The curtains parted, and a team of people stood at the ready.
“These are the best of the best. We’ve got stylists, seamstresses, aestheticians, manicurists, and makeup artists,” Mrs. Lieblingsschatz supplied.
“It’s showtime,” Hans said with a glint in his eyes, coming to his feet.
The wedding frau gestured for them to follow her into the mobile salon, but Jordan shook his head.
“Hold on! Georgie never answered me,” he said, taking her hands into his.
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“After the race—after I proposed, again. You never got to answer.”
She stared up at him. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I want to hear you say it,” he replied, his gaze growing dark.
This man. This handsome, part-time asshat and full-time love of her life.
“Georgiana,” he chided, the four syllables sounding good enough to eat.
Her trifecta fanned themselves as she pressed up to her tiptoes.
“You know my answer. Yes! A thousand times, yes!” she whispered against his lips, again, stealing the line from Lizzy Bennet’s sister.
He dropped her hands and pulled her into his embrace. Their lips met, and all she wanted to do was melt into his touch.
“Let’s never go two weeks without kissing again,” she gasped as he threaded his hand into her hair.
“Let’s not go two hours,” he growled as their connection grew more heated by the second.
“Two minutes,” she countered, needing more of him, all of him until the “Here Comes the Bride” horn blasted through the RV’s cab.
They pulled apart and found everyone smiling, except the wedding frau, who had her hand poised on the computer screen.
“Do I have to press this again? We have a wedding to prepare for! After thousands of nuptials, I’ve never had a wedding delayed. Not once! And it’s not happening today!”
“I better let you go,” Jordan said, twisting a strand of her hair between his fingers.
“You probably should,” she answered.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” she answered.
He held her face in his hands, a sweet gesture he’d done more times than he could count. But the next time he did it, he’d be her husband.
He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Don’t let them make your hair too perfect. You know how much I love a messy bun.”
14
Georgie
“You can’t see me in my dress, Jordan.”
“Not even a little peek?” her fiancé asked from the other side of the thick curtain separating them.
She bit back a grin. “No.”
“A teensy-tiny look?” he pleaded.
Georgie wanted to shake her head at her persistent soon-to-be husband, but she didn’t want to mess up the delicate flowers the hairdresser had painstakingly placed into her bridal-beautiful messy bun.
She glanced in the mirror and lifted her hand to touch one of the petals of a dainty white lemon-verbena blossom.
It was a nice touch—and confirmation Mr. and Mrs. Lieblingsschatz had heard everything during their wilderness boot camp blowup. Luckily, if they did think she was a sex maniac, they were polite enough not to mention it.
But, holy alpaca phlegm!
While she understood the motivation of the wedding frau to push their limits as a couple, she never wanted to attend another wilderness boot camp—not for all the vegan chocolate chip cookie dough in the world.
And she wasn’t kidding about banning the word shit shovel. As much as she enjoyed gardening, she’d never look at a trowel the same way again.
“You smell good,” Jordan said from the other side of the curtain.
“Like our laundry?” she teased, inhaling the sweet scent.
“I love the way our laundry smells,” he replied.
“And I love you, but I hope you don’t have my dryer lint in your pocket,” she teased.
“About that…” he answered, trailing off as the muffled sounds of her fiancé shifting and, most likely, parting with the incriminating evidence made her press her lips together to stifle a chuckle.
If Jordan Marks was a superfreak dryer lint hoarder, then he was her superfreak dryer lint hoarder.
She glanced over at a full-length mirror and sighed, taking in her appearance. With Jordan under strict orders not to come over to her side of the RV, all they had to do was wait another thirty minutes until they’d made it to the Botanic Gardens.
In an ivory empire waist gown, harkening back to the age of Jane Austen, and her hair just as she and Jordan liked it, wound into a wedding-chic, messy bun with tendrils framing her face, she’d never felt more lovely or more ready to become Mrs. Jensen-Marks.
Of course, she was going with a hyphenated last name. But it wasn’t only her sense of autonomy guiding her in the decision. Jensen wasn’t only her last name. It was her father’s last name, and she intended to keep it to honor the man she knew was looking down on her and smiling.
“Not too bad, huh?” she whispered to her trifecta, who wholeheartedly approved of her attire.
“Are you talking to them?” Jordan asked.
She could hear the smile in his voice.
“I hope you don’t think it’s strange that you’re marrying someone who converses with her childhood imaginary friends.”
He chuckled. “Not at all. I asked for their help today.”
She gasped. “When?”
“When I saw you in the hospital lobby. I knew if you sensed I was there and if you turned around, it meant our connection hadn’t been broken.”
“You asked Lizzy, Jane, and Hermione to get me to look at you?” she shot back.
“Yep, and it worked,” he replied, sounding quite proud of himself.
Georgie blinked back tears, wondering if her father hadn’t played a little part in that, too, when the RV lunged forward, and she scrambled to stay upright.
“Are you okay?” Jordan called.
“Yeah, but why are we stopped?”
“It’s the engine. It’s completely seized,” the driver called.
The wedding frau appeared from the back of the RV.
“No, no, no! This cannot be happening!”
