“Yup.”
Well, fuck me. My phone rings and I step back further, still watching her, searching my brain for anything that I may have done. Was it our time at the venue? Were my little jokes not funny? She was fine when I dropped her at the flower shop.
“Hello? Yes, speaking. Oh, hey.” I listen. “Really?” I ask with a slight disbelief tone. Chess turns to me with a question in her eyes. I nod to her, a slight grin forming.
My eyebrows raise. “She said that?” Our eyes connect and now she’s just glaring back at me.
“Nope, you’re fine. I’ll work it out, it’s all good. Sorry about that, yup thanks for the call, ok bye.”
Tread carefully, Jackson.
I place my phone on the island, then plant both hands on it, flexing slightly, trying to draw her out of her mood. But all Chess does is watch my every move with a rancid look on her face.
“Do you need a good dicking down tonight, baby girl?”
She crosses her arms facing off with me, not a blink or even a blush at my words. “Next question,” she snipes out.
Oh, this is bad. I mimic her pose, crossing my arms.
“Let me rephrase.” I scrub my face with one hand, then cross it again. “Francesca Casanova, did you threaten our wedding DJ?”
“No,” she clips out. Jesus, these one- and two-word answers are killing me.
“No?” I ask in disbelief. “So, you didn’t tell the DJ that if he played the YMCA song you would kick him in the balls and then rip up his check?”
She holds my gaze, giving me nothing to work with but a daring stare. I go to move around the island, but she walks in the opposite direction.
“Francesca.” I say her name with authority, but it doesn’t faze her. I change direction and so does she. “You can’t run from me. In fact, you promised you wouldn’t. That ring solidifies it.” I nod at her hand with a smug grin on my face.
Charm her to death, Gage.
I quickly fake back to the left and catch her trying to get out of the room.
“Come on. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She finally relents, sagging into my arms that are wrapped around her back, holding us front to front. “It’s just a lot. There’s a lot to get done and he was pushing for a song list and when I said I didn’t have it finalized, he started naming basic, corny songs and I lost it.” She shrugs and plays with the collar of my shirt.
I chuckle and squeeze her tighter ignoring the murderous look in her eyes.
“Listen, why don’t you let me hire a wedding planner to finish this up. I don’t want you so stressed out that you don’t enjoy it, and then make everyone else around you miserable, too.”
“No! Not another NDA! And not another chance for someone to blab. This day has to beperfect for us.”
There it is. Perfection. That is her number one concern about everything right now and if that’s what she’s expecting, it’s not going to make getting to our day any easier.
“Baby I don’t care about the NDA’s anymore. Fuck, if they want to spend the next week sitting outside the house trying to catch every glimpse of us that they can, let them do it. If they want to spend money on helicopters to hover over the ceremony, whatever. It’s their dime.”
“No, Jack—"
“Listen to me. I only want you. I don’t care if we get married in this kitchen, me in jeans and you in my jersey.” I wink at her, running my hands over her ass, “ONLY my jersey. I love you and want you to be my wife. I don’t care how we get there.”
She’s quiet for a moment, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. “The girls called me breezy.”
When I frown in misunderstanding, she says, “You know, like Bridezilla! But with a gangsta twist, your sister thinks she’s the missing member of the Wu Tang Clan,” she finishes, rolling her eyes at my sisters’ nonsense.
I bark out a laugh and she hits my chest. I cover her hand and speak softly. She’s like a deer in headlights right now.
Approach with caution.
