Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

anyone who writes a book deserves a Nobel Prize just for finishing the damn thing. Based on the articles I’ve published in professional journals, I agree with him wholeheartedly. Writing isn’t for the faint of heart.

Deep in thought as I rinse out the thermos, I don’t hear Bram come up behind me, and I let out a startled yelp when he puts his hands on my waist and his lips to my neck. “You scared the devil out of me,” I laugh, leaning into him.

“Umm. I love it when you talk dirty,” Bram murmurs into my neck, in the melodious voice that always makes my knees go weak. I told him once that his voice melted my resolve like the hot wax dripping down a candle.

I turn to slip my arms around him, then peer up into the deep green of his eyes. “I just love it when you talk, period. You could read a phone book to me and it’d sound like the Song of Solomon.”

He raises an eyebrow and grins a wicked grin. “Damn, baby. That might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Then I need to work on my pillow talk,” I say, returning his grin.

“Wanna start now?” He cups my face in his hands for a kiss. When we pull away, he takes my arm to lead me upstairs, but I hold back.

“Let’s wait till we can fall asleep together. That’s my favorite part.”

“If that’s the case, then I need to work on my technique.” We laugh together, and his gaze falls on the thermos I dropped into the sink when he embraced me. “Wish I’d known you were seeing Nellie Bee today. I’ve got some papers to send Charlie.”

“I wasn’t planning on seeing her until later in the week, but she called an emergency sistah meeting.”

“Emergency meeting? What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you open our wine, and I’ll grab the glasses. I’ll tell you while we catch the last of the sun-glow.”

But when we settle into our favorite chairs on the piazza and clink our glasses together, I have second thoughts about sharing Nellie Bee’s concerns. Not only are the treetops gilded in the pinkish-gold glow of the setting sun, so are Bram and I—as well as the porch chairs and hanging plants and even the wineglasses in our hands, and it’s simply too beautiful to spoil. When he prods me about his sister’s so-called emergency meeting, I shake my head and hold up a hand until the glow has faded into twilight, and the cicadas tune up for their nightly concert. As is his habit, Bram likes to have a couple glasses of wine before starting dinner. Because of the mojitos, I can only have half a glass, so I make it last as long as possible while basking in the warm glow of our contentment.

Bram breaks into my reverie. “Okay, Bride of Dracula. What aren’t you telling me?”

That brings on a smile. “You haven’t called me that in a long time.”

“That was our first big fight, best I remember.”

“Oh, yeah, and not long after we married. It was your fault, of course. You snapped at me about something and I snapped back. Somehow we ended up yelling at each other. I said your ancestor Bram Stoker would be proud of you because you suck, too. I thought it very clever of me.”

“Not as clever as me calling you the Bride of Dracula.”

“Was, too.”

“Was not.”

Again, we smile at each other, and I finish off my wine. When he holds up the bottle, I wave him off. Then, abruptly, as if to cover up his concern, he asks, “Is Nellie Bee sick? Or Charlie?”

“Oh, sweetheart—no,” I say, chagrined. “Nothing like that. Nellie Bee’s just worried about . . . ah . . . the special that the network’s doing, and how it’s going to work out.”

Bram rolls his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. It’ll go smooth as clockwork, as Nellie Bee knows full well. She’s been to enough of my shows.”

“Well, she’ll be in this one, which is quite different,” I remind him. I feel guilty putting it that way since that’s not Nellie Bee’s concern, but I’m loathe to bring Jocasta into our lovely evening.

“That’s even more ridiculous. Nellie Bee’s far from camera shy. Matter of fact, she’s as much of a showboat as I am. All she and Charlie have to do is the same as the original special—chat, eat, and have a jolly good time. Or at least, fake having one. I’m sure my big-mouth sister can handle that.”

“I don’t think that’s all she’s concerned about,” I say hesitantly.

Bram rolls his eyes again. “Oh, I know what’s bothering her, and I might’ve known she’d run to you about it. Which really annoys me, I have to say.” He pours himself another glass of wine then slams the bottle down on the glass-topped table between us, causing me to startle. “Nellie Bee needs to chill out, and I plan to tell her so. I don’t want her interfering in our marriage like she did my last one.”

I blink at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Scowling, he turns his head to fix his dark gaze over the lagoon. The water’s so murky that even the lingering pink glow fails to brighten its blackness. Count Dracula’s beast-filled moat, I think, which usually amuses me. Today it feels ominous.

Bram rubs his face wearily. “I’m glad that you and Nellie Bee have bonded, Chris, I really am. At first I was a bit uneasy about the two of you getting so close because I know her so well. Too well. I adore my sister, but she can’t seem to stop meddling in my life. She’s always done it.”

“I don’t see it that way, Bram. She’s overly protective of you, but—”

“Overprotective?” he groans. “C’mon, Chris. I’m almost sixty years old. What the hell does my sister need to protect me from?”

From yourself, I want to say—to shout, even—but don’t. I see where he’s going with this and don’t like it. Taking a deep breath,