10 - In the Interest...

“You tired?”

Cassidy smiled up at the man whose hand slipped into hers the minute everyone else everyone else vacated the elevator.  Apparently, their room was on a higher floor.  Perks of being the boss, she supposed and leaned lightly against him.

“I’m still a little wired from the party plane.  Y’all play drinkin’ games every night?”

“Nah.  Commutes like that are usually pretty quiet because we’re all either reading or wearing headphones.  The party was for your benefit.”

“Well, it was very sweet.  Kinda sad we drank all the good whiskey, though.”

Jon’s palm pressed against hers as he chuckled, “Liked that, did you?”

“I would’ve bet good money that whiskey was whiskey and that price tags were for suckers.  Guess you rich folk showed me.”  A discreet chime indicated that they’d arrived at the correct floor, and Cassidy hitched her purse on her shoulder to shadow him out of the elevator car.  “But it still feels funny not carryin’ my own bag.”

“Stop worrying.  My tour director has some kinda voodoo that gets the luggage to the room before I do.”

“How is that possible?  It was still sittin’ in the van when we got on the elevator.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” he blandly stated, dropping her hand to insert the key card.  “All I know is that it happens, and I pay him well for it.”

When he laid a palm against the solid wood and pushed it back for her to enter, it wasn’t only their bags that Cassidy saw waiting.

The suite was illuminated with the warm glow of candlelight.  On every available surface, there were clusters of candles whose flames leapt in the draft of hallway air.  The desk, coffee table, end tables, mantle and bar all were covered with fat pillars.  Their soft shine was reflected in crystal-cut vases overflowing with roses whose ivory petals were tipped in blush pink. 

“You gonna go in?” Jon prompted softly from beside her – still in the hallway. 

Tearing her eyes away from the scene set to romance and woo a woman, she met his watchful gaze.  “What is this, Jon?”

“An apology.”

An apology.  

The two words had Cassidy’s stomach knotting with dread. 

As requested, she’d let the subject of the photograph drop until they arrived in St. Louis.  Had pretended it didn’t exist, for that matter, because she didn’t want to be a party pooper.  She’d reveled in the attention and pride of Jon and his friends, choosing to deny that the catty woman from the audience was right – that mistresses should expect to be cheated upon.

She'd deliberately chosen to be naïve, but that option was no longer a viable one.  It was time to face reality.

“Must be a doozy of a story behind that picture,” she ventured.

“Yeah.”

The pain caught her by surprise and brought with a sharp breath wrapped in barbed wire.    

Welcome to the other side of the story, Glory Star. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Dix.”

Cassidy hitched her chin up a couple of inches, proud that there wasn’t a waver – or any other sign of emotion – when asking, “Like what?”

“Like I’m about to break your heart.”

“Aren’t you, though?” she inquired with forced cordiality while drawing away from the fingertips that lifted to touch her cheek. 

He let his hand drop, but for once, Jon’s eyes didn’t follow suit.  They darkened to a somber tint while holding hers, steady and sure.  “No.  But you could break mine.”

One blink.  Two blinks.  Even after a third, Cassidy didn’t know what to think or say in response to the notion that he might be the victim here.  That was so incomprehensible that all she could do was step across the threshold and wait for him to follow. 

The heavy door clicked shut as she hung her purse and jacket on the back of a dining chair.  She couldn't quite bring herself to face him, so she stayed there, letting the leather warm her frozen palms.  Shadow and candlelight fought for custody of a perfectly bloomed rose, but she stared without appreciating the beauty. 

“I was so fucking proud of you tonight.”  His voice wasn’t loud, but Jon was standing so close behind her that it felt as though he shouted the muted praise.  “We already knew you sound fantastic, but I didn't realize how comfortable you'd be up there.  Perfectly at ease, like you were entertaining that crowd in your living room.  They were captivated... and so was I.”

She couldn’t do this.  She couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t an elephant standing in the three inches that separated his chest from her shoulder blades.  As much as she wanted his review and critique, it took a back seat to their relationship.

“Who is she, Jon?”  Behind her, the air shifted as he took a breath to answer, but Cassidy threw up a halting hand at the last second.  “Never mind.  I don’t even care who she is.  What was she doing at my house?”

There was a rustle of fabric accompanied by a whiff of leather as he hung his jacket on the chair next to hers. “Come sit on the couch with me.”

“No.  You can tell me here as easy as there.”

“Could you at least turn around and look at me?”

Twice in the space of fifteen minutes, he’d purposely sought her eyes.  This, from the man who normally didn’t look anywhere in her general direction when spilling his guts.  That either meant he was about to lie to her face – or he was dead damn serious.

She spun on her ruby heel peering sternly up at him.  “If you lie to me, I will walk out that door and never come back.  You understand that?”

