“We don’t need a discount,” he mumbles.
“Yes, well, Boss Man Rich Pants, some of us thrive off discounts. Just because you have money doesn’t mean you need to spend it frivolously. I will get us a discount, we deserve it, and I will have the chef write an apology card to you.”
“Not necessary.”
“Unless, do you think we should change the venue? I mean, do we really want to have the reception at a place that fed us poisoned crab cakes?”
“It’s too late to find somewhere else. Unless you want me to spend more money, then I can do that, but then that would be counterproductive to wanting to get a discount from the current place. Up to you, babe.”
I huff. “Well, looks like you’re feeling better.”
He nuzzles into my legs. “No, just had an extra breath of air. Don’t leave me.”
“Oh boy.” I stroke his bare back now, his corded muscles enticing me. He just threw up for an hour, Charlee, get a hold of yourself. “Are you one of those guys who gets sick and is incapable of doing anything?”
“Guilty,” he mutters into my leg. “Take care of me.”
“Oh, Rath, you’re going to be disappointed in our marriage if you think I’m going to baby you when you’re sick.”
“Baby me now, and I swear I’ll make it up to you.” He nuzzles his nose into my crotch and I laugh and push him away.
“Stop that.”
But he doesn’t.
“We’re talking explosive orgasms, the kind of orgasm you can only dream of. You know all the dirty things you fantasize about, I’ll make them come true.”
“All of them?” I ask.
He nods and roughly says, “All of them.”
Excited, I stroke his hair and say, “Can I get you anything else, you handsome, handsome man?”
Lightly chuckling he says, “Take your shirt off and let me lie on your chest. Your boobs will make me feel better.”
Why are men such horny idiots?
Rath stops in the middle of the aisle. Flowers surround us as he sticks his hands in his pockets and shakes his head in disbelief.
“What?” I ask, looking at a bundle of lavender. Rath has fully recovered from the crab cakes, he’s looking more handsome than ever with color back in his cheeks, and despite the minor setback, we’re back into wedding planning and picking out flowers today.
I know these are things I could do by myself, but I’m using these opportunities to spend more time with Rath, to get to know him on a deeper level.
So far . . . it hasn’t worked, but I am bound and determined to dig deep where this man is concerned.
He steps up to me, tips my chin, and says, “You look so goddamn beautiful today.” Carefully he leans in and moves his mouth across mine for a brief second before pulling away and sliding his hand into mine.
“Are you trying to woo me, Mr. Westin?”
“Would you have a problem with it if I were?”
I shake my head as we walk down the aisle and turn into the next. “No, but I would like you to woo me with your emotional side.”
“You want me to cry? Thought I was pretty emotional when I was throwing up those delicious crab cakes.”
“Not the whiney kind of emotional. Connect with me on a deeper level.”
He pauses in our walk and says, “We connect on a deep level.”
“Do we? Because I still don’t know that much about you, Rath.”
“What’s there to know?” He shrugs. “You know everything you need to know. The rest is just minor details that don’t matter.”
I’m about to counter his statement with the small things do matter to me when the lady who’s been helping us calls out. “Mr. Westin, Miss Cox, there you are.”
We turn to see her walking up with two bouquets. Both beautiful, both expensive looking.
“I quickly put two ideas together for you given your specifications of color and size.” She holds them out. “What do you think?”
Both are striking: brilliant greens with blush and ivory flowers. One cascades down over the stems, giving it an almost umbrella look while the other sticks out more at the sides.
“They’re both beautiful,” I say, taking one in hand while Rath takes the other.
“Thank you, and like you said, once you pick one you like for your bouquet, we can adjust the reception flowers to match. You said twenty people?”
“Around that. It’s just going to be one long table in a private room. We don’t need many flowers, but the venue does have some glass bowls and votives that hang from the ceiling that’s up against an old wood-covered wall. It would be lovely to have some of the flowers—”
Rath clears his throat. I glance up at him and watch him stick his finger in his ear and start to shake it while opening and closing his mouth.
“Are you okay?”
He makes this weird noise in the back of his throat and I swear, in the matter of seconds, I watch Rath’s breathtaking face and chiseled jaw balloon into something I’ve never seen before.
“Oh my God, Rath, are you having an allergic reaction?”
He hands the bouquet back to the lady and says, “Eucalyptus,” in a tight voice.
“Oh my God.” I toss the other bouquet at the lady, take Rath by the hand, and drag him through the florist shop to the corner store. I grab the first box of Benadryl I see, pop it open, and shove pills down Rath’s throat while uncapping a water and forcing him to drink.
From behind us, the pagoda owner asks, “Are you going to pay for those?”
Snapping around, I feel my devil horns poke out of my head when I say, “Yeah, let me make sure my fiancé doesn’t die from an allergic reaction first, you asshole.”
I turn back to Rath and grip his shoulders, in shock that he could have an allergic reaction this bad. “Can you breathe? Should I call an ambulance?”
He grips my hand. “I can breathe. Just really”—he clears his throat again—“fucking itchy.”
“Okay, give it more time and if it doesn’t clear up, we’ll take you to the hospital, okay?”
He nods. I take his hand in mine, keep him close while I pay the owner, who doesn’t seem to care whatsoever that Rath is having an allergic reaction—that’s NYC for you—and then we head out of the shop to fresh air.
I look at my watch and say, “We have that dance lesson. Let me call and cancel.”
He shakes his head. “No, we’re not cancelling. It’s important to your grandma.”
“Yes, but Rath, one eye is starting to swell shut, and you can’t dance like that.”
“Try me.” He attempts at smiling, but his lips don’t go far given how swollen his face is.
“Rath, we’re not dancing.”
“You might not be, but I’m going to.” He starts to walk toward a black car that’s not ours and I take his hand, pulling him in the other direction.
“That’s not our car.”
“Looked like it, are you sure?”
“Positive. Plus, with the way your eye is closing up, I think you would consider a police horse your car at this point.”
“Cheeky.”