He shoots me a cocky smirk, one dark eyebrow lifting in that sexy way that makes me want to bite him. “No. Definitely not. Just interested in what we’re doing because you look so beautifully pink with excitement and happiness that I’m memorizing each expression on your face to take out and leisurely enjoy later.”
Sigh. The words that come out of his mouth.
I push up to my toes, planting my lips on his to taste the sweet romance he gives me. He tastes like coffee, tiramisu, and dreams come true.
“Anything?” I hedge.
“I’ll go wherever you tell me to go. Happily, mia rosa.” I can hear that he truly means it. Even when everyone else worries I’ve lost my ever-loving mind, he sees the method to my madness and the organization in my chaos and thrives it in all.
“Follow us!” I shout, climbing on the motorcycle in my dress. I could’ve worn pants tonight, but I’d wanted to look nice for dinner and hadn’t cared about the appropriateness of a skirt on a bike. Now, the dress seems especially apropos.
I guide our caravan of cars through the night by tapping Lorenzo’s belly and pointing where I want him to go.
Several minutes later, we pull into the parking lot as an entourage of vehicles—one motorcycle, my parents’ Mercedes, Ross and Vi’s new SUV—pretty sure that’s for the additional kids they’re planning but not telling anyone about yet—and Kaede’s fancy sports car he got to celebrate the opening of the latest One Life Gym.
Lorenzo parks and shuts off the Ducati, looking over his shoulder at me. The quiet of the night is shocking, and the sign’s yellow glow throws Lorenzo’s face into highlights and shadows. I can’t read his expression. He’s not mad or surprised. Maybe it’s simply acceptance.
He helps me take the helmet off and whispers, “We’re getting tattoos?”
I bite my lip to keep my plan from popping out like a champagne cork. Okay, not plan . . . this is a scheme too. I’ll admit that, even if I’ve argued the semantics of the two words multiple times with Ross.
“Uhm, sort of?” I respond. “Come on!”
Our hands locked, Lorenzo and I walk through the glass door, triggering a tinkling bell.
“Reno!” I shout.
“Hold your fucking horses,” his gruff voice answers.
“Abi?” Dad is looking around with uncertainty. And maybe a little bit of distaste.
I press up against Lorenzo, my hands on his chest as I look up at him, a plea in my eyes. “When we were here before—”
“You have a tattoo?” Vi snaps. “Why don’t I know this? Why haven’t I seen it?”
I decide right then and there that Ross is the best brother ever because he places a hand over Vi’s lips and whispers something in her ear that makes her mouth clack closed and her eyes silently lock on me. There’ll be hell to pay later, I know that, but for now, she’s letting me keep this train chug-a-chuggin’.
I repeat, a bit harsher, “When we were here before . . .” softer, just to Lorenzo, I continue, “Did you hear what Reno said about how he started tattooing?”
Lorenzo shakes his head. “He could’ve said anything. All I saw was you. All I heard were the little whimpers of pain when he went over your ribs. I wanted to take the pain from you, feel it myself so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Ribs?” Vi says behind Ross’s hand. Well, I think that’s what she said, but it’s pretty muffled.
“He’s an ordained minister for a motorcycle club of vets. He’s former military himself. But he can legally . . .”
Lorenzo’s eyes flare, not with brightness but with dark heat. “You mean . . . ?”
“Abigail Marie Andrews! You cannot get married at a tattoo parlor in a dinner dress!” Mom shouts, utterly horrified. She’s gone along with a whole lot of strange things, loved me through some weird phases, and supported some odd ideas, but apparently, this is too far.
I turn to look at Mom. “I’m already married, remember? Or so everyone thinks. Might as well make it true. Besides, I don’t want to wait.” Locking my eyes back on Lorenzo, I repeat myself softer, sweeter, “I don’t want to wait. Do you?”
He might say no. He absolutely could, and I’d have to be okay with that. Hell, one of us should probably be the voice of reason in any given situation and it’s rarely going to be me.
But I hope . . . deep down inside my soul, I hope he’s the wild to my crazy, the ride to my die, the kerosene to my fire.
