Beautiful Beginning
Page 47
planet.
Catching Bennett in these private moments had been what won my father over to Bennett’s side, eventually. After our disastrous Christmas visit to Bismarck over a year ago, where Dad grilled Bennett endlessly and finally walked in on me riding him like a rowdy cowgirl in my childhood bed, Dad came to stay with us in New York for a week. Bennett, predictably, had been working like a fiend for the first few days, and Dad grumbled endlessly about how a man should provide for his family not only in material ways but also emotional.
But then one night, when Bennett got home well after midnight and Dad got up out of bed to get some water, he found us on the couch, my head in Bennett’s lap and his fingers running gently through my hair as he listened to me ramble on about every detail of my day. Bennett had been exhausted, but, as usual, he insisted I spend time with him, no matter how late. Dad admitted the next morning that he had stood, mesmerized, watching us for a full five minutes before he remembered himself and left to get his water.
I caught him giving Bennett a look over my shoulder and then heard my husband’s deep, real laugh—the one that bubbled up from low in his belly and came out sounding like the quietest, happiest sound.
“What are you two up to?” I asked my dad, pulling back to look at him.
“Just giving my new son some nonverbal advice.”
I gave my father a warning look and then caught Bennett’s attention as my father turned to me. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ask your husband what that was all about.”
Dad pulled me into a hug, kissing my cheek, before Bennett came to my side, bending to whisper, “Your dad just indicated he wants five grandkids.”
My screech of horror was drowned out by the heavy bass blasting through the speakers, signaling to the guests that the real party had started. Crowds rushed to the dance floor and we took the opportunity to go get a drink of water. Will passed us on our way, flanked by my aunts.
They sandwiched him between them good-naturedly and Will’s head fell back in laughter. “For the love of God, Hanna, where are you?” he yelled.
Across the room she lowered her fruity drink, held up her hand decorated with a beautiful engagement ring, and called out, “Is that what this ring means? That I come to your rescue?”
He nodded fervently, shouting, “Yes!”
Finally, after a nice, long bit of staring at the poor boy, Hannah walked to him and pulled him away from my laughing aunts and into her arms. I smiled, turning back to Bennett.
“Can we leave now?” he asked, eyes dropping to my mouth.
The crowd had barely thinned, and I knew the party would probably continue on for another few hours, but right then all I wanted was to get upstairs and get my husband out of his tux.
“One more hour,” I said, pulling back his jacket sleeve to glance at his watch. It was only eight thirty. “One more hour and then I’m all yours.”After what ended up being three hours—three hours of dancing and drunken toasts, of Max and Will carrying Bennett to the bar for a final round of “man shots,” of pure, wild celebration—Bennett came up behind me at the bar where I stood talking to Henry and Mina, and slid his arms around my waist.
“Now,” he whispered, kissing my ear.
I leaned back into him, smiling at my brother- and sister-in-law. “I think that’s my cue.”
There were no flower petals to throw in our wake, no handfuls of rice. Instead, Will and Henry grabbed handfuls of cocktail napkins and drunkenly chucked them at us as we ducked away from the bar and waved to our guests.
“Good night everyone! Thanks for coming!” I called out above the catcalls and whistles.
Bennett pulled me forward, waving over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“It was so good to see you all!” I yelled, still waving to our family and friends.
He practically dragged me away before lifting me and throwing me over his shoulder. The approval of our guests was communicated with roaring applause and another stack of napkins that caught Bennett in the back of the head.
He carried me all the way to the lobby and then slid me down his body, kissing my neck, my chin, my lips. “Ready?”
I nodded. “So ready.”
But when I turned toward the elevators, he stopped me with a big hand wrapped around my forearm. And then his other hand pulled a blindfold out of his pocket.
“What . . . ?” I asked, a wary smile spreading slowly across my face. “What are you doing with that in the lobby?”
“I’m whisking you off somewhere.”
“But we have a room upstairs,” I whined quietly. “With a big giant bed and several of your ties to get kinky with, and,” I dropped my voice, “the bottle of lube in the drawer.”
