First Comes By Karisma Chapter Two Romance, Alt. Rating: PG-13 Karisma456@hotmail.com Standard Disclaimers Apply March 2001 Serena came back from the bar, a drink stiffly held in one hand as she faced him again. "Now I'm going to ask you if you were joking and you're going to answer 'yes', all right?" She paused. "Were you joking?" "No." it was unequivocal. She sighed heavily and drained some of her glass. Looking out into the inky night, she stared at one small star, twinkling imperceptibly in the vast sky. "I really can't understand why you would want us to remain married when we don't even know each other!" He sighed as if informing her of his reasons was a cross to bear. "Have you ever heard of a Dr. Stanhope?" When she shook her head in the negative, he continued. "He's a brilliant neurosurgeon; he's been my mentor all through school. And now I have the chance to do a fellowship with him. He's a conservative, Catholic man who believes very stringently in the sanctity of marriage-his father was a priest-and if this got out now, when I'm being interviewed for the fellowship..." He trailed off and shook his head, as if the consequences were far too great to even ponder. "And if I refuse?" Serena inquired, avoiding his penetrating gaze as she concentrated on the cool night ahead of her. "If I'm not mistaken," he began drolly. "Two million dollars is just what you need to start your own business: Price and Company, I believe you want to name it. You need this money, Miss Price, and I'm more than willing to give it to you." He finished seductively, as if offering a druggie an ounce of cocaine in exchange for the last bills in his pocket. Her back stiffened his delving into her personal life. "How do you-" He quickly answered her question, without waiting for her to finish. "I deemed it only proper to find out something about my wife." He smiled then, a real grin and Serena adamantly ignored how it made his blue eyes crinkle in the corners beautifully. "Stop calling me that!" She snapped petulantly, angry with herself for noticing how attractive he was. After a pause she spoke again, this time her voice calm and controlled. "What else do you know about me?" "Well aside from all those captivating facts your friend told the entire audience, I know you're twenty-seven, a struggling interior designer that made it through college on her own, despite the fact that her father is a multi-" She cut him off, her voice flat. "I don't have a father." He nodded, "Ah, the dis-ownership that had the nation talking. Not many fathers actually disown their daughters. And a multi-millionaire father to boot." "I'd ask you kindly not to refer to Dr. Kenneth Johnson as my father." Her voice was clipped and curt. He nodded. "Duly noted. Your mother was Diana Price she died of malaria in Africa when you were seventeen. Your fiancé is Greg Stevens whom you had known for a period of one year before he popped the question." He shot her a wry smile. "Better put off the wedding, Serena. We wouldn't want you accused of bigamy, now would we?" It was something about his facetious tone that set her off. "Shut up, you-you pagan!" She sputtered, throwing her hands up in the air. "You come into my life for all of fifteen minutes and ruin what I have worked so hard to accomplish!" "It seems to me I'm saving you, Miss Price. I'm giving you the money to start the business you want so badly." She had the sudden urge to kick him. Instead she settled for biting out, "You want me to put my life-my marriage on hold so that you can slice open people's heads with a holier than thou Catholic?" He looked none too pleased with her crude interpretation of his precious fellowship. "I'm not asking you to move in with me and bear my children, Miss Price," he snapped, "I'm just asking that you put a hold on our inevitable divorce." "Did you ever stop and consider that maybe a doctor getting a divorce wouldn't be the greatest scandal?" She said caustically, one golden eyebrow arched in disdain. He looked at her, discerning her nuances methodically. "You don't read the newspapers very often, do you?" He finally assessed, narrowing his eyes. Confused as to what that had to do with anything, Serena remained silent before finally admitting, "No, not often." