“Put your back into it,” Crimson grumbles. “I don’t need any snide remarks from the assembled guests.”
“Like they’d dare.” I walk over and shoo Marigold to the side.
I’m not one to take my life into my hand over nothing, but the girl has a point. My bride-to-be isn’t large by any means, but the stays have more work on their hands than usual. I cock an eyebrow at her in the mirror, undecided if this is one of those things I’m meant to bring up or not.
“Don’t you dare jinx me,” she warns, and I wisely refrain from saying a word.
“You look just as gorgeous as ever,” I say, planting a kiss on her bare shoulder. It’s lovely that her creamy skin is exposed for my touch, but I frown at the amount on display. “Perhaps you should wear a shawl?”
“No one’s going to ogle me at our wedding,” she says, shaking her head.
Has she not met men before? “They will.”
“With a big strapping lad like you standing guard? I don’t think so.”
The words might be meant to reassure me, but I have a sudden rush of possessiveness so strong I want to call off the elaborate reception and just usher the celebrant and two witnesses into the room.
Of course, as Crimson is so fond of reminding me, we tried it my way once before and it didn’t work out so well. Now, I’m obliged to do it her way or ‘the normal way’ as she keeps insisting.
With her dress fixed the way she wants it, Crimson stands and peers closely at her makeup in the mirror. She pulls out a tube of lipstick to do touch-ups and, seizing the moment, I plant a kiss on her since it won’t take any extra work to fix up.
I expect a scolding but she returns it wholeheartedly, her hands linking behind my back to pull me tight against her. I try to smooth her hair, but she ducks down low, evading my attempts.
“You can’t,” she says, catching hold of my hand so I stop trying. “The makeup I can fix myself but if you make me call back that dreadful hairdresser, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I like it down.”
“Yes, which is why I wear it like that most of the time. But do you know what I like?”
“Me to shut up and back off?”
Her smile is so beautiful that I wish I had a camera at the ready. “That, too.” She moves closer and this time she’s the one to kiss me, using her thumb to clean the vestiges of lipstick from my mouth when she finally pulls away. “Now, that’s your lot. Go back to entertaining your family and being the charming man I know you can be when you put your mind to it.”
She bends to examine her makeup and I clasp my hands over her abdomen, rubbing her belly and trying to work out if it’s a little larger. The thought of her carrying my child makes my heart so full that my shirt feels a size tighter.
“That’s known as wishful thinking,” she says, catching my eyes in the mirror. “And it’s my boobs that’ve grown bigger in case you didn’t catch it.”
“Doesn’t that make it—”
“Nope.” She spins and plants a hand over my mouth. “Not now. Not today. Tomorrow when you’re whisking me away to a tropical beach you can speculate on whatever you like but today, we’re just getting through this wretched ceremony and entertaining all our friends and family and making it through the celebration—”
“It’s still not too late to elope.” All I need is her. The pageantry is irrelevant except for how happy it makes Crimson.
She bites on her bottom lip, her eyes resting on the floor. Then she shakes herself. “It’s far too late and if you’re so intent on tempting me, then please make your next offer food. I’m starving.”
My eyes move to her belly again, then jerk away as she snaps her fingers. “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
Her eyes relax into crinkles, and she wipes away the lipstick smudges again, even though my lips are no longer stained. Her gaze lingers on my mouth. Then she shakes herself and turns away. “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“The drama. That’s what we’re meant to be forgetting. All the drama.”
I have to tear my eyes away and leave the room, otherwise I’ll be caught in her spell for another half hour.
In the main room, I accept handshakes and well wishes from a dozen different people before I make it across to my dad. Despite all my expectations, he’s still off the booze. Azalea swears he’s given away the cards as well and Johnson—the man whose team is caretaking his old patch—has been pleased enough to keep him as part of the crew.
It still feels recent enough for me to be cautious, but it appears that by signing away the business, Thaddius shed all his bad habits. I wonder if, when it comes time to do the same, I’ll make as good a job.
“Nervous?”