Catching Bennett in these private moments had been what won my father over to Bennett’s side, eventually. After our disastrous Christmas visit to Bismarck over a year ago, where Dad grilled Bennett endlessly and finally walked in on me riding him like a rowdy cowgirl in my childhood bed, Dad came to stay with us in New York for a week. Bennett, predictably, had been working like a fiend for the first few days, and Dad grumbled endlessly about how a man should provide for his family not only in material ways but also emotional.
But then one night, when Bennett got home well after midnight and Dad got up out of bed to get some water, he found us on the couch, my head in Bennett’s lap and his fingers running gently through my hair as he listened to me ramble on about every detail of my day. Bennett had been exhausted, but, as usual, he insisted I spend time with him, no matter how late. Dad admitted the next morning that he had stood, mesmerized, watching us for a full five minutes before he remembered himself and left to get his water.
I caught him giving Bennett a look over my shoulder and then heard my husband’s deep, real laugh—the one that bubbled up from low in his belly and came out sounding like the quietest, happiest sound.
“What are you two up to?” I asked my dad, pulling back to look at him.
“Just giving my new son some nonverbal advice.”
I gave my father a warning look and then caught Bennett’s attention as my father turned to me. His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Ask your husband what that was all about.”
Dad pulled me into a hug, kissing my cheek, before Bennett came to my side, bending to whisper, “Your dad just indicated he wants five grandkids.”
My screech of horror was drowned out by the heavy bass blasting through the speakers, signaling to the guests that the real party had started. Crowds rushed to the dance floor and we took the opportunity to go get a drink of water. Will passed us on our way, flanked by my aunts.
They sandwiched him between them good-naturedly and Will’s head fell back in laughter. “For the love of God, Hanna, where are you?” he yelled.
Across the room she lowered her fruity drink, held up her hand decorated with a beautiful engagement ring, and called out, “Is that what this ring means? That I come to your rescue?”
He nodded fervently, shouting, “Yes!”
Finally, after a nice, long bit of staring at the poor boy, Hannah walked to him and pulled him away from my laughing aunts and into her arms. I smiled, turning back to Bennett.
“Can we leave now?” he asked, eyes dropping to my mouth.
The crowd had barely thinned, and I knew the party would probably continue on for another few hours, but right then all I wanted was to get upstairs and get my husband out of his tux.
“One more hour,” I said, pulling back his jacket sleeve to glance at his watch. It was only eight thirty. “One more hour and then I’m all yours.”After what ended up being three hours—three hours of dancing and drunken toasts, of Max and Will carrying Bennett to the bar for a final round of “man shots,” of pure, wild celebration—Bennett came up behind me at the bar where I stood talking to Henry and Mina, and slid his arms around my waist.
“Now,” he whispered, kissing my ear.
I leaned back into him, smiling at my brother- and sister-in-law. “I think that’s my cue.”
There were no flower petals to throw in our wake, no handfuls of rice. Instead, Will and Henry grabbed handfuls of cocktail napkins and drunkenly chucked them at us as we ducked away from the bar and waved to our guests.
“Good night everyone! Thanks for coming!” I called out above the catcalls and whistles.
Bennett pulled me forward, waving over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
“It was so good to see you all!” I yelled, still waving to our family and friends.
He practically dragged me away before lifting me and throwing me over his shoulder. The approval of our guests was communicated with roaring applause and another stack of napkins that caught Bennett in the back of the head.
He carried me all the way to the lobby and then slid me down his body, kissing my neck, my chin, my lips. “Ready?”
I nodded. “So ready.”
But when I turned toward the elevators, he stopped me with a big hand wrapped around my forearm. And then his other hand pulled a blindfold out of his pocket.
“What . . . ?” I asked, a wary smile spreading slowly across my face. “What are you doing with that in the lobby?”
“I’m whisking you off somewhere.”
“But we have a room upstairs,” I whined quietly. “With a big giant bed and several of your ties to get kinky with, and,” I dropped my voice, “the bottle of lube in the drawer.”
