Page 14 of Calamity Rayne Gets Hitched

He glared at me like he always did whenever I mentioned his father’s latest marriage. Ignoring my comment, he pointed the remote at the television and put on the game. “Most women spend their entire lives dreaming of a big wedding.”

I grimaced, collecting toys from the carpet and chucking them into the bin. I wasn’t like most women. Not only did I lack the gene that made me good at girlie things, I absolutely sucked at planning.

Hale had such grandiose ideas. He not only wanted a New York wedding, he wanted a rooftop ceremony overlooking the entire metropolis. His expectations were what any ordinary person would call out of reach, and he used the word perfect way too often when setting standards.

When we started scouting locations, he had told me, “I want a venue with a view of the gods.”

“What gods?” I had asked, Disney’s King Titan and Hercules floating through my head.

“The gods hidden throughout the most influential streets and structures of the world. New York is modern man’s Mount Olympus.”

Sure, I thought, secretly believing his expectations might be a smidge high. He wanted a venue he could transform with a panoramic view overlooking all of Manhattan.

Rich people hired literal construction crews to throw parties. Pre-Hale, at the last wedding I attended in Oregon, I thought the chocolate-covered almonds were fancy. Davenports redefined the word.

Elara reached for Meep Meep, her stuffed sheep, and I handed her a bottle. She rolled to her side and happily cuddled the sheep. That girl had the life.

“What are you worried about, Rayne? I told you I’ll pay for everything.”

“Well, duh.” I would have a hard time affording the flight from Florida to New York. The traditional idea of the bride’s family paying for the wedding went out the window the moment Hale mentioned ice sculptures.

My family did not come from money. We were the basic, lower-middle-class people who had one very basic bathroom, an old television too big to mount on a wall with basic cable, no dining room and no need for formal dining, and basic cars with limited liability insurance that had all been pre-owned by other basic people before us.

The Davenports, on the other hand, had so much money they smelled like it. Hell if I could figure out what a man like Hale saw in a simple chick like me.

It wasn’t my bed skills or beauty, I knew that much. And while most people laughed at my jokes, Hale was more reserved than most. But he did find me funny. Thank God for that.

“Try to enjoy the process, babe. Think of it this way, the sky’s the limit and you can have whatever you want. Make it fun.”

Fun was a tall order. I was so awkward even the title of bride-to-be intimidated me. But I did like the ring.

Holding out my hand, I smiled as the diamond caught the fading sun. My gaze drifted past my fingers as I looked longingly at the infinity pool. It would be a few months before we could swim again. January in the Keys was beautiful. Nothing like the wet, slush everyone was dealing with back in Oregon right now, but still too chilly to swim. Once the weather broke I planned on using the pool as a source of working out. Iron out some of this new baby weight before the big day.

Not that I had carried a baby per se. But I took care of Elara as if she were my own, and being that she was a kid with no access to her money or massive trust funds yet, I often compensated my efforts and worries with added calories.

Motherhood was stressful. Not that I was her mom. I knew my rank. But I loved that pudgy little peanut as if she were my own, and loving anything that much was terrifying. I was suddenly responsible for another human life. Me. A person who could barely take care of herself.

So, yeah, I ate my feelings. There was no law saying I wasn’t allowed to eat a cookie from time to time if it helped me shoulder such massive responsibilities. And Hale liked my fluffy parts so we were both fine with my rounding waistline and softer thighs.

Speaking of, I searched the accent tables for the plate of snickerdoodles Marta had made. “What did you do with the rest of the Christmas cookies?”

“I ate them.”

“All of them?” I could feel the outrage distorting my face.

“Sorry. There might be some pizzelles left.”

My lip hooked upward in disgust. “Those aren’t cookies. They’re flat, flavorless pancakes people make so they have an excuse to buy weird ingredients in the baking aisle, like anise.”

He pulled his eyes from the game and looked at me in confusion. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” I went to the kitchen and came back with three pizzelles. One bite and the whole thing crumbled, making a mess. I discretely dusted off my shirt while Hale’s focus was on the television.

“Can I have one?”

I looked at him for a long moment. It was among the shittier cookies, but I was a known hoarder of baked goods. In the end, I gave him one because I could deny the man nothing.

He ate it without dropping a single crumb.

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