“Winter solstice.” I smiled. “The shortest day and the longest night of the year. I like that.”
“Me, too.” Liam grinned. “So we’re in agreement. We’re getting married on December 21st.”
We sat for a few minutes, looking at each other without speaking, both of us wearing huge silly smiles. Having a definite date made the whole idea so much more real.
“Next we have to figure out where.” I took a sip of my wine. “That’s going to be a tougher one.”
“What’re our choices?”
I ticked them off on my fingers. “We could do it here. Father Byers would marry us at Our Lady of Mercy. The downside there is that my mother would have to come down here all the time while we were planning.”
Liam cocked his head. “But if we’re keeping it small and quiet?”
“You know my mom, right? She’ll be making it an event. She won’t care if we’re getting married at the courthouse and then celebrating at Beans. She’d still expect to trun the show.” Our favorite local coffee shop was cute and held sweet memories, but it was barely large enough to hold my family, let alone anyone else.
“Yeah, that’s true. Okay, what’re our other choices?”
“We could get married closer to where you grew up, closer to your mom and dad.”
Liam’s lip curled in what was close to a snarl. “Not an option. Move on.”
“Oookay. I figured that, but given our next choice, it had to be on the table. We could have our wedding in Seagrove City. Do the ceremony at St. Thomas’s, my family’s church, where Carl and Ange had theirs.”
“All right.” Liam nodded. “And what’re the pluses and minuses there?”
“Plus is that my mom could handle everything. It’d make her happy. Minuses are that my mom would handle everything, and we might lose control. It could spiral.”
“Hmmm.” Liam fiddled with his empty beer bottle and began to say something else, but he was interrupted by the waiter bringing our food. We were both quiet for a few minutes as we ate. When Liam finally broke the silence, he spoke in measured, considered words.
“I’ve been thinking about this all week.” He wiped off his mouth with the cloth napkin. “The thing is, if at the end of the day, I’m married to you, I don’t care how it’s done. That’s my only goal. And if it makes your mom happy to do a little of the hoopla, that’s okay with me, because I love her.”
Tears threatened. How in the world did I get so lucky? There weren’t many guys who professed love for their future mothers-in-law. “You just scored major points, you know that, right? And I agree with you. Within reason, of course. I’ll agree to some hoopla.”
“Got it. Limited hoopla, check. I’ll admit, I like the idea of getting married where your brother did. It feels right.”
“Me, too. And I’m pretty sure Father Byers would come down and perform the ceremony for us. That’d mean a lot to me, plus it means we could do our pre-Cana here in town and save us trips down the shore.”
“Pre-Cana?” Liam’s forehead wrinkled.
“Ah, it’s the counseling the Church requires before we can get married. I’m not sure how long it is, but it would be easier to do it locally.”
“All right. So we’ve got the ceremony set. What about after? How big a party do we want?”
Apparently my sub-conscious had been grappling with this all week, because the answer to what I wanted popped into my mind and onto my lips. “What about doing a dinner at Cucina Felice? We could have the food ready ahead of time, have my whole family pitch in and we know the menu would be exactly what we want.”
Liam grinned. “Well, okay, then. I like that. Do you think your parents will, too?”
“I think so. And it means we have to keep it smaller, because only so many people can fit in the restaurant.”
“What about dancing?” He leaned forward a little. “One thing I want, if we’re going with any hoopla at all, is to dance with my bride. I want that first dance.”
“We could clear enough space for a small dance floor. I want that, too.”
“Excellent. Maybe we should go over all the possibilities and nail down what we want to include and what we don’t. Then we can lay it out for the parents on Sunday.”
“Sounds good.” I laid my fork on the side of my plate. “Do you think we should invite Giff over on Sunday, too? You know he’s going to want in on plans. He’d love to be included from the beginning.”
“Another great idea. You’re full of them. Must be why I’m marrying you.”
“Well, it’s one reason. Let’s start with the engagement party and go right on through the honeymoon. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. Or to parents.”
