“Fun?” I search her precious, perfect, avoidant expression. “Fun how?”
“Fun odd. Fun…inconvenient. Fun,fun?”
“No. I don’t think I know that at all. You have never been inconvenient a day in your life.”
“Ha ha ha,” she drones, the sound robotic. “Right. I forgot. You’re delusional. I’d assume infatuation, but…this has been an affliction of yours for four long years.”
Four, long,beautifulyears.
She exhales again, shaking a little as she does. “My, um, parents just drove up.”
My brows shoot skyward, and I turn to find an unknown vehicle sitting in the visible part of my driveway, right nearMirabelle’s car. “Oh.” Well. Look at that. A man and a woman resembling my Mirabelle exit the car.
Fragile, she says, “They told me yesterday I had aweekto introduce them. It hasnotbeen a week. I don’t even know how they made it past the gate or your security.”
I’m assuming that woman said,I’m Mirabelle’s mother, to my security, and my security looked into her very familiar blue eyes and said,Yes, you sure are, come right in.
“Why are they like this?” Mirabelle asks. “Why amIlike this? Ofcoursethey’re going to go and do somethingstupid. It’s what I would do!”
“Precious, it’s fine.”
Her eyes finally slash to mine. “It isnotfine. You’re about to meetmy parents!”
“It’sveryfine. I’m about to meetmyparents. And have a very, very good distraction from how badly I want to kiss you senseless right now.” Lifting my hand, I touch her bottom lip. “Besides. It’s a big house. Four people decorating is a good thing.”
Her pretty little mouth falls open against my thumb. “You’re immediately recruiting my parents forlabor?”
“Yep.” I scan my future wife’s pretty apron. “To be fair, though, all my very best relationships start with a work agreement.”
The doorbell rings.
Mirabelle whimpers.
It takes everything in me to control myself and navigate the field of flowers in my foyer, but by some miracle, I manage not to kiss Mirabelle, even when—once I reach the door—I have to slip the most beautiful woman in the world down every inch of my body to plant her feet on the floor.
Looking up at me with pleading in her eyes, she whimpers again.
“What?” I ask as I reach for the handle.
Face burning, she shakes her head andholdsme. Arms around my waist, she stays tucked against my side as I open the door for her parents, and let our future begin.
Epilogue
?
Honestly, I love my husband.
Mirabelle
Six months later, wedding reception
Where do you see yourself in five years?
I’ve always hated that question. It’s stupid. It’s wishful. It involves planning in an uncertain, uncontrollable world. It invites disappointment. And, furthermore, it’s just plain annoying.
To say I was starkly unprepared to receive it at my wedding is an understatement, and if I’m being honest—which I usually am—I believe it’s coming from the very man who has been making a living off selling lies and candid photos of Damion and me this whole time.
That is to say, I did not invite him, and I doubt Fawn did, given that she’s been very busy battling Damion’s best man to the death any chance she gets.