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Then take my word for it, this would get out in no time and my fellowship with Dr. Stanhope would be as good as gone." He voice was strained and Serena got the distinct feeling that he was pleading with her in his own way. Obviously, he was a man that was unaccustomed to having to ask for anything in his life and needing the cooperation of someone else for a change was alien to him, even if he did have the upper hand by two million dollars. "Well, I guess I don't really have any choice now, do I?" She rolled the glass between her hands, bracing her forearms on the metal railing. She turned, ready to leave. He watched her go, the soft skin of her bare upper back shining in the soft lights of the ballroom. He unwittingly admired the glint of her golden hair in its swept up style as the light caught it. He saw her approach a tall man in a tuxedo and exchange a few words with him. The man kissed her softly on the mouth before leading them both out to the dance floor. As they swayed back and forth, Darien's hand clenched the half full glass she had left behind and tossed down its contents, wondering if she was whispering their entire conversation in her fiancé's ear. Completely against his normal comportment, Darien waited until the slow dance was completed before striding into the room, unaware of the eyes that swung his way as he walked up to the couple. "I do believe you're stealing my paid-for date," he said charmingly, flashing a smile to the man that could only be Greg Stevens. Greg Stevens glanced at the slightly taller man and saw his good-natured grin. Giving one of his own, he led his fiancé straight into the arms of her husband, missing the panicked look she sent him. "How can I ever thank you for taking her off my hands?" He joked. "How about giving me back my thousand grand?" Darien shot back, leading a reluctant Serena back to the dance floor. Greg laughed before making his way to Amy, only to be rebuffed by her. Serena watched the scene over Darien's shoulder and for the millionth time she wondered why her best friend and fiancé couldn't get along. To give Greg credit, he tried. Too many times to count Greg had been openly cordial and sincere, offering Amy compliments and casual conversation. Amy, for some inexplicable reason, had shot him down every time, making some snide comment about his habitual life, which ran like clockwork. When Serena approached her, Amy has insisted it was all in good jest and someone as dull as Greg needed to be provoked. And provoke she did, for every time Amy mocked Greg, he flared to life like Serena had never seen him before. He snapped right back, causing Amy to retaliate and thereby creating a spar that Serena had to inevitably mollify. And then she'd beg Greg to try and be nice to Amy and the whole trying circle would ensue yet again. "Is my shoulder especially fascinating?" Darien's dry wit interrupted her train of thoughts and she immediately remembered how angry she was at him. "I said I agreed, now when are you going to leave?" She hissed, trying unsuccessfully to keep a safe distance in between their bodies. He pulled her toward him and she sighed, resting her hand stiffly on his shoulder. He ignored her scathing remark. "You can't tell Greg or Amy about this." Her body grew taut in his arms and she pushed away from him only to be drawn back in. "I most certainly will tell them both!" She leaned her head far enough to look at him. "Now look, I agreed to stall our divorce, but if you think you can-" He groaned at her obstinate nature. "Fine." Satisfied, she remained silent for the rest of the uncomfortable dance, swaying methodically against his close body. When the song ended, she fixed a bright smile on her face. "Until thirty days from now, Mr. Mathison." "Dr. Mathison," he corrected, smiling at her flushed cheeks and nervous fiddling with the solitaire diamond she wore on a gold chain necklace. "Ah, that's right." She nodded. "Cutting people's heads up, right?" He smiled at her infectious play of words. "Or the more mundane term: neurology." "Potato, Patato," she enunciated, giving a slight shrug of her slim shoulders. She took a further step back from him and he quickly leaned in to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. She jumped back as if she were on fire. "I-uh-well-I," she sputtered before giving up and all but running back to Amy's safe company. He shook his head, smiling ruefully at her naïve mannerisms. He walked through the doors of the ballroom, giving the receptionist a smile as he passed her. As he got into the back of the limo, the door closing after him, he looked at the certificate he had folded into his pocket. He read their names side by side once again, smirking at what God had delivered to him. But it was far from the nightmare he had envisioned. No, in fact, he found himself feeling a twinge of regret that the next time they would see each other would have to be in a month-not to mention in front of lawyers and a judge. **** Serena opened the door to her apartment, shrugging off her blazer while Amy closed the door behind her. "What a night!" She groaned, letting her head roll back against the back of her chintz sofa. She waited for Amy to pour herself a glass of water before starting. "Amy, you remember that night when we went to Las Vegas?" Amy smiled fondly, taking a sip of the sparkling liquid. "You mean when got drunk?" "I did something stupid that night, Ames." She suddenly