by Cathie Linz
“I told you so,” Consuela crowed.
“What are you doing holding your boots like that?” Frieda asked.
“He stumbled over them outside his door this morning,” Consuela inserted.
“St. Nicholas visited last night,” he said, holding up his boots.
“A little late, wasn’t he?” Freida said. “St. Nicholas’s Day was three days ago.”
“Better late than never,” Brett murmured.
* * *
“Hurry up, Brett, or you’ll be late for your own wedding!” Keisha exclaimed from outside Brett’s bathroom door twelve days later. It may only have taken God six days to create the world, but it took the city of Chicago twelve days to process the paperwork for their marriage.
“There’s time yet,” Brett replied.
“You wearing that miracle bra I got you for your bridal shower?” Keisha demanded through the closed door. “A bride needs to wear something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. That bra could be the something new.”
Brett eyed her image in the mirror over the sink. Her outfit, which dated back to the thirties, was the something old. It had been a real find at a vintage-clothing thrift shop on Oak Street Keisha had told her about. Brett hadn’t been able to resist the funky skirt-and-top combination in ivory lace and silk. The clearance price had been incredibly low, barely twenty dollars. She loved the way the long skirt swirled to midcalf and went well with the whimsical ivory Victorian granny boots she already owned, having gotten a great deal on them the year before. She only owned three other pairs of footwear: her black “interview” pumps, her all-purpose athletic shoes and her sturdy hiking boots—so the fact that the outfit had gone with her Victorian boots had been the deciding factor.
“You fallin’ asleep in there, girl?” Keisha impatiently demanded.
“Keep your hat on,” Brett replied, adding another coat of lipstick before deciding she looked as good as she could.
Opening the bathroom door, she leaned against the doorjamb and said “Ta-da!”
“Girl, you’re looking goooood!” Keisha said, exchanging a high-five hand slap with Brett. “That bra is gonna knock Michael’s eyes out.”
“Not literally, I hope,” Brett murmured, worriedly looking down at her chest as she adjusted a bra strap. “You’re sure I look okay? I mean, it doesn’t look like I’m wearing padding, does it? Like I’m overdoing it?”
“No way. Now throw those shoulders back and knock ‘em dead.”
“Thanks for your help today.”
“I’m a sucker for romance. I’m just glad you’ve included me in the preparations. That bridal shower Frieda and Consuela threw for you was a lot more fun than I thought it would be.”
“It was so sweet of you all to get me such great things. This bra, the blue garter belt.”
“Don’t forget the new toolbox.”
“As if I would forget. That was really great.”
“Okay, we gotta get moving here. You ready to go? What about the something borrowed—you got that hankie from Consuela someplace?”
Brett nodded. “It’s stuck in the cleavage of my bra,” she said with a grin before giving Keisha a big hug. “Thanks again.”
Brett hadn’t had much money to spare for this wedding, but with the help of her newfound friends she’d made the most of her allotted budget. Michael had insisted on paying for the license and a pair of simple gold rings.
“You do realize how much diapers cost, right?” she’d asked him again just last night.
“You keep telling me. And yes, I’m still sure about this. So stop worrying.”
“A lot of things will change,” she’d said.
“I know.”
“Scary, isn’t it?”
“You, scared? No way,” he’d stated with mocking disbelief. “You know, I’m absolutely awed by the way you’ve fixed things around here.”
“Anyone could have done that.”
“No, they couldn’t. I tried and made a mess of things.”
“Consuela told me how you tried working on their bathroom sink without shutting the water off first.”
“Their bathroom quickly looked like the middle of Lake Michigan.”
Brett smiled at the memory of how she and Michael had laughed together. She hadn’t been nervous. In fact, she didn’t get nervous until she and Michael and Hope got in the cab that would take them to city hall. Keisha, Frieda and Consuela were in the cab behind them. That’s when the jitters set in. Brett tried to keep the panic at bay by concentrating on Hope, who was babbling and pointing out the window.
Noticing Brett’s nervousness, Michael said, “Is this bringing back memories of when you were engaged before?”
“Not really. Things were very different then.”
Michael took that to mean that she’d been in love with her fiance then—unlike now, when she was marrying Michael so that she could keep Hope. And that was fine with him. He was better at dealing with practical issues than he was with emotional ones. Brett was the expert in the emotion area. Although he did confess that little Hope had made her way into his heart with the speed of a lightning bolt. And so had Brett.
The thought was in his brain, but he tucked it away in a distant corner, not wanting to deal with it right now.
“Not having any second thoughts, are you?” he asked.
“I confess I’m nervous, but as for having second thoughts…any sane person would, given our situation, but for some reason I’m not. I don’t know what that says about me.”
“That you have a very good head on your shoulders.”
“The ultimate compliment coming from you,” she murmured with a laugh. “And not one I’ve gotten very often in my life.”
Brett hadn’t gotten enough compliments in her life, if you asked him, but Michael planned on changing that.
At city hall, there were already three other couples ahead of them in the waiting area. Consuela, Frieda and Keisha were taking turns holding Hope, who was delighted with all the attention. After taking off his coat and helping her with hers, Michael sat next to Brett, who was engaged in one of her favorite pastimes—people watching. The youngest couple waiting to get married had their mouths permanently fused together. They were dressed in T-shirts and jeans.
