Own the Eights Gets Married

by Krista Sandor

  He was about to set the record straight when the production assistant, who he’d almost punched into next week thanks to that whole you’re hot mix-up, approached the group.

  “Sorry, folks, but we need you off the set so we can set up for the Taco Tuesday segment.”

  “Jordan and I aren’t doing our segments?” Georgie asked as two large men lifted the couch she’d been sitting on while another burly man rolled out a table on squeaky wheels.

  The kid shifted his stance. “Sorry, your whole waffle wedding proposal took the place of it.”

  “Waffle wedding proposal?” Jordan repeated as Georgie’s expression grew pained, which hit him like a punch to the gut.

  Dammit! He’d shared the whole engagement idea with the Wake-Up Denver producer a couple of days ago. Still, the man hadn’t mentioned anything about cutting the educational component of their time on-air.

  Georgie produced a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s okay. I understand,” she answered, then lifted a sleeping Mr. Tuesday off the ground and into her arms.

  They followed the production assistant off the set as a woman buzzed past them, removing their mics then flitted away toward the chefs standing at the taco set.

  Being in this place was starting to feel like a continual case of whiplash. He pressed his hand to the small of Georgie’s back and followed the CityBeat wedding brigade off the set when Becca met them in the hallway.

  “Congratulations! Let’s see this ring!” Georgie’s friend exclaimed.

  “No time!” Hector called, waving them forward. “Do the doggie switcheroo, and then we need to be off.”

  Georgie looked from Mr. Tuesday to Becca. “Do you mind taking him home? I’m not exactly sure what’s happening at the…”

  “Why, we’re all headed to the Denver Palace Hotel! The perfect place for the prince and princess of CityBeat!” Hector supplied.

  Jordan looked between the blog site founders. “You guys can’t be serious with this whole prince and princess thing?”

  “That’s what the Belgian Waffle Princess dubbed you guys, and it seems to be trending online along with Emperor of Asshattery,” Barry said, tilting his phone for them to see the post.

  “You know what that means,” Hector said, rubbing his hands together.

  Jordan shared a look with Georgie, who shook her head.

  “No, we have no idea what it means,” he answered.

  “Tiaras!” Hector breathed with a wild glint in his eyes. “We need to start investigating tiaras, pronto, Bobby.”

  Georgie stiffened. “I think I’d like to skip the car ride over.”

  “Whatever for?” Bobby asked, concern etched on his face.

  “The Palace Hotel isn’t far from here, and I could use a meandering walk,” she answered, and Jordan’s heart jumped into his throat.

  Georgiana Jensen’s meandering walks meant she had something weighing on her mind, most likely due to the over-sized engagement ring sparkling on her go-fuck-yourself finger. But, truth be told, he could use a break from tissues, TV, and tiaras, too.

  Georgie passed Mr. Tuesday over to Becca, and the women began to talk dog logistics as he gestured for Bobby, Hector, and Barry to join him down the hall.

  He schooled his features into his do-not-mess-with-me CrossFit angry-god expression. A little something he kept in his back pocket from his Marks Perfect Ten Mindset days.

  He narrowed his gaze. “Georgie and I will meet you at the hotel, but you guys have to take it down a notch.”

  “Jordan,” Bobby said with a placating expression. “You know my husband, Hector—make a big deal out of everything—Garcia. He could turn a trip to the podiatrist into a major event.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t you? I have those gorgeous eco-friendly sandals I wear anytime my little piggies need attending to,” Hector replied, then watched him closely. “You’re not afraid of piglets, are you, Jordan?”

  Jordan scrubbed his hands down his face, suddenly feeling insanely exhausted. “No, it was just baby goats, and I’m totally over that,” he answered, not entirely telling the truth.

  But close enough.

  “Such a powerful moment for CityBeat,” Barry chimed, pressing his hand to his heart.

  Georgie came to his side. “Are you ready?”

  He took her hand. “We’ll meet you there,” he said to the men as he led Georgie out of the building.

