Four Day Fling

by Emma Hart

  Thus, I’d been on water during the entire rehearsal dinner.

  “This is the longest wedding I’ve ever been to,” I said into his chest.

  He chuckled, his whole body shaking. “Have you ever been to a wedding?”

  “Only as a reception guest. Otherwise, no.” I turned my face to the side, resting my cheek against him. “Have you?”

  “Yes. And you are correct. This is the longest wedding I’ve ever been to,” he replied. “Although that might have been your grandfather.”

  I groaned, wrapping my arms around his waist. It was all for show for my family, but I wasn’t going to deny that being wrapped around him koala bear style wasn’t nice.

  “He’s unreal,” I said. “I told you. He’s insane. He thinks everyone wants to know about his life. Be thankful you didn’t hear about his pensioner swing parties.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, yeah. After my grandma died, he was lonely, so joined a bingo club. Turned out bingo was a front for old-people swingers.”

  “That’s…interesting.”

  “Mhmm. Keep holding onto me. It’ll stop anyone else talking to me, okay?”

  He tightened his arms around me, bringing his lips to the top of my head. “Duly noted. Your mother is looking at us.”

  “Of course, she is. She’s imagining our wedding right now,” I scoffed.

  “So, a time where Bloody Marys aren’t on the menu for your grandpa.”

  “Exactly that. And my mom doesn’t get to choose cocktails. And nobody knows who you are or any embarrassing stories about my childhood, of which there are plenty.”

  “We’re eloping then,” Adam said.

  “Absolutely. If we ever get fake married, eloping is the only way to do it.” I pulled back and tilted my head to meet his eyes. “How else will we be able to convince everyone we actually did it?”

  He laughed, dropping his forehead to mine. “Well, there is that. Eloping sounds good. Where would we go? Vegas? That Gretna place in Scotland?”

  “I do like Scotland. They don’t wear underpants under their kilts.”

  “Oooh.” He blew out a long breath. “I don’t know if I could do that, Red.”

  “We can negotiate. How do you feel about going pantless under a kilt when we’re married?”

  “Are you also commando?”

  “Only after the wedding. You can’t pick and choose, hockey boy. That’s not how this works.”

  He mock-sighed, his entire body moving with the exhale. “I suppose we can make that work.”

  “I like when you agree with me. It makes the vodka I snuck at the table a lot more reasonable.”

  Leaning back, he met my eyes. “You were drinking up there?”

  “Did you hear my mother’s speech?”

  “I did. I didn’t see you drinking.”

  I tutted him. “Vodka. Water. And a lemon. A la Rihanna.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” I tucked myself back into his body. “I needed it to stay sane. I need another. Are you finally understanding my family?”

  Adam stroked my lower back with his fingertips. “Slowly. Your aunt Jean asked me if I was into older women, and if I change my mind, to call her.”

  “Sounds like her.”

  “Then, your uncle Peter asked me if the Storms would win against this season, and apparently, “I hope so, sir,” wasn’t the answer he wanted.”

  “He’s a gambler. You should have given him your guess for a team.”

  “My guess is the Storms. I’m in the team.”

  “That’s cocky.”

  “I know. He didn’t accept that answer either.”

  I laughed, moving to his side. I didn’t release his shirt, keeping my fingers tucked into it as much as I could. He never loosened his grip on me, holding me firmly against his side.

  I hated how normal it felt to be against him. Hated how good it felt to have him by my side, holding me, tucking me into his body.

  It wasn’t supposed to feel anything close to this good.

  “Wanna sit?” he asked into my ear.

  I nodded, allowing him to pull me over to the closest empty table. He pulled my chair out for me. I sat, and the second he brought his chair to mine, his arm was around me against.

  I leaned into him. He didn’t seem to mind at all. His fingers drew lazy circles on my bare upper arm, while his other hand sat happily on the table until he had to motion for a server to come over to get us a drink.

