This man. Her Emperor of Asshattery and reigning Sovereign of Scat. They’d figure this out. Jordan wasn’t entirely wrong when he’d said their relationship had been built on challenges. She’d challenged his Marks Perfect Ten Mindset philosophy, and he’d challenged her Own the Eights attitude. And look at what happened. They found love and were living the life they’d each dreamed of—with a twist. If the perfect ten and the dependable eight could figure out a way to make it work in the game of love, they had to have a chance at not completely screwing up in their brave new world of pregnancy and parenting.
She held onto this moment, warm and safe in her husband’s arms, when her stomach growled as if a ravenous bear had taken up residence in her abdomen.
Jordan’s eyes went wide. “Come on! Let’s grab our fake baby, and then we can get you a tub of pineapple salsa.”
She scanned the bands on the doll’s ankles and found their Faby, while her husband retrieved the fake baby’s diaper bag. They left the creepy nursery and gave the simulation area one last look before exiting the building. She was about to breathe a sigh of relief when a black limo screeched to a stop in front of them, and the breath caught in her throat.
It couldn’t be.
“What time is it in India?” she whispered.
“What does that matter?” Jordan whispered back.
She stared at the car. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think it’s your mom?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
It couldn’t be…could it?
She hadn’t checked her phone in hours. Could they have texted, and she’d missed it? What if they’d learned of the pregnancy from someone else? What if her mother was here to take her shopping for maternity rompers? Did those even exist?
Her thoughts whirled as question after question fueled a frenzied mind tornado until the tinted window lowered.
Georgie’s heart sprang into her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut like a naughty child and waited for her mother’s flowery voice to call out. She braced herself for a Lorraine Vanderdinkle tongue-lashing but was met with a husky German accent instead.
“Georgiana! Jordan!” called their former wedding planner from the driver’s seat.
“Cornelia, I didn’t know you drove this thing,” Georgie said—because saying “thank God you’re not my mother” seemed somewhat tactless.
“I don’t. But when I saw you enter the warehouse with a doll, I put Hans on spy duty.”
“Aren’t you with clients?” Jordan asked, looking equally relieved.
“We left them with the dildo guy. They’ll be fine,” Cornelia said with a wave of her hand.
“You two look wonderful! How was Fiji?” the kind Hans asked.
Cornelia whipped off her dark glasses. “Hans! How can you ask about Fiji? Georgiana, are you pregnant?”
Cornelia Lieblingsschatz did not beat around the bush.
“Yes, I am. What tipped you off?” she answered.
Cornelia’s gaze dropped to Faby. “I had a hunch there was some baby business near the Denver Wedding Underground.”
She glanced at the baby doll in her arms. “Are you thinking of expanding and adding parent training to the Denver Wedding Frau empire?”
Cornelia and Hans looked at each other, then broke out into mad giggles.
Cornelia gasped. “We wouldn’t touch parenting prep with a ten-foot pole. Who’s running your classes? The Music Men or Natural Birth Nadine? Those are Denver’s hottest pre-baby planners.”
“Lenny and Stu, the music men,” Jordan answered.
“You’re lucky,” Cornelia replied.
“What do you mean by that?” Georgie asked.
“A few years back, Hans and I almost worked with an expectant couple who wanted to get married, but they were already with Nadine.”
Georgie frowned. “You didn’t help plan a couple’s wedding because they were expecting?”
“Of course, we plan weddings for expectant clients all the time. Hans and I don’t discriminate. We’re very modern in our thinking,” Cornelia replied.
“Well, then what was wrong with the Natural Nadine couple?” Jordan pressed.
Cornelia shuddered. “Natural Birth Nadine doesn’t allow her clients to shave or use deodorant for the duration of their pregnancy. She insists on a complete caveman and cavewoman experience. The smell is atrocious.”
Hans grimaced. “We tried working with the couple, but the poor dildo guy fainted from the odor.”
Now, there’s something you don’t hear every day.
“Okay, we’ll be sure to steer clear of any Nadine,” Jordan replied.
“Your families must be so happy,” Hans said, shifting gears.
“Yes, they are. My dad can’t wait to become a grandfather,” Jordan answered.
“And your mother? I imagine she and Howard are over the moon with joy,” Cornelia pressed.
Georgie shifted Faby. “Yeah…well…I’m sure they will be.”
The frau pegged her with her sharp wedding planner gaze. “You haven’t told them?”
“They’re out of the country at a spiritual retreat in India,” she replied like a teen making a half-assed excuse after getting caught breaking curfew.
“Really?” Cornelia said with an amused grin. “Looks like you have me to thank for that.”
Georgie chuckled. “She takes her psychic gifts seriously.”
“You should tell them, Georgie,” Hans added gently.
“But not while holding that creepy doll,” Cornelia answered when a phone resting in the car’s center console pinged.
Hans glanced at the cell. “It’s the dildo guy. We need to get back. Congratulations, you two!”
Cornelia lowered her sunglasses. “Tell your mother soon, Georgiana.”
“Will do!” she replied with her beauty queen smile stretched across her face, then crossed her fingers behind her back like a disobedient child.
10
Georgie
“Georgiana Jensen-Marks, why haven’t you told your mother yet?”
Georgie leaned forward and cradled her head in her hands. “I figured Becca would have mentioned that to you.”
Georgie peeked between her fingers at Irene, who scowled at her over video chat.
“One,” her friend said, raising her index finger. “My sister is surprisingly hard to connect with these days.”
Irene wasn’t wrong.
While Becca managed the bookstore, she’d also started her last semester of college this month. But when she wasn’t in the shop, she was damn hard to get ahold of. She’d text or call back, eventually, but she’d definitely been preoccupied for the last few months or so.
“I think she’s seeing someone, but she won’t tell me anything,” Irene said, resurrecting her scowl as she rested her hands on her pregnant belly.
“Bec hasn’t mentioned anything to me,” Georgie answered, knowing she may not be the best judge of what was going on with the younger Murphy sister.
Life had flown by these last several weeks. This was the first time in over a month that she and Irene were able to connect. Honestly, these days, she was lucky to make it out the door with a pair of matching shoes. Business at the bookstore had doubled last month with holiday shopping, and now, with people setting their January New Years’ resolutions, Jordan’s gym had picked up even more steam and signed-on an avalanche of new clients. But Irene was right. Something was going on with Becca.