looked incredibly uneasy. "Yeah, I know." She whispered, looking down into her glass. "No, I mean really stupid." Serena rolled her head to where her friend was standing by the fireplace. "I got married." "I know, Serena." Amy repeated, coming to sit next to her friend on the sofa. "But why are we talking about this now?" Serena sat up ramrod straight, her back painfully tense. "What you mean you know? You knew about all this?" Amy blanched, looking white a sheet. "You didn't?" She whispered. When Serena dumbly shook her head in the negative, Amy gaped. "Serena, I found you in the restroom nearly passed out. You told me you had gotten married and showed me a copy of your certificate. Since you didn't care what your father would think in your-ah, confused state, I ripped up the license and dragged you out of there." She looked at her flabbergasted friend apologetically. "When you didn't say anything the next morning, I thought you didn't want to talk about it. I assumed you got it annulled immediately." "Well, I didn't," She said grimly, "And I met him today." Amy didn't bother to hide her curiosity. "Where?" Her blue eyes widened in understanding, "The rich psycho?" "None other," Serena confirmed. "I am Mrs. Darien Mathison. Or Mrs. Dr. Darien Mathison. Or maybe-" "You married Darien Mathison!" Amy screeched, jumping up. Serena rubbed her eyes, too tired to notice her friend's frenetic movements. "Yes, unfortunately. I can't-Amy what are you doing?" Amy dug through the delivered mail that Serena dumped in her recycling bin. She let out a triumphant grunt when she yanked out the front page to the Times. Smacking the page with the back of her hand, she dumped it unceremoniously onto Serena's lap, looking at her expectantly. Serena scanned the article after her initial shock of seeing a large picture of her husband shaking hands with some bigwig or another wore off. Amazingly enough, Dr. Mathison had contributed to the world of neurology with some profound research as well as some renowned surgeries. He was first in line to be considering for the Stanhope Fellowship and Serena suddenly realized why Darien needed their divorce to be quiet . The article went on to gratuitously call him a genius among other flattering phrases, ending with the label " the most prolific man of the year". Serena lifted her eyes to the byline. Sure enough, it was by a woman. "Well, you certainly know how to pick 'em," Amy said dryly, taking away the gray paper that had fallen from Serena's lifeless hands. "Amy!" Serena moaned. "How could this happen! I just want a normal life-is that too much to ask?" She wrung her hands in frustration. "I have a fiancé! I can't have a husband? And Greg! What will he say?" Amy shrugged. "Maybe he'll do something reckless, like balance his checkbook on a Friday instead of Tuesday." Serena shot her friend a look of reproach. "I just don't understand why you two can't get along." "He's duller than dirt, Serena. Which can be corrected, but you need excitement-spontaneity. You don't need to be in a rut before you're even married, which is now." "We're not in a rut," Serena insisted, jutting out her chin stubbornly. Amy gave her a pointed look. "Every Wednesday night you go to his house and eat dinner. Never Friday, not Monday. Just Wednesday." She shot Serena a disgusted look. "If that isn't a rut, I don't know what is." "Okay, so maybe we don't live life on the edge, but we love each other." Serena yawned tiredly and missed the look of pain that crossed Amy's delicate features. "So what are you going to do?" Amy asked, fixing an overly bright smile on her face that Serena noticed but chose not to comment on. For the next thirty minutes, Serena explained the convoluted situation to her, outlining all the major details and problems with the entire plan. "You want my advice? Stay married to Darien." Amy grinned rakishly, receiving a thrown pillow in her face courtesy of Serena. "But seriously, Serena. After thirty days it will all be over and you will never have to see Darien again. Although he isn't that hard on the eyes." Amy clapped her hand over her mouth, as if she had committed a large faux pas. "Oh, but I shouldn't say such things. He's a married man, after all." Serena couldn't help but laugh as she covered her face with a pillow, enjoying the sound of Amy's laughter ring through the air. "You are awful!" She chided, the stern affect ruined by her peal of laughter. "Hey, I'm not the one with a fiancé and a husband." "Shut up, Ames!" **** Serena pulled a pin from her mouth to shove into a long stream of plastic roses and leaves. The garland was meant to frame the thick burgundy drapes in a banner form and then drip down the sides of the pleated curtains. Unfortunately, the obdurate thing stubbornly refused to stay in place. Growling in disgust, she blew out a wayward strand of blonde hair that strayed