  I didn’t say a word as he ordered me a vodka cranberry and him a beer. I had drunk enough water today that it didn’t make much of a difference, and I’d been to enough family gatherings like this to know that it was a necessity.

  Dad slid into the chair next to me. “Save me, Pop,” he said without looking at me.

  “Am I fucking Batwoman today or something?” I asked him.

  “No, honey, but my flask is out of whiskey,” he replied.

  I tapped my fingers against the table. “How big is it?”

  He showed me a baby-sized one.

  “I’ll fill it if you bring a bigger one tomorrow. I’ve already done Grandpa duty once.”

  Dad made a face. “My poor girl. All right. You slip me a whiskey, and I’ll slip you one tomorrow after your speech.”

  “Done.” I held one hand out flat on the table.

  He tapped it with his in our form of a deal. “I’ll be back in five.” He got up as smoothly as he came. Seconds later, our server returned, and I asked her for my dad’s preferred drink before she left.

  “I feel like that’s a habit with you two,” Adam said, picking up his beer.

  Slowly, I nodded. “We survive these events knowing that we’re there for one another. I buy whiskey, he’s there in the hall when I can’t take my mom anymore. He’ll still pull a shotgun on anyone who hurts me because I’m his little girl, but he’ll booze me like the adult I am, because we both get the shit end of the deal in this family.”

  “So if you break up with me because I cheat on you, he’s gonna shoot me?”

  “God, no.” Rosie sat two seats away from me. “He only pulled a shotgun once, and that was because he found a pregnancy test in my bathroom that belonged to our cousin.”

  True story.

  “How are you doing?” I asked her.

  She twirled a wine glass between her fingers. “Can I tell you something? I’m so done with this shit.”

  I blinked.

  Adam held me a little tighter.

  Rosie leaned in. “This fancy stuff? I didn’t want it, Pops. Me and Mark have Rory. We’re a family. This is just a piece of paper.”

  She’d had too much champagne.

  I knew that straight away.

  “I don’t want a big wedding. I want to marry him. But no. Our moms said big wedding where there’s no chicken and my sister has to run around for strawberries and there are so many parties that Fashion Week feels inadequate.”

  Adam glanced at me.

  “Ro, why don’t you come to the bathroom with me?” I stood up, rounding to her. “Ad, make sure Dad gets his…water, okay?”

  “It’s fucking whiskey,” Rosie muttered.

  “Okay, his whiskey,” I agreed.

  “It’s cute when you call him Ad,” my sister carried on.

  “And we’re going!” I looped my arm through hers and, after shooting Mark an ok sign with my fingers, took her into the bathroom closest to the ballroom.

  I pushed the main door shut behind me, closing out the noise of the music that pounded through the ballroom.

  Rosie leaned against the counter. Her pale pink nails contrasted with the black marble. Her other hand swept her bangs to the side, and she looked at me, fear and panic shining in her warm brown eyes.

  “I’m scared,” she said softly. “All of this, Pop. And for what? Mom to change plans I didn’t want? Chicken to disappear? You to chase strawberries around Key West?”

  Shit. She knew about that.

  “Yes, I k
now,” she said, reading my mind. “I can’t even be mad because you did that for me. This wedding is too big, it’s too much, and I can’t do this.”

  “You can.” I stepped forward and grabbed her hands. “I love you, Ro, and you can do this. You already are. Who gives a shit if there’s chicken or strawberries? You’re here for Mark, and he’s here for you. You’re here to get married and if someone has to eat beef instead of chicken or have carrots or something then tough shit. Order McDonalds.”

  She laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth.

  I pulled her into me. “You’re getting married, not putting on a fucking state fair, even if Grandpa is this close to setting up a booth and charging ten cents for a story about his time in the Red Light District.”

  More laughing, this time into my shoulder.

  Crying, too. I felt the wetness of a tear as it dripped to my shoulder.

  “You can elope, you know,” I said, hugging her and staring at the tiles. “You’ve probably got time to get to Vegas and back by now. Depending on flights and delays and shit.”

