you his girlfriend! That has to count for something
.

“Hi,” she said.

Julia looked her up and down.

“Enchanted,” she said, smiling.

There wasn’t even a hint of disdain or ‘I think you’re really fat and unworthy to even be at this table’. Unless ‘enchanted’ was the only word she knew.

They all sat down, chairs scraping. The waiter rushed over with the overlarge menus.

The rest of lunch unfolded like a hazy nightmare screenplay to Ellen:

COLE: Is your room nice?

CARTER: There was no champagne in an ice bucket like I specifically requested.

SHARON: Oh Carter, they did bring it up later. The room is
very
nice, Cole. Thank you for booking it, darling.

COLE:
(pointedly) Thank you, Mother.

CARTER:
Hmmmph. There’s no Evian in the bathroom.

COLE: You can ask for it, Dad. There’s a phone in the bathroom and a number you can dial for Room Service.

SHARON: (beaming) Isn’t this nice? We’re here together again – a family.

COLE: Yeah, an American shifter family . . . as dysfunctional as we come.

CARTER: (to Julia) My son is a Professor of Archeology. Quite an eminent one with a specialty in shifter civilizations. He has published many papers.

COLE: Gee. I have never heard you say that before with such pride, Dad. With you, it has always been
‘Are you off to that mud hole again?’

SHARON: Cole, be nice to your father.

CARTER: Julia owns her own interior decorating company.

COLE: That’s nice.

CARTER: That’s nice? That’s all you can say?

COLE: What do you expect me to say, Dad? That’s terrific? That’s awesome? That it has got to be the most awesomely spectacular interior decorating company this side of the Western Hemisphere?

JULIA: (gasps with shock)

COLE: No offence to you, Julia, of course. I’m sure you’re a perfectly nice person.

SHARON: Cole
–

JULIA: That’
s all right, Mrs. Devereaux. I only came here because my father convinced me that this will be a good match. (Sounding unsure)

CARTER: It is a good match. Your father and I have mapped both your genealogies. You would produce spectacular children.

COLE: Awesome. (To Julia, deadpan) How does it feel like to be an interior decorating brood mare?

CARTER: (thunderously) Son!

COLE: I’m not ten years old anymore, Dad. I can say what I like.

JULIA: Uh.
(To Ellen) How long have you two known each other?

CARTER: They barely know each other.

COLE: On the contrary, Ellen and I know each other very well. Don’t we, Ellen?

ELLEN:
Uh, we do.

SHARON: That’s lovely.

CARTER: I would hardly call three weeks sufficiently
lovely
to get to know someone. Because that’s exactly how long you’ve known Ellen, right? After you advertised for a mail order bride?

(People at other tables turn.)

SHARON: (nervously) Dear, I don’t think now is the time to talk about this.

COLE: So what if I did? You gave me an ultimatum. I met it. And now you changed the rules.

SHARON: Dear . . .

CARTER: For God’s sake, son, don’t try to pin this on me.

COLE: Pin this on you? But you drew the stakes. And now you raised them. Nothing is ever good enough for you. Not my grades. Not my choices. And now you have to determine who I marry too.

SHARON:
Ssssh, everyone’s looking at us.

COLE: Just living up to our
dysfunctionality, Mom.

WAITER: (arriving)
Your starters are served. The foie gras.

JULIA: Oh, that isn’t for me. I don’t eat
foie gras. Won’t touch the disgusting stuff.

COLE: Fancy that.

SHARON: They are for
me
.

ELLEN: Mine is the vinaigrette salad.
Thank you.

COLE: Mine is the
foie gras. I have no qualms about eating the disgusting stuff. I live on beans and corn mush in a tent. And sometimes, on a good day, we even have gruel.

CARTER: Anyhow, son, I’m glad I arrived in time to prevent you from making a mistake. (Glaring at Ellen) In fact, I told my son I specifically didn’t want you here, but he insisted.

COLE: Because she’s my girlfriend. If you want me to meet someone else other than my girlfriend, it’s only appropriate we should meet her together.

JULIA: (to Carter) I’m confused. You told me that
your son is single and available. Look, I have options too, and I only agreed to meet him because my father begged me to.

CARTER: He is available. He has made no commitments to anyone.

COLE: Thanks for giving a running commentary on my life, Dad. You seem to know me much better than I know myself.

CARTER: (to Ellen) No offence to you, of course.

COLE: She’s taken plenty of offence already, thank you.

ELLEN: (hurriedly) No. It’s OK, Mr.
Devereaux. I get it. You don’t like me. You have no reason to like me. I’m a pebble in your shoe. Or a smelly sock whose smell won’t quite go away even though you’ve washed it a few times.

(
nerves)

(
nerves)

(
nerves)

Or even a
cold sore on your mouth that has been tested to be herpes simplex Type 1. OK, I get that you don’t like metaphors. I know that I’m fat . . . and ugly . . .

COLE: You are not.

ELLEN: . . . and very far from being a famous interior decorator with an accent like Harry Potter. And I’m also very far from being rich compared to you and Ms. Fairchild here and J.K. Rowling, of course. But I have good qualities too. Like . . . like . . . uh –

(
can’t think of anything)

COLE: You’re kind.

ELLEN: That’s right.

COLE: And loving.

ELLEN: Ditto.

COLE: And you’re very loveable.

ELLEN: That too.

COLE: (gazing at her with shining eyes)
And I like being with you. I like the person you are and whom you’ve decided to become. I’m really proud of you for making the choices you have.