“No lies.  Ever,” he vowed, taking the dead damn serious route and gingerly folding her fingers inside his.  “Her name is Tamara, and she made these.”

Cassidy didn’t need to look at the lifted wrists to know Jon referred to her ever-present bracelets, made from one of his belts.  They were the only jewelry she wore besides earrings – and none of that was relevant to her question.

“I asked why she was at my house.”

His mouth pinched tight for a split second before saying, “Last time I was in Nashville, I commissioned her to do another piece of jewelry for Valentine’s Day.  It was ready a couple weeks ago, but I didn’t get the chance to pick it up until Friday.”

“I guess that’s your way of sayin’ you got me a bauble, but you’re still not answerin’ the question.”

“Give me a damn minute, would you?”

The request wasn’t coated in annoyance or delivered with a raised voice, so Cassidy nodded her concession.  “Since you asked nicely.”

A smirk flirted with the corners of his mouth, but he refrained from sharing the source of his amusement and renewed Cassidy's opinion from the previous night.  He was not a dumb man. 

“Your ‘bauble’, as you call it, was why I didn’t want you in the wardrobe drawer earlier.”

Having that explained was nice but unnecessary at this juncture.  He needed to get on with it already.  “Minute’s about up, darlin’.”

The smirk flattened, but he picked up the pace rather than quarreling.

“While I was at the shop, Tamara sold me on the idea of another commission.  I was expecting to get it next time I was in town, but she busted her ass to finish the next day.  Rather than asking me to come and get it, she and her husband delivered it to your house.  That picture was my gratitude for artistry that I hope like hell you'll love.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh’.” He arched a judgmental eyebrow.  “I didn’t expect you to be the jealous type, Dix.”

“And I didn’t expect you to have strange women at my house,” she countered without remorse, because that was the real issue.  The jealousy thing was just an anomaly brought on by Libby and that damn catty concert woman.  The sanctity of her home was non-negotiable.  “Remember my refusal to go to New Jersey because I didn’t want to disrespect Dorothea's home?  Well, I’m not gonna tolerate someone doin’ it to me, either.  I can forgive a lot of things, but sullyin’ my house isn’t one of ‘em.”

“Funny, I remember you encouraging me to sully quite a few places in that house.”

She scrunched her nose up at the lazy mockery.  “You know what I mean, Jon.  That’s a hard line you better never cross.  Understood?”

“Yeah,” he agreed a little too slowly for her liking before tipping his head to thoughtful angle.  One shadowed blue eye squinted as he took a slow half-step back. “But in the interest of there bein’ no misunderstanding….”

One hand dipped into his front pocket and took out a gray velveteen pouch no bigger than an a pair of postage stamps.  Deftly untying the knot, he stretched the opening and dumped the contents into his opposite hand. 

As diligently as Cassidy followed his movement, she couldn’t catch sight of what she presumed was her bauble. 

“Eyes up here.” 

Meeting his unwavering gaze for the third time since arriving in St. Louis, she found herself facing another round of “dead damn serious”.  This time, however, it was tempered by a glimmer of something softer.  Something that looked a whole lot like uncertainty. 

“Glory Star Cassidy.  Cassidy Starr.  Dixie Queen.”

The hair on her arms stood up straight.

No one ever used all her aliases in a single sentence.  For that matter, no one had ever used all her aliases, period.

Pay attention, you ninny!

“My sweet Dixie, I was a dead man when I found you.  Hollow and unfeeling, gutted of anything that constituted living.  The only thing I did was breathe because I didn’t have enough sense to stop.  Then I breathed in you.”

“Don’t you dare make my cry, Jon Bon Jovi,” she warned even as her misty vision turned his smile softer than she’d ever seen it.

“You were the air that I'd been missing," he insisted as the first tear fell.  "The happiness in your soul touched the blackest spot in mine, smudging away the darkness for light.  You healed the cancer that had eaten all the best parts of me and filled the empty holes with yourself.  Your smile, understanding and love made me not only whole again but better.  They're part of me now, and if you take them away...  Dammit Dix, I don't wanna die again.”

Another salty droplet skated down her cheek, quickly followed by two more.

Where was the brevity that she'd come to think of as his trademark?  Who was the man verbosely pouring out his heart?  And why in Heaven's name was he making her cry?

So you understand that his title - husband, lover or boyfriend - doesn't change what you have.  You have him.  That's all that matters.  It's all you need.

Jon blew out a concentrated breath, laughing without humor.

“I have no fucking idea why you should agree, other than I want you to.  But in the interest of there being no misunderstanding... you’re the only woman I want to sully ever again, Cassidy.” 

He lifted his hand and, tucked between the thumb and forefinger, was a diamond ring that blazed in the candlelight.

“Will you marry me?”