by Beth Fred
I want to fight. I’ve let everything else pass. Everything she’s said. Everything her family has said, but this—knocking my religion—I want to fight. But it’s not like the old man will believe me. I’m done with this conversation. “You know what? I need to make a pit stop before the wedding tonight.” I stand.
Mandy must be tired of this conversation too, because she also stands. “I’ll come with you so I can show you around.”
“That’s okay. This is a solo kind of stop.”
Preacher Jack raises his gun again. “Where are you goin’ that you don’t want my niece to know about?”
“Home Depot to buy a wedding gift.”
Mandy claps her hands in front of her. “Oh, how romantic. Are you going to buy me a double oven since everyone in this room thinks I belong in the kitchen?”
I laugh. “Hey, that was your uncle. I think you’re the smartest tree-hugging basket-weaver I’ve ever met.”
She rolls her eyes. “You have to go to the kitchen before you go to the store.”
That makes no sense. “Uh, you go out the back door or something?”
“Just follow me,” Mandy orders. We may not be married yet, but I’m smart enough to know not to argue with a woman when she uses that tone.
I follow Mandy through the formal dining room into the kitchen. She opens the door to a walk-in pantry and steps in. I step closer but stay beside the door.
She leans up on her toes to reach for something. She’s barefoot, and a small gold chain falls around her ankle, drawing attention to her toned calf, which I can’t help but follow up. Her silver dress has moved up some in the back. Not enough to really show anything. Just enough to get the imagination going.
She’s beautiful. She’s wearing my grandmother’s ring. I’ve never taken her on a date, and this is probably the only time I’ll be alone with her before the wedding.
I reach out and grab her hips. I pull her to me and turn her to face me. I cup her face in my hand and press my lips to hers.
No idea what I’m expecting but it catches me off guard when she flicks her tongue across my lips, and I’m not ignoring the invitation. The kiss deepens. She brings her leg up around my waist. We kiss so long and so deeply that I can’t help but think about our wedding night. But it’s a contract.
I pull myself away from her and catch my breath.
She pants for a few seconds, then canvas hits me in the face. “You’re supposed to ask first.”
I clasp the canvas beside my cheek. “You know you kissed me back, right?”
She smiles. “You still have to ask.”
I grin. “Fair enough.” I pull the canvas in front of me so I can see what it is. I don’t say anything, but my eyes trace from the material in my hand to Mandy.
“Reusable shopping bags for your Home Depot detour.”
“And I thought I was exaggerating when I called you a tree hugger.”
“Very funny.” She leans in closer to me. “Eric?”
Her arms are crossed on my chest, so letting my arm fall across her waist feels natural. “Yes?”
“Sex is off the table. Not risking it until you’ve added to the prenup our kids will be Baptist.”
I put my hand under her chin, tilt her head up, lean in, and swipe my lips across her forehead. “Yes, ma’am. No sex until we’ve figured out how to raise our babies.”
“You kissed without asking.”
“You’re making life plans for us. This goes beyond a contract, and a man doesn’t ask to kiss his wife.”
Chapter 16
Mandy
Life plans. Please. I was joking.
Mom’s heels clink against the floor as Eric walks out of the back door. “Mandy, sweetheart, where are you?”
I come out of the pantry.
“Oh.” She blushes. “I’ll go wait in the other room.”
“Why?”
She giggles. “Because I’m sure your young man would appreciate that.”
“He went to Home Depot.”
“So why are you standing in a pantry with swollen lips and tousled hair? He just went to Home Depot?”
I glare at her. “I’m wearing a ring. That was always the rule, right?”
“We need to drive into Little Rock and get you a dress for tonight.”
“That’s not where you disappeared to this morning?”
Mom says, “I had Something White put some dresses on hold for you, and we don’t have a lot of time, so come on.”
***
Mom parks on the street in front of the store. “You’re going to have about half an hour to make the decision. The way I see it, that will still give us about an hour to get you ready once we get home. And I’ve got Marci coming to do your hair and makeup. I would have liked to take you to the spa, but this is short notice. Why are you rushing into this?”
“Mom, we’re buying a dress. Isn’t it a little too late to ask that?”
She kills the car and pulls her keys out of the ignition. “I see the way he looks at you. I don’t think this is a bad decision, and I don’t make fun of your career choice like your father, but it probably is best you marry someone with a solid plan like Eric. It would be hard to be self-funded writing. It’s just—if this is to punish your dad, you’ll suffer more than he will.”
I laugh as I get out of the car. “I expected him to be thrilled. His reaction last night was an added perk.” I grin.
“Why would he be thrilled? He hates Martinez for the government shut down last year.”
“And Eric thinks he’s a wimp for signing something he didn’t want to sign just to keep the government from being shut down. I think they’re both wrong. But I had no idea Dad would have a problem with a Republican.”
“I want to make sure you’re happy with this while there is still time to get out.”
“I’m happy.” And amazed at how easy it is to say that. My gut barely even clenches. Almost like it’s becoming less of a lie. My fingers tremble as I pull open the heavy door to the dress shop. My pulse speeds, and I slowly inhale then exhale to calm down. Am I this excited? Over a fake wedding?
