Page 52 of From Best Friend to Bride
It did have a certain ring to it.
A bit like hedonism.
Then again, if she were going to worship at the altar of a man she had a huge, harmless crush on, what was the harm in a little hedonism?
As long as I didn’t have to participate in whatever prayer sessions they had going on, it was none of my business.
“You’re right, Aunt Vi,” I said, opening my car door. “That’s much catchier.”
She beamed. “I thought so. Are you coming over later?”
“No, I—”
“I’m making your favourite for dinner.”
I paused. “Uh, by favourite, do you mean your turkey meatballs?”
A glint of amusement flashed in her eyes. “The meat is already marinating in the fridge, and I’m going to pick herbs from the garden when I’m home.”
“Oh no, you’ve twisted my arm,” I said, deadpan. “It would be so rude of me not to come when you’re going to such effort.”
She laughed, tossing her head back. “See you at five-thirty, Deli.”
She most certainly would.
Not to beat a dead horse, but something was definitely going on, and it might have taken me all day, but I think I’d figured it out.
My best friend was going to propose to me tonight.
That’s the only explanation for why both of our entire families were here. Even my mother’s boyfriend and my sister’s husband were present. Amelia and Henry were still here, and both grandmothers had been flitting back and forth like someone had switched out their pills for a class-A drug.
One of them was going to pop their hip out, I just knew it.
Fifty quid said it would be mine.
The woman had two mandala tattoos where her tits used to be, for goodness’ sake. If anyone was going to go out swinging, it would be Nana.
“I see.”
“Very delicate, isn’t it?” Nana said quietly. “And if you look just down here, it’s a bit thicker to hide the scar.”
I stopped in the doorway.
Speaking of mandala tattoos…
If I walked into this room and she had her shirt up under her arms again, I was going to turn around and go right home.
“It’s done so well,” Henry remarked. “You’d never know, would you?”
“Aside from the absence of Nana’s actual breasts,” Mel said.
“Oh, pish,” Nana replied. “At my age, they’d be less breast and more empty shopping bags. Do you know how much your grandmother has to pack her bra out to make them look even remotely perky?”
Yep.
I was going home.
A heavy arm rested on my shoulder, and I didn’t need to move to see who it was.