After the beauty experts had finished getting them nuptial-ready, they’d dropped them off in the city. But with time to spare, the wedding frau had directed the driver to make another loop before she and Jordan were to meet a pair of Bentleys, waiting in Denver near the gardens, to make their grand entrance.
“We’ll call for a car,” Hans said, from over on Jordan’s side.
“There’s no time. We’re in the foothills,” his wife replied.
The foothills?
Georgie went over to a tinted window and nearly fell over when she saw a familiar sign.
Actually, two familiar signs.
A pair of signs she’d never forget for the rest of her life: the welcome sign for Knotty Pines Resort and a cardboard sign, directing poor souls to hell on earth, otherwise known as wilderness boot camp.
“What are we doing all the way out here?” she asked.
The frau ran her hand through her asymmetrical bob. “I told the driver to go this way. It’s exactly thirty minutes from Buck and Syd’s land to the Botanic Gardens. I had everything timed perfectly.”
“What about calling up to Knotty Pines? Surely, they’d have a car to lend,” Hans offered.
Mrs. Lieblingsschatz whispered something in German that sounded like a curse. “This is the week they’re closed down for maintenance to prepare for the winter season. It’s only tradesmen and cleaning staff.”
“What about Buck and Syd? I bet they’ve got a stripped-down Hummer or a military Jeep hidden on the property in some bunker,” Jordan tried.
“No, they’re already in Florida,” the frau lamented, holding out her phone to reveal a text message along with a picture of Buck and S
yd, donning tennis whites and holding champagne flutes.
“Do you think they’d mobilize the National Guard or send a flight for life helicopter?” the wedding frau mused.
“Liebchen, you can work magic with weddings, but activating the armed forces in the name of a wedding may be beyond your reach,” Hans replied.
But what were they to do?
Georgie glanced out the window as a white van rumbled down the road from Knotty Pines.
“I’ll stop that van and see if we can get a ride!” she said, heading toward the front of the RV.
“I’ll come with you,” Jordan called.
Georgie froze. “You can’t! I don’t want you to see me.”
“You’re not going out there on your own,” he answered, picking this moment to go all alpha CrossFit trainer.
“Fine, cover your eyes.”
“With my hands?” he asked.
“Yes, with your hands!” she answered, sharing an eye roll with the frau.
“What if I have to protect you from some lunatic driving around the foothills in a creepy van and, accidentally, look at you?” he pressed.
This was getting crazy. If anyone was about to look like a lunatic, it was a woman in full wedding attire, flagging down cars in the middle of nowhere.
“Close your eyes. I’m coming over,” she said as an idea popped into her head.
Georgie whipped open the curtain and feasted her eyes on her handsome fiancé.
“Wow, you look amazing!”
“Not too bad, right?” he answered, eyes closed.
“Here, I’ve got something that will prevent you from seeing me, even if you accidentally open your eyes.”
“What is it?” he asked with a furrowed brow.
She slid her dress up, removed the garter, then pulled it over Jordan’s eyes.
“There! I’m a MacGyver bride! That should keep you from seeing me.”
“What if the driver of the van is some nut?” he asked.
“Then, I’ll tell you, and you can slingshot my garter at him. Come on,” she said, taking him by the hand.
The van rumbled toward them, and she positioned herself right in its path. Waving wildly, she squinted, trying to read the lettering on the vehicle’s windshield, then froze.
It couldn’t be!
She narrowed her gaze, double-checking what she’d read.
“You are never going to believe this, Jordan!”
“What is it?” he questioned, looking side to side—for what reason, she didn’t know.
All the man could see was electric blue fabric and lace.
The van slowed, and the driver craned his head out of the window.
“Virginia?”
Georgie’s jaw dropped.
“Is that who I think it is?” Jordan asked, disbelief coating his words.
Georgie blinked once, then twice, and lo and behold, sitting in the driver’s seat of a Casey Pest Control van was the one and only, Brice Hannibal Casey.
“What are you doing out here?” Brice asked, getting out of the van.
She gestured to her dress. “We’re trying to get to our wedding.”
Brice sucked in a tight, cringeworthy breath. “Knotty Pines is closed. You can’t get married there. Plus, I was taking care of a little pest problem, and that ballroom is Dead Mouse City at the moment. Wait,” he said, glancing down the road that led to Buck and Syd’s place. “Are you getting married at the wilderness boot camp? Depending on how many guests you have, you’re going to be digging a lot of holes.”
Georgie gave the guy a placating grin. “No, we need to get to the Denver Botanic Gardens.”
Brice pushed up his cap and scratched his head. “What are you going to do there?”
God, bless him! This man was not the sharpest tool in the shed.
“We’re supposed to get married there. That’s why I’m in a wedding dress and Jordan’s in a tux.”
“Hey, man, looking good!” Brice said, unfazed, as if it were commonplace for him to run into people, sauntering around in bridal gear.
“Brice, can you drive us to Denver?” Jordan asked.
“Sure, but you’ve both got to ride in front. My equipment takes up the back,” he answered, pulling the cap back onto his head.
“Thank you! We’ll ride anywhere,” Georgie answered.
