The Josh and Kat Trilogy: A Bundle of Books 1-3

by Lauren Rowe

  “Oh,” the woman says. “Hello.”

  “I was excited to tell Garrett about our little bun in the oven.” I pat Kat’s stomach.

  An unmistakable shadow passes across the woman’s face. “Oh, congratulations. How wonderful. When are you due?”

  “Early December,” Kat says quietly, clearly picking up on the shift in the woman’s demeanor.

  There’s an awkward beat.

  “Oh, gosh. Where are my manners?” the woman says. She extends her hand and shoots daggers at Garrett, clearly chastising him for failing to introduce her. “I’m Maggie Bennett, Garrett’s wife. I don’t think we’ve met before?”

  “We haven’t,” I say, shaking her hand. “I was a senior when Garrett was a sophomore, so our paths didn’t cross for long. Lovely to meet you, Maggie.”

  “Would you like to come inside?” she asks. “I baked brownies today.”

  “No, thank you. Whitney and I have that gala to attend. We just wanted to stop by and say a quick hello and, you know, reminisce about old times for a minute.” I shake Garrett’s hand. “Great to see you again, buddy. Like I was saying, man, I owe you big. Huge. I’ll never forget the favor you did for me. Thanks again.”

  “Oh my goodness,” Maggie says, putting her hand on her heart. “What on earth did Garrett do for you?”

  “Oh. He gave me some life-changing advice,” I say.

  “Life-changing advice? Really? What was it if you don’t mind me asking?” She looks at her husband like he’s got three eyes.

  “I don’t mind at all,” I say. “Garrett told me, ‘When you find The One, hold onto her and never let her go. Because all great happiness in a man’s life comes from finding his one true love. I should know.’”

  “Wow,” Maggie says, obviously completely shocked. “Garrett told you that? My Garrett?”

  “He sure did.”

  Kat pats Maggie’s shoulder like she’s petting a German Shepherd. “It was so nice to meet you, Maggie. Garrett was just telling us how wonderful you are—and now I see what he was talking about.”

  “He was?” Maggie says, seemingly dazed.

  “Bye, Garrett,” Kat says. “Thank you so much for what you did for Kevin. It sure worked out well for me.”

  Garrett shifts his weight.

  “Well,” I say, “I guess I’d better tell my buddy we’re on our way—he’s waiting for us at the gala. Excuse me.” I pull out my phone and text Henn: “I bagged the babe. She said YES. Fuck yeah! Exit The Asshole’s system now.”

  “Congratulations!” Henn writes back. “I’ll leave without a trace.”

  I look up at Garrett. “Okay, my buddy says he’s gonna quit working now.” I look at Maggie. “A mutual friend of ours from school. Great guy. A computer specialist. He says he’s leaving work right now to meet us at the gala.”

  There’s a very awkward silence. Clearly, Maggie doesn’t know why the fuck I’m telling her this bit of information.

  “Okay,” she says awkwardly.

  “Well, we’ve definitely taken up enough of your time,” I say, grabbing Kat’s hand and pulling her toward the limo. “Come on, Whitney—time to party, honey.” I kiss Kat’s cheek. “Have I ever told you you’re really fun?”

  Kat giggles. “Yes, you have.”

  “Well, you are. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s one of the greatest qualities any man could ever ask for in a wife.”

  One Hundred Twenty-One

  Kat

  I lean back from the table as our private butler clears our plates from dinner and then disappears through French doors leading back into our suite.

  “Are you chilly?” Josh asks. He stands, obviously intending to remove his tuxedo jacket for me.

  “No. I’m good. It’s still pretty nice out. Great idea to eat out here on the patio.”

  “I wanted to take full advantage of the view in the moonlight.”

  I look out at the dark Pacific Ocean glimmering in the moonlight beyond the cliffs. “Yeah, this view is absolutely spectacular.”

  “I was talking about you.”

  “Aw.” I bat my eyelashes. “Sweet-talker.”

  “You really are gorgeous, Kat. You take my breath away.”

  “I guess complete happiness looks good on me, huh?”

  “You sure you’re not cold?” Josh asks. “It’s getting a bit chilly out here. I don’t want you to catch cold.”

  “I’m fine. The kumquat must be some kind of internal furnace—I’m never cold these days.” I look down at the sparkling rock on my finger and the convertible Porsche on my wrist and touch the beachside condo around my neck. “Plus, it’s amazing how lots and lots of ice keeps a girl toasty warm,” I add.

  Josh laughs.

  The butler approaches the table. “Are we ready for dessert?” he asks.

