The Art of Domination (7 page)

Shit
.
Did I say that out loud?

“I
s that what we’ve been doing?” she persists.

Well,
hell, since she’s asking, “Yes, it is; with a little bit of domestic discipline.”  There. I said it. It’s out there.

“I see.”

She gets up from the bed without looking at me. I hear the shower turn on and I get up and go into the bathroom to watch her. I open her shower door to see her wet and lathering herself up.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to join me?”

“I think I’ll watch for a few minutes if you don’t mind.”

She shrugs and I can see she’s frustrated about something. 

“Why are you pouting? Because of my vanilla with a twist remark?”

Again
, she just shrugs.

“Talk to me, Isabel. You know I can’t read your mind. If there’s something that you’re upset about, you need to tell me.”

She shoots me a look of pure astonishment and then huffs at me, “No shit. I could say the same thing to you.” 

F
uck. Why did I ask?
  “Move over,” I tell her and I get into the shower with her. She promptly rinses off, lets me in and then gets out. She’s fucking right and I know it.

When I’m finished and dried off,
I wrap the towel around my waist and go out to find Isabel has some soup waiting for me. It smells delicious and I’m always amazed at what she can create in the kitchen with very little to work with.  She’s not sitting at the table with me, but instead she’s sitting on the couch looking out the window at the snow.

“Come sit me with,
” I tell her but she doesn’t move or answer me.  “Come on. Stop your pouting and get over here.” 

S
he looks over at me and slowly gets up and joins me at the table. She’s looking at the ring and twirling it on her finger maniacally.

“It’s a beautif
ul ring. Did I tell you that?” she whispers.

“No
, you didn’t.”

“Well, i
t really is wonderful. Did you pick it out yourself or did you have help?” she asks, still looking down at the ring and never raising her eyes to look at me.

“I drew the design myself and then had a designer make it.”

“I didn’t know you could draw,” she says, finally looking up me.

“It’s more like scribbling, really. You know, there are lots of things you don’t know about me.”

“Yes, I know. But it’s not because I don’t want to know. It’s because you won’t tell me.”

Here we go with this again. How I’m closed off and secretive. How I never talk about myself or my past, blah, blah, blah.  I roll my eyes at her and
sigh loudly.

“There’s nothing to tell.” And again, I fucking lie to her.

Isabel stands up and waves towards the door. “Get out. Seriously. I told you not to lie to me anymore and you sit here and lie to me
again.
There’s something going on. I don’t know what because you won’t fucking tell me and when you’re given the opportunity to tell me, you just lie and pretend like there’s nothing going on. So get out.”

Shit. She’s pissed. “I’ve asked you n
ot to use that kind of language,” I say trying to change the subject.  “Anyway, where the hell am I supposed to go? There’s three feet of snow on the ground.”

“I don’t really care. You seem to be good at shoveling bullshit, so take a shovel and dig your way back home.”

I love it when she’s pissed, but I hate it when she uses bad language like that. I also hate it when she’s so completely right.  “Oh, Christ. I can’t Isabel. I just
can’t
, okay? You have to believe me when I tell you that I want to explain things, but I
just can’t.
I wouldn’t even know where to begin. So please, can you give me a fucking break right now?  I had a really shitty day yesterday. First, the woman that I love tells me she doesn’t want to marry me, and then…
shit
. Just give me a fucking break.”

***

I can see he’s
stressed about something, but he doesn’t have to lie to me, damn it. He’s rubbing the back of his neck and he looks so forlorn. I’m such a shit for trying to make him tell me what’s wrong. I so desperately want to know everything about him. 

“Dylan, how can you expect me to marry you when I know nothing about you and you won’t share anything with me?”

He sighs and looks down at his hands. “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?” I ask him, unsure of
what he means by that statement.

“I don’t expect you to want to marry me. Why
would
you?”

“What the heck, Dylan? Of course I want to. Why
wouldn’t
I?”

“
You don’t have to pretend for me. I know I’m difficult and that I’m secretive, okay. So just
don’t.
”

“Oh
, for the love of lasagna, this is ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. I’m not pretending anything. I went into your office yesterday to tell you, yes, I would marry you and you totally blew me off. I don’t know what secrets you think will make me not want to be with you, but I can tell you now, I love you, I will always love you, and nothing, Dylan,
nothing
, will make me stop loving you.  I mean, hell, you know all of my nasty secrets, including what my father put me through and that I can’t have children, and you’re still with me.”

Dylan looks utterly staggered at my remark. “Isabel…”

“Just stop. You don’t have to tell me everything right now. Yes, I
will
marry you Dylan, regardless of whether I know your secrets or not if it makes you feel better. But you
will
tell me once we’re married. As for this ‘vanilla with a twist’ crap, how do we go about fixing that?”

Dylan suddenly gets the most inane
, child-like grin on his face and it makes me completely giddy to see him so happy. He pulls onto his lap and kisses me passionately.

“You really will marry me? Right now? Today?”
he asks with heated eyes.

“Yes, b
ut it might be kind of hard to get to Vegas in this snow storm,” I tell him as I run my hands through his messy damp hair.

“Fuck V
egas. I’m calling Sawyer. I’ll have a snow plow here in a few minutes. He can pick us up in the Land Rover and take us to the court house.”