The second couple were dressed in business attire and were complaining about the delay, bemoaning this was messing up their day’s schedule. They sat with their datebooks in one hand and flip-phones in the other. “I’m running late with this appointment at city hall,” Brett heard the woman saying, “Push back my two o’clock appointment by ten minutes.”
Brett might have felt overdressed had it not been for the oldest couple. The man appeared to be well known to the staff. “You back here again, Ray?” one of the women behind the counter greeted him.
Ray wore a red-and-green crocheted vest over his red shirt. His hat had Ho-Ho-Ho written on the side of it. His bride-to-be looked like she’d been a Vegas showgirl at one time—in the fifties, maybe. She wore green. Lots of it. With satin ruffles decorated with spangles all around her bare and rather bony shoulders.
“What is this, your eighth marriage, Ray?” the city-hall worker asked.
“Only my seventh,” Ray replied.
“Gypsies believe that seven is a lucky number,” Michael whispered in her ear.
Brett tried to hide her grin but couldn’t.
“That’s better,” he said approvingly. “You were starting to look as green as Hope’s spinach baby food, or that woman’s awful dress.”
“You say the sweetest things, you silver-tongued devil,” she retorted, her voice laced with mockery.
“You look lovely.”
“Yeah, right. Green and lovely.”
“Hey, it works for Kermit the Frog.”
“You’ve been reading Hope’s books again.”
“She loves it when I read to her,” Michael said.
Brett knew why. The baby loved hearing his voice. So did Brett. She c
ould listen to him forever. He made Kermit and Miss Piggy sound like Shakespeare. She was willing to bet that even if Michael were to read one of those stupid tags that came on new pillows—he’d still sound wonderfully sexy. Or reading the instructions for filling out a tax form. Anything. It was his voice. It was magic.
She nervously clutched his hand.
“Yes, I know how much diapers cost,” he reassured her with a grin.
“You’re just a sucker for a woman in distress,” she countered.
“No, I’m a sucker for a woman who knows her way around a toolbox and a baby with equal skill.”
“Not yet. I’m still more experienced with the toolbox.”
“You do great with Hope. You got all those baby books out of the library and read them all.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know yet.”
“So we’ll learn together.”
We and together. Two of the best words in the English language, she decided.
“You think Hope is going to sleep through the ceremony?” she asked, noticing the way the baby’s head was bobbing against Consuela’s shoulder.
“Knowing how the kid likes chaos, probably,” Michael replied. “If the judge is loud enough.”
The judge was loud enough and Hope did indeed sleep through the entire ceremony, which was brief and over before Brett knew what had happened.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the judge said impatiently, clearly in a hurry to get on to the next couple on his appointment schedule.
The strange thing was, Brett didn’t feel married. Not even when Michael kissed her. She felt warm and tingly all over, as she did whenever he kissed her. But married? That should feel different, no?
She was hugged by Keisha and Frieda before they were all rushed out of the room. Two cabs whisked them back to Love Street, where a huge sign that said Just Married hung on the door to Michael’s apartment. It seems that while they were at city hall, Mr. and Mrs. Stephanopolis had been busy decorating the place. White and pink crepe paper hung from every inch of the door frame, blocking their entrance.
“Are you sure you don’t want us to keep Hope overnight?” Consuela asked hopefully.
“No, thanks for the offer.”
“Well, then we’ll just keep her for two hours more so you and Michael can enjoy the bridal dinner Mrs. Stephanopolis made for you both.”
“The dinner is all ready to be served,” Mrs. Stephanopolis said. “The main course is in the covered chafing dishes. Just go on in and enjoy.”
With those words, everyone rushed off to their own place, Consuela and Frieda cooing over Hope as they left Brett and Michael alone.
“Mrs. Stephanopolis must have snitched the key to your place from my building key ring when I was working at her apartment,” Brett said uncertainly, unable to judge from Michael’s expression how he felt about all this hoopla. “Sorry about all the fuss.” She reached out to undo the tape holding the crepe-paper barrier in place.
“I like it,” Michael surprised her by saying. Then he surprised her even further by sweeping her up in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she gulped, wishing she hadn’t eaten so much food at the bridal shower the night before.
“Why, you’re just a little thing!” he noted in wonder.
Giving him a dark frown, she stuck out her chest. “Watch who you’re calling little,” she growled.
“I am watching,” he said with a devilish grin as he made the most of his unrestricted view of the shadowy valley between her breasts. “And enjoying every moment.”
She felt the heat warming her cheeks as she blushed.
“Hold on,” he said as he leaned over to open the door before easily bursting through the paper swags across the doorway. “Welcome to your new home, Mrs. Janos,” he murmured, in no hurry as he slowly let her slide against his body before finally setting her on her feet.
“Wonderful,” she said dreamily, basking in the unadulterated elation washing over her. The intimate contact she’d just shared with him had generated a feeling of…Words simply failed her. How did you describe this secret joy? She couldn’t. All she could do was hug the feeling inside, keeping it deep in her heart.