“No, I don’t want to wait to make you mine. If this is what you want, it’s what I want. Anything, always . . . for you.”
Swoon.
Maybe it’s the accent, I decide. Maybe one day, Lorenzo will be telling me to wash the damn dishes for the tenth time in a row and I’ll realize that it’s not what he says, it’s how he says it. But if that’s the case, it’s not happening today.
Today, he is romance, seduction, sweet, and sexy . . . all tied up in one sexy package of man. And he’s in my arms with his wrapped around me, his palm cupping my ass right here in front of God, my family and friends, and even my parents. And if they don’t like it, they can learn to deal and knock on the door when they come over like I do.
“I don’t have a ring. I thought I’d have time to get my grandmother’s from Italy for you. But after talking with your dad, I couldn’t wait. I had to ask you tonight.”
One of my brows lifts. “You talked to my dad about asking me to marry you?” Warning bells are going off in my head and through my whole assembled party.
“You might not like it, but he’s a little traditional, dear. It was sweet.” Dad comes to Lorenzo’s defense. I can see Dad shaking his head at Lorenzo out of the corner of my eye, miming zipping his lip.
“So, you’d thought about it enough that you talked to my dad, had plans to get your grandmother’s ring, but then decided on a whim to just go for it and ask me tonight?” I clarify.
I can see Lorenzo teasing through the words, mentally translating them to Italian and looking for any errors. My family is utterly still and quiet, not even breathing. Well, besides Carly, who’s babbling away, happily oblivious.
“Yes,” Lorenzo says finally.
I jump up on him, my legs going astride his waist, and he catches me easily. “That’s so sweet! You were all ‘gonna do this right’ but got carried away because of me?”
I feel his smile against my lips as I pepper him with kisses.
“I do tend to do that with you, mia rosa.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. God, I love this man who’s somehow as rooted and as wild as I am.
“We can get rings later. But you’re totally getting a tattoo wedding band from Reno tonight. I’m leaving my mark on you,” I tell Lorenzo, leaving no room for argument.
His smile is soft as he lets me slide down his body until my feet hit the floor. His hands release my hips to cup my face gently. “You already have.”
“Okay, I think I get it now,” Vi says. It’s like she didn’t even know that her cousin was the best thing since Betty White or sliced bread.
“Are we really doing this?” Courtney whispers to Mom.
Mom turns to me. “Abi, are you really doing this?” She looks worried. I think any mother would be, so I understand, but yeah, I am.
“I can do the whole white dress situation later at a celebration reception, okay?” I know how important those moments are to my mom, but this is my wedding and I want it like . . . this.
Dad’s always got my back, though, and truly has only ever wanted his children’s happiness to surpass his own. “Works for me. A party is cheaper than a ceremony and reception.” He wraps his arm around Mom’s waist, squeezing her hip, and she sighs.
Her nod means everything.
Vi hands me the flowers. “You are crazy as f-u-c-k,” she says, spelling out the curse word so Carly doesn’t learn bad language. Newsflash, she’s my niece and Ross’s daughter, so it’s fairly written in stone that her first words are not going to be scrapbo
ok-worthy.
“Yep,” I agree. “Good thing I found a man who likes me like that.”
On cue, Reno walks out from the back with a guy in a leather vest. “What the hell do y’all want?” Reno barks. He definitely wasn’t expecting to find a dinner party’s worth of fancy people in his lobby.
I raise my hand to wave. “Hey, Reno!”
His gruff demeanor melts. “Well, hey there, Abi. Who you got with you tonight?”
“My family. Remember when you were distracting me and told me how you do weddings for your friends?” I bat my lashes, knowing this might take a little finesse. Maybe even more than it took to get my mom on board.
“Yeah.”
“Can you marry Lorenzo and me? Like now? And tattoo our wedding rings?”
“Uh . . .” He looks to Lorenzo, his bushy brows asking if he’s okay with that. I think if Lorenzo blinked twice in rapid succession, Reno and his buddy would probably grab Lorenzo and run out the back door with him, hostage rescue style.
