Beach Rental(14)

“Juli. Best wishes.” He barely brushed her outstretched hand with his own.

She stared into his eyes, refusing to release him gracefully, angry that in his world she was invisible, or if visible, then unwelcome. He broke away, but not before the amber lights in his eyes flashed, warning her of his suppressed anger.

Luke took Ben’s hand and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a quick hug without a word said. She had the distinct impression many words had already been shared privately and Ben had moved forward regardless of his family’s feelings on the matter.

There was no reception following the ceremony. They moved together, a small group of conflicted well-wishers, across the soft mounds of warm sand and up the rough, weathered steps to the wooden dunes crossover leading to Ben’s home.

Their home.

Three stories of duplex, named Sea Green Glory, rose on pilings above an open parking area directly below. The homes on the oceanfront had names. Most were weekly rentals that ran from weekend to weekend. There were only a few hotels in Emerald Isle. Most were further down the island in the Atlantic Beach area and near the bridge to Morehead City.

The crossover ended at the porch on the main living level. Luke, Maia and the pastor headed for the stairs to go below to the parking area, but paused to look back.

Maia’s round cheeks dimpled in a kind smile. She looked especially petite and sweet, overshadowed by Luke’s stern demeanor. She waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave. Luke touched Maia’s arm and they left.

Ben turned to face his bride. “Are you regretting our agreement?”

Was she? A reasonable woman, certainly a woman with money and family, would never have agreed to his proposal. But a woman who was on her own, who’d grown up in a succession of foster homes and who understood cash, not dreams, fueled life—that woman might accept it, and had done so.

What had Ben purchased? He deserved better than a hardboiled cynic. Juli smoothed the sharp edges from her manner and adopted a softer attitude.

“Regret? No. It feels strange. Unreal.”

“No wonder. We moved quickly.”

“You moved quickly. I now understand what being ‘swept off my feet’ feels like.” They’d met a week ago. How had a man as mild-mannered as Ben managed to find a fiancé, get the pre-nup drawn up, and arranged a wedding on the beach, however small, within four days?

“I have a surprise for you.” He escorted her to a chair beside the round white patio table. “Sit here. I’ll be right back.”

There were faint noises coming from the far side of the wooden partition as, only a few feet away, the renters on the other side of the duplex packed up. They’d leave first thing in the morning. That half would be re-occupied when the new renters arrived later in the afternoon. Ben lived in his half, the western side, year-round.

The waves rolled in, gulls squawked and scavenged from the few beach-goers, and she, Julianne Cooke Bradshaw, sat on her new porch and wondered how long her marriage would last.

Within minutes, white-coated strangers appeared with linen and fine china. They whisked around the table efficiently placing crystal goblets and gleaming silverware on the tablecloth. It reminded her of the Shirley Temple movie, The Little Princess, when the two girls awoke in their cold, dark garret to find hot food and warm, luxurious garments had been left while they slept.

Something was happening in her chest. A warm fist squeezed her heart and hot tears blurred her vision. She closed her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She would not.

His fingers encircled her wrists and, gently, he pulled her hands away from her face.

“Juli?”

She looked down at Ben, her husband, kneeling at her feet. She didn’t love him, and might never, but in the few days she’d known him, she strongly suspected he was a man worthy of love.

“Is this wise?”

“It’s a little late to ask now, isn’t it?” But he was smiling.

“I don’t know what you expect of me. I mean, I thought I knew, but now I’m not sure.” The words spilled out. She drew in a rough breath to halt the babbling.

“I want only what I told you when I proposed this arrangement. Companionship. No more, no less. Nothing you don’t want to give.”

“Companionship? I’m not, I mean... I have no social skills. Not much education. No glitter. You’ll be bored or disappointed.”

Ben kissed the backs of her hands. “I want you to be yourself.”

“But I don’t love you. You don’t love me.”

“I don’t want you to love me. That would be cruel. Remember what I told you? I don’t want to be alone. I’m grateful you agreed to help me.”