She falls asleep quickly, curled up like a cat. I stay up watching her, this soft, sweet woman who's invaded my space and somehow made it better. My phone buzzes.
Marshall: How's wedding prep going with candy girl?
She's on my couch. Snowstorm coming, told her to stay.
Sure that's why. ?? Twenty bucks says you keep her after Saturday.
I look at Bunny, soft and trusting on my couch, pink cheeks and chocolate-scented hair.
I type:Make it fifty.
four
Bunny
Patricialookslikeawedding magazine threw up on her—perfect dress, perfect hair, perfect smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Bunny! And this must be John!" She air-kisses my cheeks, eyes already dissecting him. "Aren't you... rustic."
John's wearing a dark suit that makes him look like a sexy hitman. The tie I picked out, pink, to match my dress, is the only soft thing about him.
"Patricia," he says flatly. Not congratulations. Not nice to meet you. Just her name like a military report.
"Well!" She laughs nervously. "Bunny said you were... intense."
John puts his hand on my lower back, protective and possessive. His hand spans so much of me, reminds me of when he lifted me like I weighed nothing. "We should find our seats."
"Oh, but I have questions! Bunny's been so secretive about you two!”
“Has she?" His thumb strokes my spine through the pink fabric. I nearly moan.
"Just a few quick ones! How did you meet?”
“Her shop. Buying candy for my niece." His answers are clipped, efficient.
"And you fell for our little Bunny?" She says it like she can't believe anyone would. "I mean, I’d guess she's not exactly your usual type, is she?"
The implication is clear—what's a man like him doing with a fat girl like me?
John's hand tightens. "You're right. She's not my type. My type used to be shallow. Complicated. Difficult." He looks down at me, and something in his eyes makes my stomach flip. "Bunny's soft. Sweet. Genuine. She was wearing reindeer antlers that lit up, singing off-key Christmas carols while covered in frosting. Never seen anything more beautiful."
I stop breathing. Patricia stops talking. That's not what we rehearsed.
"Well," Patricia finally manages. "That's... sweet."
The ceremony is beautiful. My brother looks happy. I cry. John hands me his handkerchief without looking, like he knew I'd need it.
"No crying, Little Bunny," he murmurs. "You'll ruin your pretty makeup."
God, why is that hot?Why does him calling me pretty in that gruff voice make me want to climb him like a tree?
The reception is where things go sideways.
Patricia corners us during cocktails. "So! Two months! Getting serious?”
“Yes," John says before I can answer.
"Meeting families? Discussing futures?”