away from her high ponytail. She often was hired by the local malls to arrange their furniture and supply of draperies in an appealing way. After the twentieth set, the fun had wore off and Serena was looking forward to getting off the rickety ladder and on to solid ground. Using the last of the pins in her mouth, she patted her jean shorts in search of more. Her back remaining turned to the front desk, she called, "Hey, Raye? Could you bring me up some more gold pins?" When she felt a silent presence behind her, she blindly reached her free hand behind her, the other firmly holding the garland in place. Warm fingers brushed hers to drop a few silvers of metal in her awaiting palm. Jabbing the three pins into the wine colored drapes, she took her hands back tentatively and was overjoyed to see that it remained securely in place. "Ha!" She declared triumphantly, smoothing the sheer white lace curtains that were visible behind the burgundy set. Planting her hand firmly on her jean-clad hips, she surveyed her work with a critical eye, titling her head to the side. Darien watched her from the ground, eye level with her bare ankles, watching at her impeccably white sneakers shift with her imperceptible movements. She looked incredibly young in shorts and a tee shirt, her thick hair brushed into a ponytail. He smiled as she thoughtfully chewed her lower lip, completely oblivious to his watchful presence. "Well, Raye," she finally said. "What do you think?" "Perfect." He declared, smiling as her back stiffened at the complete antithesis of the feminine tone she was expecting. She whirled around hastily, wobbling the ladder beneath her, she wavered about for a split second before Darien's hands were firmly steadying it. She remained motionless for a moment before deciding to endeavor the trip down. "Thank you," she said breathlessly when she was finally on the floor, dusting off her hands. "Any time," he smiled warmly and she became increasingly aware that the heat must have been turned up in the mall because she was suddenly unseasonably warm. She blinked, attempting to focus on the topic at hand. "What brings you here? Besides the virile atmosphere of the place, I mean." She gestured to the floral designs all around her with a wry smile. He gave her a brief smile before clearing his throat. "I want to hire you." How many surprises was this man going to deliver? Was he fixing to kill her of a massive heart attack? "Excuse me?" Serena asked, walking over to a brown box and pulling out two thick golden cords. She brushed out the soft end tassels carefully and tied them artfully to the drawn back burgundy drapery, revealing more of the white curtains beneath it. "I'm hoping to be your first client by hiring you to decorate my house." She carefully noted he said house instead of home in a rather impersonal way. "Seriously?" She grinned, her azure eyes sparking with uncontained excitement. "Very much so." He averred, eying her closely. "I'd love to," Serena burst out, her enthusiasm evident as she handed him a piece of scratch paper to write his address on. "Thank you." Her tone turned teasing. "But don't expect any huge discounts just because you happen to be my husband." He smiled, relieved she could laugh about their unusual situation. "You're taking this rather well," he spoke carefully, treading on sensitive ground. She simply shrugged, her smile never wavering. "It's either laugh about it, or cry. And frankly, I'm too young to have puffy, red eyes so I choose the former." He watched her turn and pick up sporadically tossed ribbons and ropes she had previously discarded. He was reluctantly impressed with the way she handled adversity. His entrance into her life had not been planned, nor had it changed her life for the positive. And yet she still managed to not only be strong and think logically, she allowed herself to joke about their circumstances! "When's a good time for you?" Her voice broke through his thoughts and he flicked his gaze up to find her looking at his musing expression curiously. "I have surgery tomorrow morning, so how about in the afternoon around two?" She nodded, her ponytail bobbing adorably. "All right, I'll come by." She smiled sincerely. "Thank you, Dr. Mathison." "Call me Darien-I think we can be less than formal considering." He accepted her nod with a curt one of his own and turned, striding out of the department with a casual aura of power that exuded confidence. Serena watched him go, a thoughtful smile on her lips. Some part of her told her it was slightly odd they had slipped into such an easy camaraderie. But being angry at each other wouldn't do anything, she finally reasoned, packing up the boxes of unused materials. After all, they both had had no clue what they were doing that night and it wasn't his fault anymore than it was hers. Behind the counter she found a note from Raye saying