  She exhaled an audible breath and leaned into him as they strolled down the sidewalk. It was the perfect early fall day in Denver. The trees were beginning to pop with splashes of gold and red, and all he wanted to do was take his fiancée over to a bench and sit.

  No words.

  No Belgian Waffle Princesses or Wake-Up Denver plugs.

  Just the two of them with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Are you contemplating our escape, too?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  He chuckled. “Not so much as an escape but a moment alone with you without some idiot trying to work-in the words, Wake-Up Denver.”

  She held out her hand with the sparkling diamond. “You mean a moment alone with your fiancée?”

  He liked the sound of that.

  He sighed. “I’m sorry the ring is the wrong size. Between myself and the wedding wonder twins, I thought I could have gotten that part right.”

  She wiggled her fingers as the diamond sparkled in the sunlight. “It’s nothing a jeweler can’t take care of. But I have to ask you, when did you start thinking about proposing? Don’t get me wrong. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but today was a huge surprise.”

  “I had to ask before you got another proposal,” he replied, suppressing a grin.

  She looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. “From who?”

  “Remember when that little kid asked you to marry him a couple weeks ago?”

  “Little Joey, the five-year-old from the bookstore?” she asked with a thread of incredulity.

  He laughed. “It sounds crazy when you put it like that. But I have to admit, I was a little caught off guard by it. But the kid was right. What was I waiting for?”

  She hummed a sweet chuckle. “You know there’s no one I love more than you.”

  “I know,” he answered gently, wrapping his arm around her.

  “I can’t wait to be your wife,” she said, smiling up at him.

  This—the two of them. This is who they were.

  The hotel came into view, and Georgie stopped and stared at the building.

  She turned to him with a slight crease to her brow. “We want this, don’t we?”

  He knew exactly what she was talking about and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her in close.

  He ran his hand down her back. “We both want to help people live their best life. It’s what we’ve wanted from the beginning.”

  She sighed, and her warm breath tickled his neck. “I wanted to talk more about the Shakespeare Shuffle. Do you think we’ll be able to pull it off?”

  “The high schools are all promoting it, and we post about it every day,” he answered.

  “It’s our first big project. I don’t want us to crash and burn,” she whispered.

  Neither did he.

  “Hey, we’ve proven there’s nothing the wet T-shirt girl and the goat guy can’t do. With enough vegan cookie dough, we’re unstoppable.”

  She grinned up at him with a smile that turned him to mush.

  “But we do have one problem,” he said, working to keep his features neutral.

  “We do? What’s that?” she asked.

  His stony expression gave way to a wide grin. “I haven’t kissed you as my fiancée yet.”

  “No, you have not,” she replied, her gaze darkening.

  He leaned in. “We need to change that.”

  “Why’s that?” she purred.

  “Because after we finish with whatever the hell kind of champagne party Hector and Bobby have up their sleeves, I’m taking you
home, and we’re getting your sex hair back.”

  Georgie drew her fingertips down his torso. “Is that so?”

  He nodded. “And there won’t be enough hair conditioner in all of Denver to untangle it after I’m through with you, soon-to-be, Mrs. Marks.”

  He tilted her chin and stroked his thumb across her jawline. With a sexy as hell sigh, Georgie closed her eyes and melted into his touch when a sharp gasp and shrill yelp accompanied by the scent of perfume left them frozen.

  “Pumpkin! Jordan! There’s not going to be a soon-to-be-anything if you two don’t stop playing kissy-face for all of the city to see and make an appearance at your party!”

  3

  Georgie

  Georgie cringed.

  She’d know the haughty huff of the Denver socialite Lorraine Vanderdinkle, aka her mother, anywhere.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t officially see the woman, she and Jordan could take off running down the street.

  “Georgiana? Pumpkin?” came the familiar chime of her mother’s voice.

  “You told my mother?” she whispered.