Dylan looks so completely thrilled I don’t want to ruin his moment by tell
ing him that I’m nervous as hell about getting married so quickly. I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach building from my nerves and because I somehow feel like this is Dylan’s way of not dealing with the problem at hand, which just happens to be whatever secrets he’s withholding from me. I mean, how bad can they be, right? He grew up an All-American boy who was raised by two successful loving parents. And he was a Boy-Scout for Pete’s sake. To hell with his secrets; I love him and I love the way he loves me, so damned the consequences.
Let’s do this
.

Dylan grabs his phone and calls Sawyer, telling him to call the City of Denver to come and plow my street and then proceeds to tell him to bring the Land
Rover over to pick us up. He steps away from me to whisper something into the phone, all the while side eye-balling me and smiling deviously. Dylan and his surprises; yet another thing I love about him.

If we’re going to the court house and this is going to be my wedding day, I suppose I’d better try and work some magic on my hair. When I hear Dylan end his conversation, I call out to him.

“Sugar, can you come and fix my hair, please?” I ask him because I know damned well that he does a much better job than me at fixing it.

He comes in all smiles
and starts working on my hair without hesitation. He sprays it down as usual and brushes it out. Then he digs through my cabinet drawers and finds some hair pins and a headband. Next, he runs his fingers through my hair and starts braiding it. He uses a few of the pins and tucks away the strays. Finally, he slips the thin headband on me and as usual, he’s done a magnificent job. He turns me around to look at him and kisses my forehead.

“You have no idea how much I love you, Isa.” He tilts my face up to look at him and his eyes are glossy and clear blue like a summer sky. “I won’t let anything or anyone come between us. I promise you that.”

Anyone?
Before I have to chance to ask what he means by that, he reaches over and starts painting my face with make-up. First, some eye shadow, then some mascara, and lastly, some lip gloss. When I reach over to grab the cover up, he pulls it out of my hand and sets it back down. 

“I love your freckles.” 

I hate them, but I won’t argue with him. When I take a look in the mirror again, I don’t look half bad. I never imagined my wedding day would be like this and I feel a bit sad that it’s not going to be more like the fairytale wedding I had always imagined, even though I am marrying my prince charming. 

Dylan
hurriedly gets dressed in his jeans and long sleeved business shirt. He’s frantically making phone calls to God only knows who and pacing the floor like a lunatic and making exaggerated hand gestures as he talks. He keeps looking and smiling at me as I sit on the couch waiting. I’m doing my best to contain my nervousness and not vomit all over myself.

I can’t believe we’re really going through with this.
I wish my mother were here to give me away. Or any family member who loved me. My father flashes in my mind and I wonder what he would think about this whole situation. Ever since our last horrific meeting, I haven’t spoken to him or even so much as tried to get into contact with him. Immediately after that fiasco, Dylan added me to his phone account and had my phone number changed, and I know it was because he didn’t want my father trying to contact me. I don’t want to think about my father right now and I push his memory to the back of my mind.

After about 45 minutes, I hear the plows on my street. Dylan must have some serious pull with the city to get them here so quickly.  Dylan runs outside and
I watch him from my window as he talks to the plowman and thanks him. Next, they both proceed to dig his car out. Not long after that, Sawyer shows up in the Land Rover. He hands over several boxes and bags to Dylan, then parks and waits.

When Dylan comes back inside he g
ets his coat and shoes off and hands me a very large box and a shoe box.

“Open it,” h
e says anxiously.

I
wonder what it is. I lay the box on the bed and open it.
Oh. My. God.
It’s a wedding dress. And not just any wedding dress; it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s a strapless sweetheart neckline tulle dress with a lace-up back. It’s simple and understated with pale pink flowers along the waist and scattered throughout the gown. In the shoe box is a pair of white embellished heels.

“Dylan, when did you get
all of this?” I’m so shocked I don’t know what else to ask.

“I bought it
the same time I bought your ring, when I was in New York. I saw it and I just had to get it for you. You’re not angry with me are you?” he asks me warily.

I feel my tears starting to choke me. He’s so damned
lovable. Why the hell would I be angry? “Of course not. It’s so beautiful, Dylan. I love it.”

“Put it on for me.”

I start to take the dress to the restroom but he stops me.

“No, no, h
ere. I want to watch you put it on.”

Yes, yes. I know the drill. How silly of me.
I quickly undress.  Dylan helps me get it on and it fits perfectly. The hemline comes just to my ankles and the fabric feels soft and frilly. Dylan grabs a pair of thigh high stockings from the shoe box and helps me get them on as well. He really didn’t miss a thing. He puts the shoes on me and I’m a good three inches taller. 

Dylan steps back and looks me over. “You look fucking amazing. I only wish my
parents were here to see you,” he says and his eyes gloss over and his eyebrows furrow.

I walk over to him and hug him tight
ly.
My poor Dom
. I know what it’s like to miss someone so deeply. He pulls away from me, sniffs and then wipes his nose with the back of his hand and clears his throat as if he’s pretending not to cry. Why do men have to act so damned macho?

“I’m
fine. I need to get changed,” he says brusquely.

He
changes into a suit that Sawyer brought for him that’s black and tailored, and it fits him spectacularly.
Hot damn he looks delicious.
When he puts his tie on, his look is complete.

Now my nerves
really kick in. I unexpectedly feel light headed and nauseous, and I feel the blood drain from my face. I must look a wreck because Dylan grabs me just before my legs go wobbly and he helps me to the bed.
What are we doing?