Perfect Timing (15 page)

“Wait.” Mary Louise came around the breakfast bar, reaching into the cabinet above the stove. From it, she retrieved a lone bottle of gin.

“For me?” Isabel asked.

“For me,” she said, unscrewing the cap. “Something tells me this isn’t a tap-water kind of story.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Birmingham, Alabama–Las Vegas

S
TANDING
IN
THE
B
IRMINGHAM
AIRPORT
,
A
IDAN
’
S
FIRST
INSTINCT WAS TO HEAD
for Los Angeles. Inside his pocket he’d been rubbing Fitz Landrey’s business card like a lucky charm. He hoped the man wasn’t full of shit. It was the only card he had left to play. Two thousand dollars wasn’t going to last forever. While Isabel visited the vending machines, he tried to buy two tickets to L.A. There was one seat available on a flight that left in thirty minutes. He didn’t consider it. But the two of them did need to get on a plane to somewhere fast. It wouldn’t be long until everyone in Catswallow realized they’d gone missing.

He looked over the posted outgoing flights: Seattle, St. Louis, Montreal, Dallas, Orlando—it didn’t matter. He’d go anywhere as long as Isabel was with him. Doing this without her was unimaginable. There was a flight to Akron. He thought about that. Surely somewhere in Akron there was an abandoned farmhouse. Maybe they could move right in and go on as if none of this ever happened. Aidan’s fingers brushed again along Fitz’s business card; the desire for that chance was nearly as strong. Damn, why did it have to be a choice? Then something caught his eye, something that would make the last twelve hours seem like a trip to over the Catswallow County line. A few minutes later Isabel returned. Her arms were filled with a cellophane-wrapped buffet. In his hand were two boarding passes. “Ready?” he asked, feeling at ease with his decision.

“Yeah, I’m good to go. Maybe when we get to L.A., we can get something that doesn’t come with yesterday’s expiration date.”

“Definitely.” Aidan took the prepackaged consumables, which did appear questionable. “You can get whatever you want. But we’re not going to L.A.”

“We’re not? But isn’t that where Fitz Landrey is?”

“Yes, but we’re taking a detour first, to Vegas.”

“Vegas?” she asked worriedly. “What’s in Las Vegas?”

Aidan started prodding her toward the gate. “Not sure, never been. My guess is casinos, desert, Elvis impersonators, and wedding chapels.”

She laughed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. The laughter was nervous, so was the habit. “Let me guess, you’re going to bet what’s left of your inheritance on the roulette wheel because your luck’s been so great in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Some of it has. And no, nothing so crazy.” Aidan paused as they got to their gate. He tucked her hair back on the other side, making solid eye contact, never having felt so sure about anything. “I’m interested in the chapel. Marry me, Isabel.”

LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO,
A
IDAN
R
OYCROFT WAS STANDING IN FRONT OF
his bedroom mirror, cursing at a bow tie. In the end he’d shoved the thing in his pocket, thinking it might inspire a look. Just for fun he’d traded in the shiny black rental shoes for imitation-snakeskin boots. It felt like the last real thing he’d done. Now he stood in front of a justice of the peace, the bow tie, and the rest of his inheritance, and an unlikely note from John Roycroft in his pocket, marrying Isabel Lang. And out of all the incredible and hellish things that had happened in the last day, this was by far the most calming. He only wondered when it might feel something other than surreal.

Aidan slipped a thin gold band on her trembling finger. Isabel had chosen it herself from the display case out front. They repeated vows that were too simple for everything he felt. While the marriage was spontaneous, his feelings couldn’t be more grounded. Surely she understood that. Isabel was the one person who understood everything about him. The ceremony was over in minutes, Isabel shying away from a kiss that he’d intended to be a whole lot more. Yet, he had no regrets. But Aidan wasn’t convinced Isabel felt the same way. Everything considered, he guessed that she might be feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Isabel hadn’t said much during the flight, not answering until the plane landed. As passengers jammed the aisle, she’d stayed in her seat. She sat for so long Aidan thought she was going to say she’d take the next flight back to Birmingham. She’d barely spoken, certainly not a word about his proposal.
“What? Oh . . . yes, thank you . . . a Diet Coke would be nice.”
And that was to the flight attendant. Aidan started to wonder if what happened between them at the farmhouse was just fear, a panicked means to erasing Stanton’s attack. In the moment, he’d worried about exactly that. He didn’t know much about those kinds of things, but he supposed it was possible. It was one scene out of sync with their entire relationship. Isabel always talked about their friendship as if it was the most important thing in the world. What if she was right? Isabel was always right. Who goes to bed with their best friend—or better yet, proposes?

Determined to go with his gut, Aidan inched forward as much as an airplane seat would allow. He was prepared to ask again. He was prepared for the answer to be no. From a trancelike stare at her tray-table, Isabel reached over and wrapped her hand around his, answering, “Yes, Aidan. I’ll marry you.” They’d taken a taxi to a chapel on the old Strip.

After the ceremony their motel room wasn’t ready and Aidan suspected that this was a good thing. Picking up where they left off at the farmhouse was definitely on his mind. But letting her get used to the idea was more important. He chuckled. Since when did Aidan Roycroft think more about the girl than himself? It reaffirmed his vow. Marrying Isabel was the most perfect thing he’d ever done. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“Now?” She stood opposite him, twisting the ring as if it were a foreign object, suddenly adhered to her body.

“Well, if we take the $1,150 that’s left into the casino, we might be broke before dinner. So, how about a walk?” Aidan pulled her into his arms and for a moment he felt her relax.

