One Funeral (No Weddings #2)(48)

Over Candie’s head, he mouthed, “Burlap, baby.” He smirked.

Candie took a seat on a gilded throne off to the side and a few feet forward of her casket cake. The taffeta brigade and penguin posse took smaller seats that flanked her on either side. Was this supposed to be a funeral? It felt like a comedic roast.

An older priest stepped forward, looking extremely uncomfortable, nervous eyes shifting back and forth across the room of guests. I bet he was hoping God had something better to do than pay attention to Candie’s irreverence. After he stood at the podium, he glanced back one more time at Candie, a pleading look on his face, like he was begging for a last-minute pardon. She scowled, waving him on with a hand.

He cleared his throat and turned to face the room. Lifting two index cards up, he scanned the hand-scrawled notes on one, then the other. He cast a panicked look back at Candie. She raised her eyebrows at him, setting her jaw. I got the sense that if the priest didn’t follow through, there would be two figures dressed in black, brawling on God’s altar.

On a deep breath, and after clearing his throat twice more, the priest finally began. “Thank you all for coming here tonight to celebrate the upcoming death of Candace Somerton.”

The priest droned on. I tried to pay attention, but I kept looking over at Cade. And every time I did, he stared back at me, smirking. Occasionally, I’d sneak a sidelong glance at his sisters, which helped inject some humor into the situation. They were fidgeting in their puffy dresses and stilettos more than I was.

“And so it is on this night, together with her dearest friends and family, that the—” The priest paused, furrowing his brows as he glanced at Candie while she glared back at him in challenge. He cleared his throat and continued. “That the Deathday Girl wishes you to enjoy life at a bash in her honor.”

Hoots and hollers rang out before the priest left the podium. The poor man bolted straight toward the exit, blanched white as a ghost. All the Deathday male “attendants” bent over, laughing hysterically.

Beside me, his sisters held it together out of respect for our guest of honor as Candie rushed over to us, a beaming smile on her face. “That was amazing!”

Kristen laughed. “Candie, no one will ever be remembered in death better than you.”

I fidgeted in my dress, the stiff tulle netting scratching my thighs.

Kendall pointed. “Uh, Candie? Photographers are taking pictures of your casket. Looks like they’re trying to get your attention.” One of them was snapping his fingers and waving.

“Ooo, that’s Maury from the New York Times obits. He promised to give me a full spread in the announcements.” She ran off toward her fawning public.

Battling with the petticoats under my skirt, I stood. Grabbing fistfuls of dress, I swished the fabric away from my itching skin.

Before I could take one step, Cade swooped in and rushed me into a semiprivate alcove. “Have to pee yet?”

“Are you planning to monitor my fluid outflow all night?”

“It’s my new mission in life.” He smirked.

I shook my head. “Your depravity knows no end.”

His electric-blue eyes flashed. “You love my depravity. And I blame the petticoats.” His gaze wandered down to my cleavage displayed by the strapless corset top of the dress.

“You seem to be distracted by something other than petticoats.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. “You know, I’m liking this dress more and more. So what’s it gonna be? Bathroom run? Or incessant torture here with me?”

Confused, I tilted my head. “Torture?”

His brows waggled once. “Oh, yes.” He smirked as his tone deepened in seductive taunting. “Imagine warm water rushing over a cliff in the Amazon; slow swallows of rich, hot coffee; and stretching out in the soothing water of a tropical coconut-mango bubble bath.”

My eyes narrowed. I did have to pee. And the longer he harassed me, the more painfully aware I became of my near-to-bursting bladder.

“Fine. I have to pee. Happy?”

He grinned. “Immensely.”

With a big production of leaning toward me and holding out his bent arm parallel to the ground, he asked, “Shall we?”

“Escort me? Yes. Hold my petticoats? No.” I wound my arm around his and rested my hand on his forearm.

With a devilish smirk and lascivious raking of my body with his gaze, he laid a hand over mine, squeezing. “We’ll see.”





As it turned out, although Cade was an enormous tease, when it came right down to it, he was an even greater gentleman. He offered his gallant assistance one final time at the threshold of the ladies’ bathroom. I declined with a sweet smile.

Minutes later and, to my immense relief, what seemed like a gallon of liquid weight lighter, I found him waiting for me exactly where I’d left him.

“Didn’t you go too?” We’d lost our minds, talking about peeing in such a casual way, the topic both bizarre and oddly comfortable.

“Nope. Just because you declined, doesn’t mean I have to.”

I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Cade. I’m not still thinking about your…”

He arched a brow. “Cock?”

Swallowing hard, I nodded.

“Ah, but you were.”

“I was what?”