Ms. Manwhore (Manwhore #2.5)(25)

“He f*cking better be.”

I grin and set my face back on his chest, and think of us. How we began quietly, like most storms. We began actually under a sunny sky. But the clouds in our sky built steadily into a thunderhead. When the sun came back out, what was left behind was not what had been there before. Now it’s better after the rain; at least it feels like so much more.

He shifts me above him so that we’re both facing the waves and the horizon. He signals at the sky. “Where we’re going on our honeymoon, we’ll be able to see every speck up there.”

Smiling, I glance back over my shoulder and peer into his face. “Somewhere?”

Beneath my spine, his chest rumbles from a chuckle, causing my head to feel swimmy. “That’s right.”

“The office thing under control?”

His voice tickles the back of my ear. “We get four days off, no phones. After that I can’t promise.”

“Four is a lot. What will we talk about?” I frown thoughtfully at the water.

“You. Me. Us. Our apartment. This ear.” He tugs the ear. I laugh and turn to him again.

He exchanges a smile with me, then we lay there for another hour, just talking and gazing at a sky whose stars are partly hidden by the lights down on earth.

He holds my hand as he walks me to the door of my suite. I feel like a teen, waiting to see if she’ll be kissed. Knowing she can’t go in without a kiss. He looks at my mouth, then his eyes come up to study my face intently. Deep in thought.

“Your kiss,” I say, because I know he wants it.

I stand on my toes, the heels of my palms resting on his chest for balance.

He kisses the corner of my mouth and takes me by the waist, groaning softly, his eyes fluttering closed for one second. Only one. Before they open with steely determination. “If you kiss me, it’ll kill me.” His eyes blaze. “I’m fresh out of patience, trying to make your wedding night perfect.” He smiles ruefully.

“Saint, thank you for being so understanding and patient.”

He tweaks my ear. “I’ll make you pay tomorrow.”

A delicious shiver of want runs through me. “With interest.”

“Worst rate in the market.”

“I love you,” I say before he can leave.

“Love you too.” He rumples my hair. “Go out there and live the single life.” He pats my butt.

“Like it’s so fun compared to what’s in store . . .” I tease.

He smiles and watches me go inside with a twinkle in his eye and a pure smile, as if I’m already perfect for him.





THE BIG DAY


The next morning is a flurry of makeup, hair, manicure, and pedicure. I’m in my underwear, ready to start putting on the dress, the lace tiara, and the veil when Gina arrives.

“Half of the hotel staff is swooning in the lobby, I swear to god,” she says.

I feel a jealous twinge at the thought that others have been able to see my groom before me. “Who?”

“Receptionists, florists, waitresses, everyone with a vagina. Women were sitting down fanning themselves. Swear.” She laughs and then shoots me a deathly sober look that says I kid you not!

“Where are the rings?” I ask her.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not supposed to bring them, Tahoe is.”

“He better bring them along with his hangover after the rehearsal dinner.”

She grabs her phone. “T-Rex, don’t forget the rings or we’ll have a bridezilla on our hands.”

“We?” asks Wynn, where she still sits by the breakfast cart that room service had brought up.

“What?”

“You just said ‘we,’ ” says Wynn.

“Ah, whatever.” Gina comes over and mothers me.

Wynn is eyeing the other dresses as she eats a piece of toast. “Are all these going back?” she asks. “I mean . . . they’re huge designers. And they sent notes!”

“I don’t think they’re going back,” I say as Mother holds open the dress for me to step into.

“If I need an emergency wedding . . .” Wynn trails off.

“No period yet?” I ask worriedly.

Wynn is a week late.

She told us last night after I came to the room to find her crying a little bit.

“None. But it’s all the stress and excitement of your wedding. Plus travel always messes with my cycle.” Convinced she’s nailed the problem, she fishes out a bagel from the bread basket and bites down.

“Right,” says Gina. “Does Emmett even want kids?”

Wynn has no response for that.

Gina shoots her a meaningful look. “Guess you should ask.”

“Really? Is that what we think?” Wynn shoots back.

“What I think.”

Mom has buttoned up the sides of my low-back dress, and I am momentarily left speechless by the image in the mirror hanging on the back of the en suite bathroom door. I take in the milky color of my skin, the pink of my cheeks. The dress is formfitting with a low back and a little bit of cleavage and a mermaid skirt, emphasizing my waist and hips, and even my small breasts. My hair hangs like a curtain behind me, and it looks lustrous as glass. My mother adds the tiara to the crown of my head and attaches the veil, letting the rear hang delicately over my backside, and the short one to cover my face.