“A honeymoon walk?” she asked, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Sure, it’s part of the whole Vegas honeymoon package. Didn’t you read the brochure?” She laughed. That felt good. He hadn’t heard her laugh in hours. They headed out of the hotel, side by side, just like always. Not touching, not holding hands. Give it some time, he thought. On their way they passed a photo booth. “Hey, a wedding picture. That’s what we need, something to commemorate the event.”

“Oh, Aidan, I don’t . . . I’m a mess. My hair is full of sticky hairspray and I haven’t slept all night. I probably look like the bride of Frankenstein!”

But he insisted, pulling her into the narrow booth, where she was forced to sit on his lap. The multi-shot strip captured the essence of the union: goofy faces, Aidan’s eyes closed, Isabel’s eyes closed, cheesy smiles, Isabel laughing as he tickled her, and the last shot: Aidan stealing a kiss, smaller than the one she offered at the altar. Even so, there it was, on film.

Continuing down the street, weaving in and out of shops to avoid the summer heat, silence nudged him. He couldn’t get used to it. There’d been more silence in the past few hours than the last five years. Finally, she asked, “Did you check your cell phone? Did you call Fitz Landrey?”

“Of course I checked.” Since he was ignoring a dozen hysterical messages from his mother, and several more ominous ones from Catswallow law enforcement, Aidan figured he’d spare Isabel as well. “Nothing important, no message from Fitz yet. But he’ll call, I’m sure.”

“Do you really think so? Aidan, what . . . what are we going to do if he doesn’t call?”

“He’ll call,” he snapped. She stepped away, putting a body width between them. “I’m sorry. I’m tired—cranky, that’s all.” And she laughed again. “What’s so funny?”

“This may be the first honeymoon in history that starts with a nap.” He smiled. It was on her mind too. Isabel stopped in front of a tattoo parlor—
Rico’s Tattoos
—distracted by the goings-on inside.

Aidan peered through the window, where a man sat in a chair. The tattoo artist was putting the finishing touches on a colorful design on his forearm. The entire scene made him think of root canal, only this was voluntary pain.

“Do you think that hurts?”

“Nah.” He used his best macho grunt, shrugging as he looked harder into the window. “Yeah . . . I guess . . . a little.”

“Probably not as much as childbirth.” Their eyes met in mutual alarm, Isabel quickly turning back to the window. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I mean, I wasn’t talking about you and . . . I was just making an observation, that’s all. About other people . . . not us.”

Aidan shoved his hands in his pockets, tipping back on the heels of his imitation-snakeskin boots. “Not ever?” She didn’t answer, forcing a hand through her hair. The nervous gesture didn’t smooth anything, sticky hairspray and the moment making things more difficult. Aidan took a harder look at the tattoo in progress. “Why don’t we find out if that’s true? In ten or fifteen years we can compare notes.” She didn’t look at him, but he caught a small smile curve around her mouth. “Come on—at least it’s air conditioned. Let’s go inside.”

It was a grand distraction from everything. They spent the next hour flipping through clip art, the thousands of possibilities. Isabel flat-out rejected the first few hundred: tigers, all birds, cartoon characters, an array of symbols, and anything resembling a heart bearing her—or anyone’s—initials. Aidan was about to give up when she saw it. “That one,” she announced to Orlando, who was the proprietor of Rico’s, and with whom they were now on a first-name basis.

“Buena elección,”
he said, raising a unibrow at them.

“You think?” Aidan wasn’t as convinced.

“Yes, that one.” Isabel pointed to a snake that coiled with sinister appeal. It was as unpredictable as her. She looked at him. “Unless you think it’s too out there.”

He laughed. “Nope, no way. I’m in.
Orlando, a mi esposa le gustaría marcarme con una serpiente enrollada.
” Her forehead crinkled. “I told him
my wife
would like to brand me with a coiled snake.” And the bend in her brow turned to a smile on her face. Aidan was pleased by how natural the word sounded—in either language. Somewhere in his head, between the music and lyrics, he’d been thinking of Isabel that way for some time.

“No hay problema,”
Orlando agreed. “But you haven’t said where?” His eyes grazed over the rumpled tux, Aidan not having thought about where the tattoo might go. Isabel had an answer.

“His neck.”

“My neck?”

“Tiene cojones,”
Orlando said, slyly grinning.

“Yes, your neck. It’ll be your thing, you know, when you’re famous—like an insignia. It’s sexy and dangerous. Aidan’s going to be a famous rock star, Orlando.”

Aidan admired her confidence. “From her lips . . .”

“I surely hope,
mis amigos
, because putting that thing on your neck does not say nine-to-five employment.” Orlando leaned back in his chair and in an accent thick with folklore, explained its meaning. “I will tell you more about the
señora
’s choice. Rico,” he said, pointing to a flashing sign, “the once owner, said the coiled serpent was the great protector of true love. The story goes that the venomous snake guards the
princesa
while keeping all other suitors away—his and hers.” His singular brow furrowed at their curious expressions.
“¿Que?”
He shrugged. “Rico insists it is very powerful. The snake, he will stand guard until the
príncipe
returns from war and suffering. As long as it is there, others may try, but no one will come between them.” He leaned in close, his finger tapping against the clip art. “I know this is so, because once that snake is on your neck, you will never be without it . . . or her.”

“Mmm, interesting,” Isabel said, nodding. “Though I don’t believe Aidan plans on going off to war. I think we have enough going on right now.”

Orlando offered a grunt of agreement, moving some paperwork toward them. “You need to sign here,” he said, pointing. “And once more, here.” Aidan picked up a pen, ready to write. Isabel’s hand clasped hard over his.