Mom steps up to the counter. “You have some dresses on hold for Mandy.”
A blonde woman steps out from behind the counter, pushing a rack of dresses. I take one glance at the rack and eye my mom. “Gee, Mom. You went dress shopping for you instead of your short, fat daughter.” There are two trumpet dresses. Even skinny people are fat in those. Two ruffled ball gowns, one with little pearls bunched in each ruffle, and one Grecian dress. It’s the only thing that I might have actually picked out. It’s elegant but simple. Formal but not too much for a backyard wedding. When the sales woman takes me back to the fitting rooms, the Grecian is the first dress I pick up. Of course, it won’t zip.
I crack the dressing room door open to slip my arm through. Holding the dress out, I ask, “Do you have this in a larger size?”
The sales girl shakes her head. “No. Would you like to try another one?”
“I’m getting married tonight. What choice do I have?”
She hands me the pick-up ball gown covered in pearls. It fits. Unfortunately. I walk out of the dressing room. Mom claps her hands. “That’s beautiful.”
The sales girl smiles, most likely because she’s going to make fifteen percent off this two-thousand-dollar hideous dress. “Would you like to stand on the platform so you can see yourself better?”
“Not really. I look like a balloon.”
Sales Girl’s mouth drops. “It’s beautiful. Just look at it.” She helps me on the pedestal, straightens out the dress in places, and turns me to face a wall of mirrors. I’m like a giant white balloon. Or maybe a super-sized upside-down cupcake. Then my stomach sinks. “Wow. The Goodyear Blimp.”
Sales Girl scoffs. “No, you don’t. You’re gorgeous.”
“Says the size two. It should be against the law for skinny girls to sell fat girls dresses.”
Guilt consumes me when the girl turns bright red.
&nb
sp; “I’m sorry. She doesn’t mean that. For heaven’s sake, Mandy, tell her you don’t mean that. And this is your wedding day. Can you try to be happy?”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to stand in front of a room full of people looking like the Goodyear Blimp. It’s my fault. I should lay off the Dove. I probably won’t. OMG! Speaking of chocolate, do we have a cake?”
“I talked to Tanya at the bakery this morning. She refused all orders today. She’s making your cake herself. It’s going to be two tier and simple, but that’s the best she can do on such short notice. I have your aunt picking up a sheet cake from Wal-Mart for the groom’s cake. They put a gavel on it. I thought Eric would like that.”
“I’ve got a dress you may like. Let me get it for you. I didn’t realize you were a plus size.”
“Of course not. Proud parents never want to mention that. And senators’ daughters are supposed to be skinny.”
My mom clenches her purse until her knuckles go white. “I didn’t intentionally not mention that. You’re not fat. You have a large frame. It’s not the same thing. The problem is most of those dresses were designed by men who have no idea what it’s like to stuff a bust and hips into something yet swear we should all have boobs and an ass.” She’s quiet for a second before continuing. “I thought they would work out. I hate going clothes shopping with you. You get so nasty about it.”
“I’m sorry. I hate going clothes shopping too. It’s never a fun experience.”
“You know, I really think I can change that.” Sales Girl disappears and comes back with a dress I think I like.
It’s a sleeveless A-line with a beaded bust. The skirt is elegant but not overly adorned. It’s got an asymmetrical wrap held in place by a beaded broach, and other than that it’s white silk. She puts me on the pedestal again. I close my eyes and hold my breath. I’m afraid to open my eyes when she says, “See.”
Nothing is harder on self-esteem than knowing a store full of dresses are meant for a woman who is everything you’re not on your wedding day. I open my eyes. “OMG! I’m not fat!”
“You are hot!” Sales Girl says. “I wish I had a body like that.”
“You are beautiful,” Mom says. “This is the one. And that’s great because we’re out of time.”
“I’m fluffy,” I say.
“No. You’re curvy. Guys like that. Obviously. You’re getting married.”
Yeah. Because he thinks I can help him win an election. My lips turn up in a smile. He didn’t kiss me like I was campaign help.
My heart sputters. Maybe this is real. It’s a contract. Don’t go losing your head.
Sales Girl’s voice shakes me out of my head. “Huh?”
“Where are you getting married?”
I laugh. “The backyard. We planned on going to City Hall, but my parents insisted.”
She smiles. “This train is detachable.” She detaches the train. “That might make it easier for a backyard wedding. It will keep grass and things from sticking to it.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Do you need a reception dress?” Sales Girl asks.
I cock my head and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t hate this dress. I kind of like it. It exaggerates my assets without drawing attention to the flaws. “No. It’s not that formal, and the train detaches. I think I’m good with this.”
“Do you have bridal lingerie?” Mom asks. “We need that.”
“Mom,” I groan.
“We didn’t have time for a bridal shower. And you must have lingerie for your wedding night.”
I will not be needing lingerie. This is a contract.
“Nothing skanky,” I say. “No thongs. And I prefer something knee-length. White satin maybe.”
Sales Girl bites her lip. “I think I have one nightgown that will fit that description. I’ll go see if I can find it in your size.”
“It’s your wedding night. You can’t be a prude,” Mom says.