Entranced by her glowing face, Michael didn’t even hear what she’d said. “What?”
Seeing his quizzical look, she strove to gather her dazzled senses. “I mean the table looks wonderful. Mr. and Mrs. Stephanopolis have really outdone themselves, don’t you think?”
He nodded, moving closer to the table, and pulled out a chair for her.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she sat down, feeling shy and awkward.
Wine was chilling and the candles were already lit. Someone had set the Rom box in the middle of the table as a centerpiece. The box appeared to glow in the candle light.
“I got my copy of the signed prenuptual agreement in the mail this morning,” Michael said, his matter-of-fact tone contrasting with the romantic surroundings.
Taking her cue from him, Brett replied, “I got mine today, too. Having a prenup seemed the sensible thing to do.” Actually, she’d suggested it for Michael’s protection. She didn’t want him worrying that she’d fleece him or anything. “Since a friend of mine from Loyola is now an attorney, she did it as a favor for me.”
“So you said. What about your classes at Loyola? We never discussed whether or not you plan on continuing them, now that Hope is here.”
“I haven’t exactly been on the fast track to success,” she wryly pointed out. “I’ve been taking courses as time and money allow. I don’t anticipate that changing. I’ll have plenty of time to take care of Hope. I’m only registered for one class next semester.”
Michael almost said “I know” before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to have that information, that he’d gotten it through the background check he’d run on her. Brett hadn’t mentioned it before. Afraid he might trip up again, he said, “Uh, I guess we should start eating, huh?”
She nodded and picked up her fork.
They had a tender Greek salad for starters. Brett knew there were black olives in the salad, but was later unable to remember what else she ate. It all tasted delicious, but she was too distracted to focus on food. No, her thoughts were consumed with satisfying another kind of appetite.
She stole a discreet look at his mouth. The angular line of his jaw was starting to show the shadow of a day’s growth of beard. Knowing she’d be lost if she got caught up in the magic of his awesome eyes, she kept her gaze lowered for most of the meal. The peek she’d gotten of his lips had already stirred her up enough as it was. Grabbing her fork, she attacked the piece of wedding cake on her dessert plate with unladylike gusto.
The knock on the door miade her jump a foot. “Cain down,” he murmured, pausing on his way to answer the door to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder for a moment before moving on.
“Oh, you two are still eating,” Frieda said.
“I told you we should keep the baby longer,” Consuela maintained from her side.
“No, that’s okay,” Brett said, hurrying to the door. “We were just about done anyway.”
“Here, I’ll take Hope,” Michael said, smoothly transferring the little girl to the crook of his arm. “She’ll get your lovely dress dirty,” he reminded Brett.
“I’ll go change.” She almost headed out the door to her place downstairs before remembering she lived with Michael now and most of her clothes were still boxed in a corner of the second bedroom she would be sharing with Hope.
Meanwhile Consuela was saying, “Are you sure we took enough pictures at city hall? Maybe we should snap some more while they’re still dressed up.”
“You used up three rolls of film already,” Frieda retorted.
“I guess you’re right. It’s just that everyone looks so nice.”
“Thanks again for lending us so many baby things,” Brett told Consuela, smoothing the lacy white dress that Hope was wearing.
Everyone laughed as Hope ch
ose that moment to abruptly tug down the elastic lacy band in her hair so that it rested smack across the bridge of her nose. She looked so adorably confused. Brett knew the feeling.
Seeing the devoted look on Michael’s face, she reminded herself that it was as clear as the hair band Hope wore on her cute little nose that he adored the baby. Brett had done the right thing marrying him. But it wasn’t right that she should get greedy, wanting more from him than he was able to give…wanting his love.
Later, as she watched him getting the baby ready for bed, wiggling Hope’s toes while reciting This Little Pig Went to the Play-offs, she stomped out wishful thoughts and firmly reminded herself that he’d only married her for the baby. Same reason she’d married him. The fact that she loved him should play no part in their relationship. Not until he felt the same way. If he ever did.
Putting his arm around Brett, Michael stood next to her as they watched Hope settle down to sleep in her crib. Feeling how stiffly Brett held herself, he misunderstood her reasons. “You can relax,” he reassured her. “I’m not going to be sweeping you off your feet again tonight. We’ve got plenty of time to get used to this marriage stuff. There’s no rush, right?”
“Right.” To him it was marriage stuff. To her it was the secret longing of a heart that had almost forgotten how to hope.
“Where do you want me to put this box?” Michael asked the next day.
“Just put it in the living room for now,” she answered from the kitchen, where she was child-proofing the lower cabinet doors so they couldn’t-be opened by Hope’s curious little fingers. Brett had already put in the electric outlet guards and installed a protective grate in front of all the radiators.
“The living room? I can hardly get in there as it is,” he muttered, surveying the room already filled with boxes of baby things.
“I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?”
“Nothing.” Michael set the box on top of the others already placed against one wall. They’d moved most of her furniture earlier in the day, not that she had much of it. She’d offered to have the gang from the youth center help again, but Michael had firmly maintained that he could do it on his own.