Lorenzo takes my hand and nods. A smile teases at his lips. “Please. I need to . . . what’s the expression?” He searches his mind and says with a bigger smile, “Lock her down before she learns what a degenerate I am.”
Reno laughs at that.
But he’s no dummy, either. He sees my dad—hell, probably all of us—and knows money when it’s standing right in front of him. He might even know who Ross is from his early tabloid-cover days.
“Thousand bucks sound fair? For the ceremony and the tattoos?” Dad offers first.
I think Reno’s eyes are going to bug out of his head, but he blinks and rearranges his face into something closer to his usual scowl. “Yeah, I guess I could stay open a little late tonight for that. You ready now?”
We organize ourselves—Violet with Carly on her hip, Courtney, and Mom on my left, and Ross, Kaede, and Dad on Lorenzo’s right—and then we nod to Reno.
“’Kay, we’re gathered here tonight to witness these people joining together in marriage . . .”
I can’t stop the smile from getting bigger and bigger as joy fills my entire being. I’m nearly bouncing with happiness at this weirdly wonderful wedding. One I never thought I’d have, with a man I never thought I’d find.
Reno does the typical ‘do you take this man’ and ‘do you take this woman’, and Lorenzo and I both say, “I do.”
“Y’all got other stuff you wanna tell each other? Promises and vows or some shit?”
Reno is the epitome of formal, I think happily as Mom swallows loudly enough that I can hear her.
I meet Lorenzo’s eyes which are dark and crinkled at the corners from his own smile. He dips his chin, letting me go first.
I’m glad because I have a suspicion I’m going to be reduced to ugly tears when he does his. His poetry is better than mine but no more heartfelt.
“Lorenzo, I think somehow, I knew. From the first second I laid my eyes on you, I knew there was something about you. I thought you were a bad boy with a rolling pin, and that was enough to reel me in. But every moment since, you’ve shown me you’re more than that. You risked everything to help me, gave your all to woo me, and you showed me the man you are inside. The person not everyone gets to see. But I see the love in your heart, the strength in your soul, and I pledge myself to giving you every bit of love, honor, respect, and love that I can, from now until death and beyond.”
Lorenzo’s throat works, and he looks up to the sky to blink back his tears before starting his own off the cuff vows. “Mia rosa, mia amore. It seems right that we met at a wedding and now are here ourselves. Our story is a tale to tell our children in the future, a lesson in trusting fate to have plans bigger and better than anything you can dream of yourself. I pledge to always give you more smiles than tears, more happiness than sadness, and to be your partner through whatever life, or your brilliant mind, throws our way. I wish to spend the entirety of my days with you, side by side, building our forever.”
Yep, destroyed with messy tears. Ever prepared as a mom, Violet reaches in her diaper bag and hands me a burp rag. Unused, at least.
“That was real pretty,” Reno says, a little choked up himself. “Seal that shit with a kiss, lovebirds.”
I’m glad I get that much warning because Lorenzo sweeps me back, kissing me with a depth and intensity that are definitely not what you’d expect for a formal wedding kiss but are perfect in the middle of a tattoo parlor. I kiss him back just as intensely, only stopping when Mom whispers to Courtney, “She might beat you on giving me a grandbaby, Court.”
I laugh loudly, my smile huge. “Ten minutes ago, you were all ‘absolutely not, Abigail Marie’, and now you’re all ‘give me grandkids’, Mom?”
She has the heart to look chastised, but then she shrugs. “Woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”
I might’ve gotten my kick-ass business sense from Dad, but I got my crazy from Mom. She just hides hers a lot better than I do.
“Who’s going first for the tat?” Reno asks with a loud clap of his big hands.
Lorenzo sits down in the chair first, and I sit on the far side, away from Reno’s work station. Reno makes quick, careful work of inking black bands of varying widths around Lorenzo’s finger. And then it’s my turn. I choose a thin, dainty band with a bow that looks like a string tied around my finger. I will never forget this moment right here.
We take a few pictures with our phones, promising Mom that we’ll have a proper photographer at the reception.
“Anyone else want a tat? I don’t mind. Daddy paid,” Reno jokes, pointing an ink-covered finger at Dad.