  “Of course, I did! I went to see her and Howard to ask for their blessing. And I’ve got to tell you, Howard is a pretty great guy. I’ve never talked that much with him.”

  “Me neither, actually,” she answered.

  “It wasn’t like I could go to Lizzy Bennet, Jane Eyre, or Hermione Granger and ask for their approval. But I did reread Pride and Prejudice. So, there’s that,” he whispered back.

  Her trifecta shrugged.

  Dammit! Going to her mother and stepfather was the honorable thing to do.

  “But there’s more,” Jordan said, keeping his voice low.

  More? What more could there possibly be than knowing her mother had probably already decided this wedding was going to be Denver’s next big social event?

  She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. “What kind of more?”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s been in contact with Bobby and Hector.”

  “Oh, my God,” Georgie whisper-shouted as her eyes fluttered open.

  Jordan cringed apologetically, and she held his gaze, her eyes growing wider.

  “It’s like we’ve got our very own Hydra of Lerna.”

  Jordan cocked his head to the side. “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s from Greek mythology. It’s—”

  He gasped. “I remember. It’s a three-headed monster.”

  Georgie risked a glance and found her mother flanked by Bobby and Hector.

  “The Hydra of Denver,” she said with a gulp, fearing the power of three.

  “The Hydra of Denver? Is that a fancy cocktail or a new spa treatment at the Ritz, pumpkin?” her mother asked with a frown in her voice.

  Knowing her mom, Lorraine Vanderdinkle probably thought she was frowning, but with the Botox, all that happened was a slight twitch to the corner of her mouth.

  Muted frown or not, if she thought Hector and Bobby’s involvement was bad, the addition of her mother to the wedding planning mix would be absolutely catastrophic.

  Georgie caught Jordan’s eye, expecting to find the same level of dread she was sure burned in her gaze when the man winked at her. He actually winked! The thing is, it was just what she needed. That tiny gesture helped ease the surge of frantic energy she experienced whenever her mother was in the vicinity.

  “Come on, you two. You don’t want to keep your guests waiting,” Hector added, waving them toward the entrance.

  Georgie shared a look with Jordan as they followed the wedding brigade into the hotel.

  “I hope they didn’t go too crazy on this champagne breakfast thing,” she said, mustering courage.

  “Would a champagne fountain the size of a skyscraper count as too crazy?” he asked.

  “Why?” she questioned, as a wave of apprehension washed over her.

  But Jordan didn’t need to elaborate.

  They entered a room that could only be described as Willy Wonka meets pretty, pretty princess. Square in the center of the grand space, a tower of champagne bottles and crystal flutes formed what looked like a Dom Pérignon monster Christmas tree.

  But that wasn’t all.

  In each corner stood giant fountains, flowing with chocolate and littered with strawberries and other fondue delicacies.

  Georgie gasped when she caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a pink chef’s uniform. He stood behind a table teeming with polished silver chafing dishes. Brandishing two large knives, the man held them over his head like a culinary samurai before turning his attention and knife skills on a giant hunk of meat.

  And the baby pink! It was inescapable. From the bouquets of flowers placed on every flat surface to the tablecloths to swaths of fabric draped between the chandeliers, they’d walked into a Pepto-Bismol champagne party prison.

  “It’s so pink,” she uttered.

  “But you like pink, pumpkin,” her mother replied with her signature tinkling laugh.

  “I like the color rose, Mom,” she muttered.

  “And there are a lot of people here,” Jordan added, taking in the masses, mingling in the opulent room.

  Her mother waved him off. “It’s only family and friends. And, of course, everyone from the Country Club and Howard’s venture capitalist chums. Oh, yes, and the media!”

  “As well as CityBeat and all their subscribers,” Barry added, holding up his phone.

  Startled, Georgie shrieked. “When did you get here?”

  “I was behind you the whole time.”

  Jordan tensed. “You followed us?”

  Barry raised a hand in mock defense. “Only to get some shots of you two walking. I wasn’t close enough to hear you.”

  She gestured to his phone. “And now?”