  She laughed.

  The door opened.

  I dropped her like hot coal and rammed my body against the door. “Sorry, this one is occupied!”

  “It’s Mark!”

  “It’s still occupied! I’ll call you!” I yelled. “Go away!”

  “Poppy, I swear, I’ll—”

  “Do nothing because I’m holding your future wife hostage!”

  He shuffled. “I’ll tell all future dates about the time you accidentally tweeted a photo of your boobs.”

  “It’s probably already saved on the Internet. Go ahead.”

  Rosie laughed into her hands.

  “Are you done?” I asked him. “I’m being a good sister in here and you’re killing my vibe.”

  “Is that a sex toy?”

  “Why don’t I shove it up your ass so you can find out?”

  Rosie gave up hiding it at that point. She collapsed against the wall, laughing like someone invisible was tickling her.

  She was ticklish. It was a real analogy. You so much as wiggled a feather in her direction and she keeled over.

  “If I didn’t love you like my sister, I’ll kill you in your sleep,” Mark shouted.

  “Is that how you talk to your son’s aunt? Wash your mouth out with soap!”

  Rosie intervened at this point. “Honey, it’s fine. I just needed a break from all the crazy people.”

  “So, Mom, Dad, Grandpa, Aunt Jean, Aunt Berry, Uncle Foster…” I trailed off.

  “All of those people.”

  Mark grunted. “If you’re not out here in five minutes, I’m sending your grandpa to the nearest microphone.”

  “No problem!” Rosie grabbed me. “Make me human,” she whispered, begging me. “Please.”

  “I’m no miracle worker, but let’s see what we have here.” I looked around. “Oh, great. A tap and paper towels. That’ll turn you into Scarlet Johansson.”

  Rosie picked up the purse she’d dumped, then unzipped it. “Clutch. Makeup here. Make me look human and I won’t tell anyone your boyfriend is a big fat fake.”

  “I love you, but you’re a bitch.” I picked up the concealer stick.

  “Eh. Nobody would believe me.”

  “What does that mean?” I turned her face to look at me.

  Her eyes searched mine. “Nothing. Just that you’re doing a really good job at pretending you’re into each other.”

  I glared at her, but hmphed and got on with it.

  After all, it was her weekend.

  She could believe what she liked.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – POPPY

  Bad Ideas and Balconies

  I groaned, slumping against the door of our room.

  Adam laughed, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “At least we got Rosie to bed in one piece?”

  “Oh, please. She wasn’t drunk.” I bent and pulled off my shoes, tossing them to the side. “She was pretending to be drunk to escape the hell that is our family.”

  He paused. “Well, then, she did a good job at pretending.”

  “Of course she did. She spent long enough as a teen pretending she was sober. She knows exactly how to be drunk.” I pushed off the door, making sure it had locked.

  “I’m sure that was just her.”

  “I would like to invoke my right to remain silent.” I crossed to the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. “My teen years also have the right to remain silent.”

  “By silent, you mean forgotten and ignored.”

  “You don’t know my life, hockey boy.”

  He laughed, grabbing a half-sized bottle of champagne. “The sun is still going down. Want to join me on the world’s tiniest balcony?”

  Yes.

  No.

  Yes.

  No.

  You’re doing a really good job at pretending you’re into each other.

  I hated my sister for planting that in my head.

  “Sure. Why not?” I pulled the bobby pins out of the side of my head one by one and tossed them onto the coffee table.

  My shoulders were tight. I could feel the horrible squeezing of my muscles as I took two champagne glasses from the top of the mini fridge. Tonight had been close to disaster—not that I actually believed my sister would elope—but we almost didn’t pass it off well enough.

  Shark week had been our excuse, and if my mom asked, Rosie thought her period had started and needed me to get lady supplies.

  Yeah.

  It wasn’t the best, but it was about the only time I’d ever thanked Mother Nature for periods in my life.