“Sure you don’t want to start with the honeymoon? I have thoughts on that. Lots of thoughts. Creative thoughts. Ideas for wardrobe, even.”
I laughed. “How about this? We save the best for last, and we talk about the honeymoon ideas back at home, where we can . . . expand on the discussion in a more meaningful way.”
Liam reached for my hand and brought my hand to his lips. “Baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me. Bring it on.”
“I KNOW WHERE I want to go for our honeymoon.” Liam pressed his lips to my shoulder. He was lying half over my upper body, still inside me. Our initial discussion about honeymoon destinations had devolved into Liam explaining what he planned to do to me each night after our wedding. Since the result had been three orgasms for me, I was not complaining.
“Oh, really? And where’s that?” I brushed my hand over his head, smiling.
“Remember . . .” He kissed a path down from my shoulder, toward my breast. “Remember the night of Julia’s birthday party? When I came back to your room, after everyone left.”
I shivered. I did remember, though not without a pang of regret for the pain we’d both gone through right after that night. I hadn’t been able to trust Liam yet, and I’d intentionally hurt him rather than take a chance on us.
“Yes. I remember.”
“I told you that night that your skin was like milk, and you made fun of me. So then I told you it was like the white sand beaches of Anguilla.”
I closed my eyes. “That’s right. The next day I had to look it up on the map to see where Anguilla is.”
“That’s where I want to go on our honeymoon. It’ll be warm and tropical . . . just the two of us, for a week on the beach. What do you think?”
“Hmm.” I pretended to think. “Will you still do that thing to me? What you just did?”
Liam laughed softly. “Every single night, and some mornings, too.”
“Then I think I can live with Anguilla and white sand beaches.”
He lowered his mouth to draw one pink nipple into his mouth. I hummed in appreciation and then groaned when I felt him growing hard again within me.
“See.” He smiled up at me as he shifted to the other breast. “I told you wedding planning can be fun.”
162 Days to W Day
“BABE, DID YOU GET syrup?” I pulled my head out of the pantry, where I was searching. “I can’t find it.”
Ava called back from our miniscule dining room, where she was setting the table. “Yeah, it’s in the fridge. On the door.”
“Thanks.” I found the glass bottle and snagged the butter while I was in there, too. I carried both to the table. “Here you go. Anything else?”
“Do you want to put the juice in a pitcher?” Ava folded the last napkin and tucked it on the side of a plate.
I shook my head. “Nah. It’d just mean one more thing to wash after. We can just put the bottle on the table.”
“Are you sure?” She caught the edge of her lip between her teeth. “I want to make sure everything looks nice. This is the first time we’ve had your parents here for a meal. I don’t want them to think I’m a hick who doesn’t know how to do things right.”
“Baby, please. Don’t worry about they think.” I drew her back against me, sliding my hands over her stomach.
“It’s all going to be fine.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. I wasn’t worried about Ava’s table-scape or the food—we made an excellent team in the kitchen—but being in the same room with both my mom and my dad was a potentially volatile situation. Toss in the DiMartinos, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.
“Giff should be here in a few minutes. It’s good he’s coming.” Ava twisted her hands together, her classic tell of nerves. “He has a way of making things smoother, you know?”
“Yep. But it’s going to be okay anyway. We know what we’re going to say. All we need to do is—”
The doorbell rang, and Ava clutched my arms. “My God, they’re here.”
I kissed the side of her neck. “You go check on the quiche. I’ll get the door. It might just be Giff.” I said a silent prayer as I walked to the door, though usually, my friend used the back door, and I couldn’t remember when he’d ever rung a doorbell here.
“Good morning, Liam!” Mrs. DiMartino pulled my head down to kiss my cheek. “Something smells good in here. Anthony, take that dish into the kitchen, would you—Ava! Where do you want me to put the coffee cake?”
“Ma, I told you not to bring anything.” Ava appeared in the archway between the living room and kitchen, a spatula in her hand.