  “Now, you should say hello to everyone at CityBeat. We’re livestreaming.”

  Georgie resurrected her beauty queen grin. “Hey, everyone! Jordan and I are so happy to have you along with us today.”

  And she was. She really was. But they’d been engaged less than an hour, and all this fanfare and publicity around their pending nuptials was already snowballing into one behemoth of an event.

  “Mom,” she said, turning away from Barry. But before she could utter another word, Lorraine Vanderdinkle went into full-on socialite mode, plucking a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and calling for the crowds’ attention.

  “Dear friends and members of the Denver Country Club and global community! Our guests of honor have arrived!” she declared, flashing a Botox grin Barry’s way.

  The rapid snap of the photographers’ cameras pelted the air in a clatter of clicks.

  Jordan took her hand and leaned in, his lips millimeters from her earlobe. “Remember, Miss Sex Hair, after we get through this, I’m taking you home, and I’m not letting you out of bed until we’ve gone through the entire naughty section of the Kama Sutra.”

  She gestured to the bevy of men and women taking their picture, then lowered her voice. “It may take a couple of times through to get this out of my head.”

  He gave her a wolfish grin. “Thanks to following the More Than a Number exercise and healthy eating protocol, you know I’m up for it.”

  “Jordy! Georgie!” came the booming voice of Jordan’s father, Dennis Marks, and her apprehension over the circus of an engagement party subsided.

  Denny slung a zipped up faded garment bag over his shoulder as he shook his son’s hand, then pressed a kiss to her cheek.

  “Congratulations! You kids looked great on TV.”

  “I don’t know if great’s the word,” she answered, but she was grateful to have him there.

  Denny waved her off. “Nah, everybody loved it. I watched most of it with the guys from the shop. They all wanted me to wish you well. Even the crustiest of mechanics have a soft side.”

  “A crusty mechanic who also harbors a secret love of Michael Bolton ballads?” she teased, lowering her voice as the big guy blushed. />
  He’d come a long way from the sullen, angry man he’d become after his wife passed away when Jordan was a kid. But over the past few months, thanks to the father and the son making a real effort to talk to each other rather than at each other, the man had transformed.

  And, as of a few weeks ago, he happened to be living down the block from them in Denver’s quaint and eclectic Tennyson neighborhood. He’d sold his home on the Colorado plains and used some of the money to purchase an automotive shop from Jordan’s friends, Ginger and Zeke, the old owners, who were leaving Colorado to be closer to their families on the West Coast.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Dad,” Jordan said, throwing a mock punch at the man’s arm.

  Denny’s gaze grew glassy. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, son.”

  “We are so happy you could join us, Dennis. Now, what is this monstrosity you’ve got hanging off your arm?” her mother asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

  Denny’s eyes lit up. “This here is a Marks family tradition.”

  Jordan paled. “Oh no, Dad! I don’t think…”

  “How lovely! Let’s have a look!” Lorraine replied.

  Suddenly, Georgie was thankful for her mother’s Botox face as Denny proudly removed a wrinkled electric blue tuxedo with a ruffled dress shirt and matching trousers.

  “Is that a vintage sharkskin tux?” Hector asked.

  “Sure is. My dad married my mother in this suit, and I married my beautiful late wife in it. Son, it looks like you’ll be wearing it soon, too.”

  Jordan’s gaze bounced between his father and her mother. “Dad, I didn’t even know you still had that.”

  “I’d never part with it!” he said, running his index finger tenderly over the ruffled shirt.

  “Wow, Denny! That tux is unique,” Georgie said, choosing her words carefully and trying to breathe through her mouth. She didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings, but the suit was in awful shape and smelled terrible.

  “Has that suit been stored in a chemical waste plant, or is that the mothballs I’m smelling?” her mother inquired, her face frozen in a muted state of surprise.

  But the woman was right. The garment reeked.

  “It’s the mothballs. And there’s more!” Denny answered, his features becoming more animated.