  I stepped out onto the balcony with Adam. A gentle sea breeze caught my hair, and I was thankful for the soft chill it brought with it. The ballroom had been hot, and the stress of my family had made me feel even hotter with all the fuss they’d made over just about everything.

  I tugged up my dress and sat down on the floor next to Adam. “They could have given us chairs.”

  “Where would they put them? Inside?” He chuckled, pulling the tab on the champagne to remove the foil.

  “Seriously, though. That huge suite and we can barely sit our asses on this balcony.”

  “Never mind our asses—I can barely cross my legs.”

  “Well, they are about five feet long,” I said, shifting so there was enough room between us to put the champagne glasses.

  Adam shifted, bracing himself to pop the cork. “Ready?”

  “Yes. Just don’t pop it over the—”

  Pop.

  “Balcony,” I finished, watching as the cork sailed over the top of the balcony and smoke swirled out of the bottle.

  Adam turned to me, looking innocent. “Where else was I supposed to pop it? Into you?”

  “No. That would be dumb.” And painful. “I was just thinking that if someone was under the balcony…”

  “I didn’t hear anyone scream.” He shrugged and picked up the first glass, tilting it to fill it without a ton of bubbles. He passed it to me when he was done. “We can look for it tomorrow.”

  “There’s wedding tomorrow.”

  “At six-thirty in the evening,” he replied. “I think we’ll have time.”

  “Did you see my mother today?”

  Adam stilled. “I did, and I think that’s exactly why you need to be nowhere near her.”

  He wasn’t exactly wrong, was he?

  “I know, but I have things to do. The wedding planner will handle most of it, but there are little things that are my responsibility.”

  “Like making sure your sister doesn’t need to be drugged again.”

  “Exactly that.” I tilted my glass in his direction. “I don’t know how much spare time I’ll have.”

  “Well.” Adam put the champagne bottle down to the side and rested his head against the wall.

  While the balcony was thin, it was long. I’d have preferred short and fat to stretch my legs out, but I wasn’t paying for this room, so I couldn�
��t really complain, could I?

  Hell, I could barely afford a fucking sandwich in this place.

  “Well?” I said, urging him to pick up where he’d left off.

  “How long does it take to get ready for a wedding?”

  “How long is a piece of string?”

  “Ah. It’s like that.”

  “Have you ever been with women getting ready for a wedding?”

  “No,” Adam drawled. “Funnily enough, Red, it’s frowned upon for a man to be in a room with a bunch of half-naked women.”

  I sipped my champagne and side-eyed him. “Wow. You need to watch more porn.”

  He choked on his champagne, smacking his fist against his chest. I bit back a laugh as his eyes watered the tiniest amount and he looked at me.

  “What?” I asked. “It’s true. It’s not always frowned upon. Sometimes it’s celebrated.”

  “Yes, but I think that’s mostly relegated to the lifestyles of those who like that kind of thing. Or get paid for it.”

  “Are you judging?”

  “Do you swing?”

  “Only when people swing at me first.”

  This time, his choke was a laugh. “Not punch-swinging. Sex swinging.”

  I blinked at him. “Before you, my last sexual encounter was with my right hand, so no, I’m not a swinger.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Did you even need to clarify that?”

  “No, but I just enjoyed making you uncomfortable for a minute there.”

  “You’re a sick man.”

  He laughed, turning his head to meet my eyes. “Why? Because it’s fun to see you pull back your mask of confidence once in a while?”

  “What mask?”

  “See; you don’t even know you do it.”

  I shifted, turning toward him and tucking my legs to the side. “Do what?”

  “You’re a self-proclaimed disaster, but all I’ve seen this weekend is you pulling the strings and holding everything together. You controlled your sister during her freak outs. You managed to get your mom out of the way—”

  I held up a finger and shook it side to side. “That only worked because she wanted to feel our relationship out.”

  “And we convinced her. Somehow, you managed to not freak and tell her everything. You corralled your grandpa into leaving a strip club—”