“Hell, no,” Ross says.
Everyone else murmurs some version of ‘thanks, but no thanks’, and we stand, ready to leave.
Lorenzo shakes Reno’s hand, and I reach up to hug his broad shoulders. “Thank you for making tonight come true.”
“Y’all are some weird fuckers,” he replies with a shake of his head.
He’s right about that. But we’re happily in love weird fuckers, and that’s what matters.
We make our way out the door, but I glance back once more with a smile.
We did it. Lorenzo and I are married for real, the sting of my finger a good pain.
Wait, what’s Dad doing?
Oh, my God. I’m going to need to scrub that image out of my head because I just saw Dad pick up one of Reno’s business cards and shoot sexy eyes at Mom.
Ugh.
“Okay, well . . . bye!” I tell everyone, focusing on Lorenzo. “We’re off on our honeymoon . . . again. No worries, this time we’re just going home,” I joke, well aware that everyone knows what we’re going home to do.
Ross makes a gagging noise that Carly starts copying, and Vi growls at them both.
Lorenzo helps get my helmet on and then, like before, we race off into the night.
I feel free and floaty, tethered to nothing more than Lorenzo with a tiny but strong string. Not the inked one around my finger but the one from my heart to his.
Chapter 28
Abi
“What do you think?” I ask Janey. I spin the arrangement in front of me, trying to decide if I’m done.
“Hmm, it’s all right, I guess. What’s it for?”
“Bitch! This is not ‘all right’. It’s fabulous and you know it!” I counter.
She smiles and points at me. “Then why the hell are you asking me if you already know it’s perfect? Anything by The Abigail Andrews, floral designer to the stars, will be.”
I blush even though she’s teasing me but ultimately play along by resting my chin on the back of my hand Glamour Shots-circa 1995-style as I look off to the right with a smug smile.
“Bitch,” she repeats.
“Thanks.” I laugh. “For real, though, Violet and Archie will be here any minute to pick this up. It’s for a client.” I eye the vase and flowers once more, replaying what Archie said they wanted.
“Fab. You. Luxe. Over the top, big and bold, and huge. Like, I ne
ed the Jonah Falcon of flowers type of huge, with purple of every shade from deepest night to the barest kiss of lilac. I’ll bring you the vase because I sourced it to match the candlesticks.”
Well, this definitely matches what Archie said he wanted, though I’d had to Google who the Falcon guy was. Let’s just say ‘huge’ was the right word selection from Archie.
Janey has lost interest in my assessment of the flowers and has taken to clicking on her phone. It kinda irks me until the Bluetooth speakers start playing Prince’s Purple Rain and I realize that she was with me all along.
Janey starts doing some smooth, hip-swaying, sexy moves to the song, and I can’t help but try too. She’s better than I am by a mile, but it’s fun to goof off and giggle in the back while Samantha holds down the register.
“Oh. My. God,” Archie’s voice says from the back door, which we apparently left open because he and Violet are standing in the doorway. Vi’s trying not to laugh, and Archie looks pissed that we didn’t invite him to the dance party.
“Abs, girl. No,” he tells me, grabbing my hips. “Like this,” he hisses, helping me sway.
Laughing, I swat at his hands. “I thought I was doing pretty well!”
He gives me a sad look as he shakes his head. “I know you did, babe. That’s the worst part.” He tsks. “You thought that was some grade-A, stripper quality work. Make time to hit the gym with Courtney again. A little Zumba would do you good. Help make all that flex-y yoga worth something. You can’t just stick your ankles behind your head and lie there. You’ve gotta move.”
He demonstrates himself, bending his knees and giving his ass a little twerk. He does a hair flip, locks eyes with me, and then sashay walks across the room. I’ll admit he gave a better performance than either Janey or I did.
“Bravo!” I say dryly with a polite clap. Knowing when I’m beat, I get back to work where nobody can beat me. “Here’s the arrangement.” I hold my hands out wide around the purple monstrosity in a ta-da move.
Vi whistles. “It’s perfect. Great work, Abs. Archie, load it up. We need to jet if we’re going to be on time for our meeting.”
My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon Page 32
