Baking and Babies (Chocoholics #3)(16)

He starts pacing nervously behind me and I ignore him, strapping on the set of balls I’m going to need to make it through this without killing my sister.

“Marco, what’s the going rate for a convection rack oven?” I ask, talk of anything that involves baking taking his mind off of his impending doom.

He stops pacing and comes to stand next to me, looking down at me while he contemplates my question as Charlotte looks back and forth between us in confusion.

“For a good rack oven? I’d say around three grand, give or take,” he tells me as I look back at Charlotte and put my hands on my hips.

“All the baking utensils at the shower, the KitchenAid mixer, ten percent of your wedding profits, AND a three thousand dollar bonus that you will hand over before you leave here tonight,” I demand.

Marco whistles and Charlotte’s narrows her eyes at me.

“Three thousand? Are you kidding me? Where in the hell am I supposed to get three thousand dollars TODAY?” Charlotte asks in irritation.

“Hey, Marco, how much do you think an ice sculpture of a heart with two doves kissing on top of it costs?” I ask casually.

Charlotte gasps and her hand flies up to her chest. “You wouldn’t?!”

I’ve heard Charlotte and my mom talking about that stupid ice sculpture for months and how proud Charlotte was that she saved the money herself so our parents would have one less thing to pay for.

“Would you rather have a block of ice at your reception that people are going to dare each other to lick all night long after they start drinking, or a reception that actually has a groom in attendance who didn’t freak out about being a father and head for the hills?” I demand.

“What kind of wedding receptions have you been attending lately?” Marco asks in wonder.

Charlotte stomps her foot and crosses her arms in front of her with an angry huff. “FINE! I’ll write you a check later. But I don’t want to hear one complaint out of you for the next four weeks.”

I make a crisscross over my heart with my finger and then hold my hand up. “Cross my heart. I’ll be a better fake pregnant girl than a slutty college co-ed trying to trap her boyfriend into not breaking up with her.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes, turns and stomps back into the chaos of the living room.

“If this works and we both make it out alive in a month, you can have all that extra stuff she promised me. It’s the least you deserve for not running right back out the door as soon as we got in here,” I tell Marco as he tries to grab my hand, but I quickly jerk it away and roll my eyes at him as we head towards the shouting. “I was going to use the extra money to get an apartment, but I don’t care about ever moving out of this house as long as I have that rack oven.”

Marco laughs as we pause in the doorway of the living room and takes in the scene in front of us. My mom and Aunt Claire are over by the couch trading punches to the stomach, Uncle Drew is sitting on the couch staring at them with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, Aunt Jenny is sitting on the arm of the couch filing her nails, and Uncle Carter is pacing in front of the fireplace. I find my dad sitting in a chair next to the fireplace, holding his hand out in front of him and admiring the brass knuckle coffee mug hanging from his fingers that says “Thug Mug” on it.

“If I’m still breathing in the next twenty minutes, you can keep it all,” Marco whispers, finally responding to my offer of letting him have everything I’d negotiated from Charlotte. “The only thing I want in return is a promise that whatever happens at the end of these four weeks, you’ll keep an open mind no matter what I say to you.”

His words confuse me, but I’m so happy and shocked he still wants to go through with this that nothing else matters right now.

“I’d also like for you to remember at the end of these four weeks how brave it was of me to take a bullet for you and your unborn fake baby,” he finishes, flashing me that damn dimpled smile that turns me into an idiot.

Instead of blushing and giggling, I go with the snark that makes me comfortable.

“No one is going to shoot you,” I whisper back to him with another roll of my eyes.

“Fine, maybe I won’t be taking a bullet tonight,” he concedes, “but I’m pretty sure your dad plans on shoving that Thug Mug into my skull, and I can guarantee you it’s not going to be pleasant.”

I glare at Marco and his dramatics, refusing to let him know that everything he says just makes him look even more adorable and sweet in my eyes. I take another glance around the room, realizing we still haven’t been spotted in the doorway when Gavin suddenly jumps out from the other side of the wall where he must’ve been lurking. A flash of panic rushes through me, wondering if he overheard Marco’s comment about my unborn fake baby, but it’s pretty clear Gavin is still in the dark as soon as he opens his mouth.

“So, this is the guy,” Gavin states loudly, punching his fist repeatedly into his opposite palm as he tries to look intimidating.

His voice causes every head in the room to jerk in our direction, including my mother’s, which unfortunately happens at the exact moment whens Aunt Claire pulls her arm back and slams her fist into mom’s stomach.

“Wow! That was a nice roundhouse punch, Mrs. Gilmore!” Marco shouts happily across the room as my mother clutches her waist and drops to her knees.