“What? It was nothing. Just an egg casserole and a coffee cake your brother made. I can’t come empty-handed, you know that.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Are we the first ones here?”
“Yeah.” I followed my future in-laws into the kitchen. “My mom is on her way. And I guess my dad is, too.”
Anthony and Frannie DiMartino exchanged glances. “It’ll be fine, son.” Mr. DiMartino clapped me on the back. “I’m sure your father only wants you to be happy. He’ll be okay. I know it’s a tough situation.”
I wasn’t so sure. I’d called my dad yesterday morning, broken the news of our engagement and invited him to brunch. He’d been uncharacteristically low-key and quiet, offering me congratulations and agreeing that he’d be here for the wedding planning session. But something felt off.
“We’re behind you, whatever decisions you make. I know I maybe put a little pressure on you last week . . .” Her mom darted a look in Ava’s direction. “But your father and I were talking, and we realized that you two have, uh, challenges that I hadn’t been considering. You should have the wedding you want, not the one we think you should have. So.” She spread out her hands. “We’re fine with whatever you decide. We’re behind you.”
Over her head, Mr. DiMartino caught my eye and winked.
“Knock-knock, kiddos. Never fear, the wedding planner is here.” True to form, Giff sailed through the kitchen door, a dazzling smile on his face. He stopped abruptly and feigned astonishment. “Mrs. D! I swear, you get more beautiful every time I see you. You are not old enough to have a daughter get married. Mr. D, you lucky dog, watch out. I just might steal this hot mama away from you.”
I rolled my eyes. Any other guy, gay or straight, who talked that way would sound ridiculous. But Giff pulled it off, mostly because it was almost always genuine. He loved people, loved making everyone feel happy and comfortable, and it showed in everything he did. I suspected it was why he was successful in event planning.
“Mama Bailey’s just heading to the front door, FYI.” He pointed to the front door. “About to make her grand entrance in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
The doorbell rang, right on cue. I shook my head. The man was good.
“Hi, Mom.” I opened the door and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for driving down.”
“Of course.” My mother had clearly recovered from her upset Friday night. She patted my cheek, smiling up at me. “Am I the first one here?”
“No, Ava’s parents just got here. And Giff, too.” I put my hand to her back, guiding her toward the dining room table.
“Oh, yes, of course, but I meant . . . well.” Her mouth tightened.
“No, he’s not here. Yet. He said he was coming, though.” I raised my voice just a little. “Mr. and Mrs. DiMartino, you remember my mom, Laura.”
“So good to see you again, Laura.” Mrs. DiMartino stepped forward to enfold her in a hug. “Such good news, isn’t it? You must be as excited as we are.”
I smiled in gratitude. Ava’d told her parents about my screw-up in neglecting to tell my mom the news, so I knew they’d tread carefully.
“Oh, yes.” My mother fussed with the strap of the purse on her shoulder. “I’m very fond of Ava.”
“We just love Liam.” Ava’s mother beamed.
“You’ve done a fine job raising him. Not easy these days. Believe us, we know.” Mr. DiMartino nodded.
My mother’s face pinked a bit with pleasure. “Oh, that’s right. You have sons, too, don’t you?”
“Yes, two of them. And a grandson coming this summer, too.”
Mom froze. “Grandchildren. Oh.” The faint blush disappeared, leaving her face a pasty white. “I hadn’t thought about that. So you’re going to be a grandmother . . . soon?” She looked at Ava’s mother.
Mrs. DiMartino waved her hand. “Oh, I’m already a Nonna. Our granddaughter Frankie is seven.” She squeezed my mother’s arm. “It’s the best thing in the world, I promise you.”
“Well, yes, for you, but I—I’m not ready for that. Not at all.” She looked alarmed, and it struck me that it probably had more to do with her younger yoga teacher boyfriend than anything else.
“Mom, come on. The other night you thought Ava was pregnant and you didn’t get upset.”
“Wait, what?” Mrs. DiMartino whipped her head to look at Ava.