she had to leave due to a family emergency. She would return quickly and until then could Serena hold down the fort? Unable to wipe the silly smile off her face, Serena hummed while cleaning up. She was still humming twenty minutes later when she walked out of the mall doors, holding a slip of paper tightly in her hand. With a quick glance at the slender watch on her wrist, she realized it was Wednesday and time for her date with Greg. **** "I still can't believe all this," Greg declared, cutting his meat orderly while managing to look as composed as ever. "Not only are you technically married to him, you're also working for him?" Serena nodded, taking a sip of her water. "He just came over and offered me the job." Greg's reaction when she had lost him the night before had been surprised, but other wise completely poised. His tranquil demeanor was something she should have been grateful for, instead she couldn't help but wonder if Amy wasn't wrong-that Greg was incredibly dull. But, no, there were times when he blazed to life, snapping at Amy like nothing she had seen before. But there was no way she was going to insult her fiancé to receive a bit of passion. In any case, jealousy and fury were an emotion she was privately hoping for, something that would shake them up and make them fall in love all over again. Not that Serena could remember falling in love with Greg the first time. They had just seemed right for each other, both hard working and quiet. They shared so much in common it only seemed natural that they wed and live life together. "Well, congratulations on your new job," he announced, holding up his crystal glass in a toast. Serena met in it half-heartedly with her own glass, wondering what was so twisted about her that she actually wanted her fiancé to throw a fit over something that wasn't even that big when one considered it. They ate the remainder of the meal in silence and Serena left shortly after, kissing Greg quickly on the mouth after saying good bye. She drove home in a silence that no music could fill. She thought about her upcoming wedding with a certain degree of forced happiness. But, she reassured herself, the tugging feeling that she was doing something unequivocally wrong was only nervousness that was to be expected when making such a life-altering decision. Satisfied with her justifications, she walked up the steps to her apartment, falling asleep immediately after her orderly nightly ritual. **** Darien expertly opened the package that contained a sponge as he chatted amicably with the doctor next to him. Brushing his fingers and forearms thoroughly with the lathered sponge, he listened to the elderly man digress from the topic at hand and drift off to one about his father. Nodding at all the right places after recognizing the anecdote as one he had heard, his mind wandered to the meeting he had set up with Serena for later that day. He smiled unwittingly at the thought of her delightfully flushed face when he had announced he was giving her her first client. He stared intently at the yellow square sliding back and forth between the webbing of his fingers, pretending to look engrossed in the story that was unfolding concerning how Dr. Stanhope's father had heard a confession admitting to slicing the tires to a car. After some detail, the short narrative ending with Father Stanhope realizing it was his car that the juvenile had cut! Darien successfully hid the smile that tugged his lips when he realized Dr. Stanhope had a knack for using the same sentences verbatim whenever he told any story. With his foot, he pushed down on the pedal that allowed water to come gently from the tap. Allowing the cool liquid to run down his arms, he carefully butted his way into the operating room, allowing the nurse to gown him. With a barely contained sigh, he heard Dr. Stanhope, the brilliant man that he was, commence yet another tale and it was then that Darien realized that this particular surgery lasted five hours. And Dr. Stanhope had many more delightful anecdotes. **** Serena nervously tucked her hair behind her ear and suddenly deciding to pin it back. Fishing a hair tie out of her purse, she quickly raked her head off her forehead and pulled it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She then tugged it loose and redid it, finally settling on leaving it out. Groaning at her fidgeting, she shook her head quickly, telling herself that this was Darien-a man she was surprisingly comfortable around. There was absolutely no need to be edgy. Even though this was her first real job. She rang the doorbell before she could lose her nerve and walk straight back to her car. He answered immediately as if he had been waiting by the door. Serena blinked, surprised by his rapidness. "Hi." She smiled weakly, crossing the threshold with sweaty palms that she clipped to her purse strap. He greeted