Never in her life did she think she’d be so happy to see Brice Casey.
The Lieblingsschatz wedding duo exited the RV and joined them on the road.
“We’ve got a car coming, but the driver says he’s fifteen minutes away,” Hans said.
Georgie breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s all right! We can all ride in Brice’s van.”
“Sorry, Virginia, no can do. Like I said, the back of the van is full. I can only fit two,” Brice replied.
The wedding frau hurried to the van’s passenger side door and gestured for them to get in. “You and Jordan need to go. My people are already at the venue. Everything will run like clockwork, and Hans and I will arrive as soon as we can.”
Georgie took Jordan’s hand and led him to the van.
“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Lieblingsschatz,” she said, growing emotional.
The wedding frau’s features softened. “You’re wearing my hairpin, Georgiana. I’m Cornelia to you now.”
Georgie reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand. “Thank you, Cornelia.”
The frau’s gaze grew glassy, but before a tear could be shed, she cleared her throat.
“You, pest control guy!”
Brice straightened up like a soldier. “Yes, ma’am!”
“You need to drive quickly, but you also need to drive safely. Can I trust you with this task?”
“Aye-aye, captain,” Brice answered, saluting the frau.
“I don’t want to see one wrinkle on that dress! Do you understand?” she threatened.
He saluted again. “No wrinkles! Sir, yes, sir!”
Brice opened the passenger side door for them and guided the blindfolded groom onto the seat. “You’re going to have to sit on Jordan’s lap, Virginia.”
She settled herself on her fiancé’s lap, and Jordan’s body vibrated with suppressed laughter. At this point, she didn’t care if Brice called her Virginia, Georgia, Tennessee, or Madam Michigan. He just needed to get them to the gardens.
She adjusted herself on Jordan’s lap and clumsily buckled them in
Jordan wrapped his arms around her. “This is it, isn’t it?” he whispered into her ear.
“Is what?” she whispered back.
“Exactly how you pictured your wedding day,” he said with a smirk.
“Isn’t this what every girl dreams of?” she teased.
“Not Cammie,” Brice said, popping the gearshift into drive.
“Did you guys break up?” she asked.
“It was the Cheetos that got us,” Brice replied, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jordan said.
“Me too. Camille seemed great,” she added.
Brice sighed. “She is great, but now she’s with Johnny Squat Johnson.”
“Who is Johnny Squat Johnson?” she asked, unable to stop herself.
Brice’s shoulders slumped. “A better fit for her. His dad owns a company that provides porta-potties for outdoor events. It makes sense that the Prince of Potties would end up with the Princess of Plumbing.”
“That’s a real bummer, Brice,” Jordan said as his cheeks turned red from his clever little pun.
Georgie elbowed her fiancé in the ribs, then covered her face with her hands, not wanting to laugh at this poor man.
She glanced around the van, littered with invoices and takeout wrappers, needing badly to change the subject if she didn’t want to break out into a giggle-fest.
“Brice, I didn’t know you worked out in the field. I thought you were the Vice President of Operations at your company.”
“I am,” he answered with a resolute nod.
“I figured you’d be in an office.”
“My dad’s the president. He gets the office. I need to learn the business and get my hands dirty. That’s what he tells me, so, here I am,” he added with a thoughtful expression.
She stared at this man who’d been the catalyst for getting her to this moment. This person she’d pegged as an absolute jerk, who may be more than a jackass mouse killer with good hair.
Emotion welled in her chest. “Brice, I need to thank you.”
“For what?” he replied.
She sighed as contentment washed over her. “For being a real douche canoe.”
“Jesus, Georgie!” Jordan gasped.
“No, I’m serious, and I mean it in the best way. You might not be able to remember my name, but without you and that awful first date we had years ago, I don’t know if I’d be marrying the man of my dreams today.”
“Georgie’s right! We both owe you,” Jordan said earnestly.
“I should thank you guys, too. I’ve learned a lot from your More Than Just a Number blog. And you’re right! I was a douche canoe. I think I got a lot of chicks over the years because I have great hair.”
“Man to man, you do have good hair,” Jordan said, holding out his fist to get a bump from Brice.
“And, Virginia,” Brice said.
“Yes,” she answered, because why the hell shouldn’t she answer to it.
“You were never an eight,” he answered solemnly.
She patted his shoulder. “Thanks, Brice. That’s kind of you to admit.”
“I read one of your posts on the importance of honesty, and I have to tell you something,” he continued.
“Please, go ahead,” she said, starting to like this More-Than-Just-a-Number-reading Brice Casey.
“You’re more like a seven-point-five. But I rounded up,” he replied with the expression of a blissfully clueless golden retriever.
Jordan’s head dropped to her shoulder as he shuddered with another round of barely restrained laughter.
“I appreciate your honesty, Brice,” she said, shaking her head as the van pulled up to the Denver Botanic Gardens.
Brice shifted the vehicle into park and glanced over at them nervously. “I got you here in one piece, and your dress looks okay to me. Do you think that German grandma ninja lady is going to come after me?”
Own the Eights Gets Married Page 21