“No, Mom, I’m not pregnant. Calm down, everyone. We were explaining to Liam’s mother that we wanted a quiet wedding, and she just thought it might be because . . . but it’s not. And I’m not.”
“You see, Ava? That’s what everyone’s going to think if you two sneak off to get married. They’re going to assume it’s because you had to.” Ava’s mother looked close to tears. Of course, Antonia. The DiMartinos’ oldest daughter had gotten pregnant in high school, crushing long-time dreams and plans for the whole family. When she’d been killed only months after Frankie was born, the grief had been enormous. I remembered anew how important this wedding was to them. To see a daughter safely and happily married . . . it would mean something.
“Mom. Relax.” Ava laid a hand on her mother’s cheek. “Let’s all sit down, okay? Liam and I made pancakes and bacon and quiche. Oh, let’s put that egg casserole on a hot pad. Can you grab that, babe?”
Within moments, thanks to my girl’s smooth people skills, we were all seated around the table, talking as we passed hot trays of food. My mother had calmed down, and Mrs. DiMartino had pulled herself together, too. Giff was chattering to everyone, putting the whole crowd at ease.
One chair was empty, though. I saw my mother’s eyes stray there and then to the door more than once. I surreptitiously glanced at my phone to see if my father had called or left me a message, but there was nothing.
“So . . .” Ava took my hand under the table as she began to speak. “Liam and I’ve done a lot of talking over the last few days. We realized we needed to decide what we wanted and what was important to us, so that you understood.”
“If it’s a question of money, you know you don’t have to worry.” My mother interrupted Ava, and immediately the mood in the room took a downward turn.
“What’s that supposed to mean? That we can’t pay for our own daughter’s wedding?” Mrs. DiMartino’s eyes flashed.
“I’m sure that’s not what she meant—” Her husband tried to calm her.
“No, but I know you have a big family, and . . . well, we have resources. Liam’s father does, I mean.”
“We appreciate the offer.” Ava’s father spoke with finality. “But we are able to give our daughter whatever wedding she likes.”
“Fine.” Mom threw up her hands. “But did you ever think that they’re making decisions based on what they
think you can pay? Maybe they want a big wedding, and they don’t want to make you feel bad about not being able to afford it.”
A shrill whistle cut through the voices. Giff stood up, his fingers at his lips and a frown on his face. “Okay, people, back to your corners. That’s enough.” When the room was absolutely silent, he shook his head. “Look what you’re doing to Ava and Liam. This is a happy time. But if you folks keep it up, they’re going to elope to Vegas, and then you’ll have to deal with me, because I will be pissed.” He hissed the last word.
The knock at the door startled everyone. Giff pointed his finger at me. “Stay here. I’ll get it. When I get back, I want everyone smiling and getting along.”
My mother was the first to speak after Giff stomped from the room. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to insinuate—well, anyway. I’m sorry.”
“No offense taken.” Ava’s dad smiled. “We understand, right, Frannie?”
Mrs. DiMartino swallowed. “Of course. We all just want the kids to be happy, right?”
“That’s absolutely right.” The deep voice in the doorway made my shoulders tense. “It’s what we all want.” My father bent to kiss Ava’s cheek. “I understand felicitations are in order. I’m so happy for you.” He looked across at me, and I would’ve sworn his eyes were misty.
Ava stiffened. She and my father had an uneasy past. The first time they’d met, we’d walked into a room where we didn’t know my dad was waiting, and she’d had her legs wrapped around my waist and my hand on her boob. It was an inauspicious beginning, and it didn’t get any better. He had, for all intents and purposes, called her a slut and said she was a throw-away girl. He’d referred to her as the kind of girl a guy didn’t marry.
Since then, Ava tolerated his presence, but she didn’t trust him. And while he put on a smiling front whenever we were all together, I sensed he kept hoping that eventually we’d split.
“Dad.” I motioned to the chair across from me. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll get you some coffee?”
I Choose You (Perfect Dish Romances Book 3) Page 10