her as well and they remained in silence, Darien looking perfectly calm while Serena wanted to run out the now closed door. "So how was the surgery?" She asked, hoping her voice didn't sound nearly as squeaky to him as it did to her. "Fine." He shrugged, walking through the spacious, yet bare, living room and entering the kitchen, Serena in tow. "Can I get you something to drink?" "No, thank you," she answered cordially, surveying the incredibly large house. "You live here all alone?" "No, I have another wife locked up in a closet somewhere." She swiveled her head quickly, her hair fanning out over her shoulders. It wasn't until she saw his smile that she realized he had been teasing. Offering a slight smile at his quip, she ventured off on her own, eyeing the high ceilings and large bay windows of the living room. "Why don't you have any furniture?" She blurted out and immediately her cheeks flamed at the ineloquent inquiry. Darien didn't seem to mind. "Isn't that your job?" "Well, I assumed you mean redecorate." Serena mumbled, running a hand along the wooden mantle above the fireplace. "I just bought this house." "Oh," she said superfluously. She then suddenly realized how utterly daft and inexperienced she must seem to him. Abruptly changing her tone to one of business, she tapped her shoe on the beige carpet. "You'll definitely want an uncarpeted the floor. Then once they are buffed, the bay windows will reflect nicely off them." Moving past him to the two short steps that led to the Spanish style kitchen, she waited for him to join her before talking again. "You'll want to get dark tiles, preferably navy. And I'd go with white, sheer curtains for the breakfast nook, but thick crème draperies for the dining room." She strode out of that room, Darien close at her heels. She stopped suddenly in the hallway. Turning to him sheepishly, she grinned. "Exactly how much of this house do you want decorated by me?" He frowned as if it was obvious. "The entire thing." "How many bathrooms do you have?" "Three." "Bedrooms?" "Five." "And you want to decorate all those when you're living alone?" She gaped at him, wondering why anyone would purchase a house they would only use a fraction of. "I do occasionally have guests over, Serena." He smiled at her gently and she suddenly felt very gauche and dimwitted . "What kind of style do you want for them?" He shrugged, "I trust you." He led her to a large bathroom made for two people. The his and her sinks were chrome and set in a gray and white swirl of marble countertops. There was a large tub directly opposite the wall with a separate shower in a glass rectangle beside it. Serena saw her surroundings with an impressed eye and turned around to leave, running smack into Darien's chest. He reached out his hands to steady her and gazed down at her with an amused expression. "Thanks." She blushed and stepped out of his embrace. Gesturing behind her, she forced her voice to be bland, "All you'll need for this room is some window coverings for the window." There was a large window right next to the tub with distorted glass that was textured and bumpy to the touch. "And you'll want to coordinate the towels to match the linens of whatever bedroom this goes with." She exited the room, brushing past Darien's body when he gave no sign of moving. They visited the master bedroom, Darien's, next. After surveying the entire house, Serena was thoroughly excited about the new project she had on her hands. When the tour came to an end, and she was back near the front door that she came in, she looked up at him, beaming. "Now should I just go ahead and do it, or would you like step by step procedures that we can do together so you can pick out swatches and such?" Darien had no such interest in anything of the sort. Swatches and linens and patterns and colors held no interest to him. But she somehow did. "I'd like to do it together." She nodded, oblivious to the intent look he was giving her. "All right, I'll bring over some books the next time I come over." "And when will that be?" "Whenever it is convenient for you." She remembered something. "Except Wednesdays. Greg and I have plans on Wednesdays." He cocked a sardonic brow at her. "Every Wednesday?" Something about his tone reminded her of how Amy had admonished her for being in a rut with Greg before they were even married. "Every Wednesday." She confirmed. He gave her a strange look that let her know exactly how ludicrous it was to have a fixed date day. She chose to ignore it. "Good-bye, Darien," she said pleasantly before turning and walking to her car. Darien watched her leave, his gaze intently on her as she unlocked her car door, tilting her head sideways so the wind wouldn't blow her shoulder length hair in her face. He softly closed the door when she had driven out of sight, the clicking sound echoing in the vast, empty house.