“I don’t know where he’s staying,” I explained.
“And when has something as small as that ever stopped a whirlwind force like you, girl?”
I smiled at him.
“Never,” I told him truthfully. His smile faltered a bit. “I’m sorry, Spence.”
He shook his head. “Don’t, babe,” he said, winking. “They’re all lined up. They’re waiting for me as we speak,” he said, extending his arm.
He teased but the sadness there troubled me. I loved Spence so much but knew I couldn't say as much, that it would be cruel. So I just smiled at him, shoving my shoulder into his.
He picked himself up and dusted the back of his pants off. I stood and threw my arms around him. “Sophie Price, you’ll be the one that got away, I’m afraid,” he spoke into my ear. He pulled away. “You know how to solve that problem?” he joshed. I shook my head no. “With bigger problems.”
He kissed my cheek and stalked off, twirling his keys in his hand and whistling as he made his way to his car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I knocked twice but there was no answer.
Impatient, I headed back down to Ian’s lobby.
“Excuse me,” I told the concierge, “but can you check to see if a guest named Ian Aberdeen is still here?”
“Of course, miss.” His fingers cracked the keys of his keyboard. “I’m sorry but Mister Aberdeen has checked out.”
My heart raced. “Thank you,” I told him before hauling back out to my car, hopping in and racing toward home.
I dialed my cell.
“Pemmy?”
“Yes, dear? Fantastic job today in court,” he said. “I was just telling your father so.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I-Pemmy, listen, I need you to do me a favor.” I weaved between two semis, almost clipping one. No wonder you aren’t supposed to talk or text while driving. “Can you find out if Ian is flying back out tonight?”
He sighed. “Come home first, your father needs to talk with you.”
“Pemmy!” I yelled, exasperated. “Please, Pemmy, can you just check for me?”
“Come home, love. I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Thank you!” I said, pressing end and tossing the phone on the passenger seat.
Fifteen minutes later, I whipped my car into my parents’ drive and pulled into my garage space. I turned off the ignition, attempted to get out but realized I’d left my phone. I bent back in to retrieve it.
“You’re wealthy,” I heard behind me, staying me in place.
My mouth instantly went dry, my hands trembled, my breathing labored. I climbed out of my car and shut the door, leaning against the frame.
“No, my parents are wealthy,” I told him, mimicking what he’d told me outside his own home in Cape Town.
He smiled at me. “I see.”
“Does this change your opinion of me?” I asked.
“Hardly,” he told me, a rogue smile playing on a mischievous face.
We stood there staring at one another.
“My mom told me everything,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m sorry. For what she said. For what I said. I’m just…sorry.”
“What you did for me in court. That was…incredible. Thank you.”
“I’d have done it again and again if it meant freeing you.”
I smiled. We stood, staring again.
“Who was that guy at the courthouse?” he asked, his fists unwittingly tightening at his sides.
“That was Spencer.”
“Spencer. The Spencer who took you dancing that night?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in love with you, ya’ know.”
“No, I-”
“He is. I could see it,” he coolly replied, inching closer, “but that means nothing.”
“Oh?” I asked, one brow raised in question.
“Yes, because you belong to me, Price.” I opened my mouth to confirm what just that but he cut me off. “And before you argue with me,” he continued, grabbing me quickly and clutching me closely to his chest, sucking the very breath from mine.
He brought both hands up to my neck. I could feel the thumping of his heart against my own. “Would you like to know how I know this?”
I simply nodded, unable to speak.
“This,” he said before slamming his mouth on mine.
EPILOGUE
Ian tumbled atop me on the mattress, languidly kissing my shoulders and collarbone and then, as if he couldn’t wait, his lips trailed up my neck at a furious pace to my mouth . I smiled into his lips.
“It works better when the dress is off,” I teased him.
He sat up before dragging me off the bed and standing me in front of the mirror. “You know, I usually hate weddings but this one...,” he said, trailing off, brushing my hair to the side and over my shoulder.
“It wasn’t so shabby,” I completed the thought. “Plus, Ribbon Caye is beautiful this time of year.”
“Mm, hmm,” a distracted Ian replied, unzipping me from behind. “It was nice of your dad to donate it to Masego.”
“He’s really come around,” I said, thinking on how my father had changed.
He’d donated Ribbon Caye to us and it had become a way to provide a steady source of income as we rented it out regularly. He also agreed to a one-hundred-thousand dollar annual stipend. It allowed us to bring children into a safer environment as well as help us afford twenty-four hour armed guards, something he insisted upon, which surprised us. Within six months, my father had also completely rebuilt Masego. It was the finest home for children we’d ever encountered in Uganda, in Africa, really and could house more than two hundred children at once.
When I’d told my father my plans to move to Uganda permanently, he didn’t fight it as I had anticipated at first. Instead, he said he only had two requests. The first was that I let him support my cause however he saw fit. He had an incessant need for control. But if he was the one being generous, I wasn’t going to begrudge him that. The second was that he and I would start over, that I would help him become a good father because, and I quote, I’d “turned into a magnificent daughter and magnificent daughters deserved good fathers”.
Ian tossed my white silk gown to the side and gazed at my reflection. He ran his hands down my shoulders, sides and rested them on my hips, smiling wickedly.
Suddenly, I was swept up and tossed back onto the bed, making me laugh. My hair fanned around his face. The moment quickly faded from amusement to something urgent.
“I love you, Sophie Aberdeen.”
I kissed his lips softly. “I love you too, other half.”
He smiled at this then rolled us both over once. He reached over and turned up Between Two Points by The Glitch Mob playing on our iPod.
He kissed me deeply, our tongues intertwined and said my name, bringing my ear to his mouth. He bit my earlobe and whispered, “The shortest distance between two points is the line from me to you.”
He was good on his word.
