“That was perfect,” Nettie snickered. “I hope your cameras got that on video.”
“They did,” I sighed. “Do you really want to get married next Tuesday?”
She batted her eyes at me. “Maybe a couple more weeks. I would like to find a dress. But I’m perfectly serious about a courthouse wedding. Can’t have your baby being illegitimate, now can we?”
I winked at her.
“Though, maybe we’ll keep the Wheeler name.”
“You hate your name,” I pointed out. “You can’t wait to get rid of it.”
“You’re right.” She sighed. “Windsor it is.” She paused. “Do you think there’s a way to strip a person of her name? I hate the thought of sharing one with that woman.”
That woman was still screeching so loud she could be heard fifteen feet away through the closed door of an SUV.
Black came back and switched my Crocs out with his boots.
He reached for the beer and chugged it.
“Long fuckin’ night,” he grumbled. “I’ll book her for everything I can think of.”
“Thanks, man.” I held out my hand.
He took it and then handed me the empty beer bottle to keep the mud from trailing back inside the house.
“The FBI agent is at the station,” he said. “She’s something.”
“Something good, or something bad?” I asked.
Black shook his head. “Fuckin’ something.”
Eight hours later, I caught my wife-to-be cackling at the kitchen table, her hand between her legs and her legs crossed as she tried not to pee herself.
She was…beautiful.
Her champagne-colored eyes were sparkling. Her porcelain-white skin had round circles of color high on her cheekbones. Her brown curly hair was bouncing around her face as she giggled.
I hoped our little girl looked exactly like her.
Though, a little girl with her mother’s porcelain-white skin and my black hair would look striking.
“What is your problem?” I smiled, loving seeing her like this.
She pointed at the tablet that rested on the kitchen counter.
I walked over and took a look.
My mother’s mugshot was on the front page of the paper. Digital paper it may be, but there was no doubt in my mind that everyone would know about this in town.
“Oh, god.” She wheezed. “This is the best thing ever! I found myself tagged in it! By Reyelle’s coffee shop page!”
The mugshot wasn’t the prettiest, that was for sure.
My mother’s overfilled lips were pursed. Her eyes had bags underneath them. You could see every wrinkle around her mouth and eyes, as if her Botox had worn off.
She would hate this photo.
She did everything in her power to appear young, and this photo showed her as anything but.