My mouth drops as I try to reconcile these words coming from my church lady mother. Then I realize she doesn’t know. My head is about to explode. This is a contract, and every moment we spend planning makes it seem more like an actual marriage. I can’t risk that line of thought.
Kisses have never made me moan. Until a couple of hours ago in my parents’ pantry with a man who will soon be legally mine, but not actually mine. And that’s a game too dangerous to play.
Chapter 17
Eric
Senator Jack and I drove into the city earlier to buy a tux. It’s snug because Little Rock is not Dallas. There were two stores. One with no big and tall section and one with a big and tall section consisting of two suits. At least Senator Buchanan was reasonable when it came to shoes. Snakeskin cowboy boots.
Preacher Jack and I stand under the gazebo. He’s about a foot in front of me with his arms crossed.
“Do you need a podium or a table for the Bible?”
He waves his hand. “I’ve done this so many times I got the Good Book memorized, son.”
I don’t answer, not knowing what to say.
Evan starts down the aisle holding the hand of Mandy’s fourteen-year-old cousin. She’s wearing a purple dress with a lace bow, and right in the face she looks like Mandy. She could be the fourteen-year-old Amanda Buchanan the news tried to catch shots of.
I smile and wonder if this is what the baby she mentioned in the pantry will look like. If I can convince her it isn’t just a contract.
Then Senator Jack and Mandy step onto the carpet. My breath catches in my throat. Her neckline is high enough to be classy but low enough to advertise what the beaded cloth covers. And a teardrop necklace hangs right in the middle of her cleavage.
I close my eyes and wish. Wish this were not just a contract. Wish that I’d be unwrapping that package tonight. But I won’t make a move tonight. I won’t risk freaking her out. She’ll know I love her before I ever try.
I open my eyes and take in my soon-to-be wife one more time. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper to Preacher Jack.
“I’m sure she is.” He sighs. “I can’t see her from here.”
And I understand why he doesn’t need a Bible. “You’ll see her soon enough,” I answer.
“Take care of my niece. Remember that.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack and Mandy approach me. He places her hand in mine and grins at me. “May you have an easier time with her than I ever have.”
I smile back. “I’m sure it won’t be difficult.”
The vows are exchanged and the kiss comes.
I cup her face in my hand and tilt her head back. She slips an arm around my waist and stands up on her toes. She brushes her cheek against mine and lifts her head to my ear. “Nothing intense like in the pantry, please? Remember, it’s a contract.”
I close my arms around her and hold her to my chest. I lean down, kissing a line from her forehead to her ear. “But it could be more.”
She shivers against my body, and I know I’m right. This can be more than a contract if we let it.
I close my lips over hers and follow her lead. She opens her mouth, and that’s all the invitation I need. She moans into my mouth. I hold her tighter. Kiss her harder.
“Whoo!” The fourteen-year-old beside Mandy cheers.
I pull away from her but don’t let go. I keep her pinned to my chest.
People come out of their seats and line the aisles. Evan and Lisa, Mandy’s cousins, walk through a stream a sparklers first, followed by Mandy and me.
The cake is cut. Pictures are snapped, and I walk behind the table and bring out a small tree with a big purple bow on it. “This is for you.”
“A tree? Why?”
“There is a card,” I say and watch as she reads my words.
For the townhouse. So there will be at least one tree you can hug.
~The Senator~
She laughs. “Jerk.”
“You can’t call me that on my wedding day.”
S
he smiles up at me. “My uncle and the state of Arkansas say I can call you whatever I want.”
The music starts, and Mandy has the first dance with her dad. He’s so careful with her on the dance floor, and it’s obvious this isn’t the first time they’ve danced. His expression is a mixture of pride and love. It’s hard to see this man calling the girl in his arms a basket-weaver. The picture out here is such a stark contrast to what I saw at dinner last night.
She’s so beautiful I’m almost jealous that I have to wait until the end of the song to have her in my arms again. Will she even want to dance with me? She keeps reminding me this is a contract.
Chapter 18
Mandy
Before the dance ends, Eric taps on Daddy’s shoulder. “Can I cut in?”
Dad glares at him so quickly I almost miss it then smooths out his face immediately. “Of course. She is yours now.”
Eric pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me.
I look up at him and smile. “Thank you.”
“For what? Was your dad giving you a hard time?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. Thank you for today—for tonight.” I scan our surroundings to make sure no one is paying attention. “For a marriage of convenience, this was a fairytale.”
His voice is smooth but husky. “Can I kiss you?”
“A man doesn’t ask to kiss his wife.” I wink.
He chuckles. “Miss Buchanan, I never know what I’m going to get from you, but I’m taking that as a yes.”
He leans down and swipes his lips across my forehead. But it isn’t a swift kiss. He lingers then kisses my hairline and my hair before straightening up.
“Am I keeping my name?”
“I don’t know, are you? In a fairytale, you wouldn’t.”
“What would my name be in a fairytale?”
“Martinez,” he whispers.
“But that’s not what you called me.” My voice comes out as a whisper now too.
“My apologies, Mrs. Martinez.”
As he spins me around the dance floor, the sky grows dark black.