“You were supposed to!” Claudette yelled back, then immediately returned to grilling me. “So. Wedding. When? Where? What are we thinking?”
“We haven’t really?—”
“I’m your maid of honor, obviously. We need to start planning immediately. Colors, venue, flowers?—”
“Claudette—”
“I have binders.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’ve been preparing for this since college.” She said and I laughed.
“Remember when I said I’d be your maid of honor someday and Jack’s best man and I’d wear half a suit and half a dress just to make a point?”
“Oh my God, I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t. I have sketches.” She was completely serious. She grabbed my hand again, staring at the ring. “I’m just so happy for you. Both of you. You’re perfect together. You always have been.”
My throat went tight. “Yeah. We are.”
Dinner was loud and chaotic and exactly what I needed. Jack and Michael argued about sports and business.
After dinner, while Michael and Claudette did dishes—Michael washing, Claudette drying and critiquing his technique—Jack and I stood on the back patio looking at the city lights.
“Claudie’s going to take over the entire wedding,” I said.
“She absolutely is.” His arm came around my waist, pulled me against his side. “You okay with that?”
“Honestly? Yeah. She’s going to make it beautiful.”
“She’s going to make it very huge.”
“You’re a billionaire. You can handle it.”
“Fair point.” He turned me to face him, both hands on my hips now. He kissed me—soft, sweet, completely inappropriate for someone’s back patio.
I stole a quick kiss, and through the window I could hear Claudette and Michael laughing about something.
“Let’s go home,” I said against his mouth.
“Yeah?” His voice had gone lower, rougher. “You have plans?”
“Several. None of them involve clothes.”
“Best idea you’ve had all day.”
We said goodbye to Claudette and Michael—Claudette making me promise to look at venue options she was going to email me, Michael shaking his head like he’d given up trying to control his wife’s enthusiasm—and drove home with Jack’s hand on my thigh the entire way.
When we got home, Meatball greeted us like we’d been gone for years instead of hours, and Jack kissed me against the front door until I forgot how to form coherent sentences.
Later, in bed, with Meatball sprawled across the foot and Jack’s arm around my waist, I stared at my would-be husband. My heart was overflowing with happiness I didn’t know was possible.
I turned in his arms, found his mouth in the dark. “I love you too.” I whispered it fiercely.
Jack’s breath caught. His whole body tensed, and when I pulled back enough to see his face, his eyes were bright—wet and stunned and so full of emotion it made my chest hurt.
“Say that again.” His voice was thick with emotion.