  “Yes, that’d be great,” Josh says. “Just bring us a sampling of your best stuff. And I’ll have some Sambuca, too.”

  “Very good, sir. Madame?”

  I touch my belly. “No Sambuca for me. Just a decaffeinated cappuccino would be great.”

  “Very good,” the butler says, and leaves.

  “This is so fun,” I say, giggling. “I guarantee you, if Sarah were here, she’d be calling that poor guy Jeeves all night long.”

  Josh smiles. “And singing that Iggy Azalea song.”

  I sing the chorus from “Fancy.”

  “Yep. That’s the one,” Josh says. “I’ll send Jonas the info about this hotel so he can bring Sarah here for a weekend of relaxation.”

  “Awesome. Maybe the four of us could come here together—a last hurrah before the baby comes?”

  “Sure, but only if we get separate suites. No more listening to each other having sex through paper-thin walls ever again, thank you very much.”

  “Babe, this suite is massive—bigger than my parents’ entire house. I’m pretty sure we could share it with Jonas and Sarah and not hear each other having sex.”

  Josh shakes his head. “Not if you’re gonna scream the way you did in Caracas. Jesus, woman, that was the shriek heard ’round the world—or at least throughout South America.” He snickers.

  I smile. “Yeah, that was a good one.”

  “Good times,” Josh agrees. “I’m getting hard just remembering it. Do you see what you do to me? I can’t get enough of you.”

  “Well, that’s good, because you’re stuck with me now.” I hold up my hand with my engagement ring on it. “No refunds or exchanges.”

  Josh laughs.

  I look at my ring for a long moment, dazzled. “How the heck did this happen? I’m not trying to talk you out of the whole will-you-marry-me-thing, believe me, but what the fuckity happened to the guy who not too long ago didn’t even mention he was moving to Seattle?”

  Josh shrugs. “It’s not a thinking thing—it’s a feeling thing. You’re The One and I know it and nothing will ever change that fact as long as I draw breath into this body.”

  I swoon.

  Josh leans forward. “But enough talking about our fucking feelings. Let’s talk about the wedding. You wanna marry me before or after Gracie makes her screaming entrance?”

  “Oh, before, definitely,” I say. “I wanna be Mrs. Faraday when I check into that hospital. Is that okay with you?”

  “Whatever you say, hot momma. I’d marry you tomorrow.”

  I know Josh is saying that as a figure of speech, but, for a brief moment, I actually consider marrying Josh tomorrow down at City Hall and calling it a day. “No, tomorrow’s no good,” I finally conclude, scrunching up my face. “I want to wear a pretty white dress and I definitely want my entire family there. And not just my parents and brothers—the whole Morgan-enchilada. I’ve got a pretty big extended family—I should warn you—lots of aunts and uncles and cousins—and some of them pretty effing crazy—and I’d want them all there. Fasten your seatbelt.”

  Josh purses his lips, thinking. “Hmm. Well, if we’re aiming to do this before Gracie arrives, w
e’d better not wait too long. We definitely don’t want you going into labor while we’re saying our vows. That would totally fuck everything up for me.”

  “Fuck everything up for you?” I say, laughing.

  “Yeah, it’d fuck up my dream wedding.” He shoots me a snarky smile. “I’ve been dreaming of my perfect wedding since I was a little boy.”

  I burst out laughing and we giggle together for a long time.

  “Okay, let’s get serious for a second, Party Girl,” Josh says. “If we’re gonna do this wedding thing before Gracie comes, we really don’t have that much time to pull our shit together.” He looks up, apparently calculating something. “I’m thinking we’ve got, what, three months tops before we’re potentially butting up against your water possibly breaking as you say ‘I do’?”

  “Yeah. Sounds about right. Actually, I’d rather we aim for two months, just to be on the safe side. I’d like to have a little extra time after the wedding to relax before the kumquat shows up and fucks everything up.”

  “Okay. Two months. How many people are we talking about here? I’ve probably got, oh, I dunno, twenty people I genuinely care about being there? Give ’em all a plus-one and let’s say forty.”

  “For me it’s about fifty people, plus give everyone a guest. So a hundred?”

  “Okay, so we’re talking a hundred-fifty people max, right? Sixty days from now?”

  I shrug. “When you say it like that, it sounds impossible.”

  He waves me off. “Bah. Totally doable.”

  “You think?”

  “Oh, yeah. Easy peasy. You forget—I’ve got T-Rod in my back pocket. She can hire a wedding planner and throw gobs of money at the whole thing and it’ll happen like magic. No worries. Will you still be allowed to travel in eight weeks?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got twelve weeks—I’m supposed to stay put beginning at thirty-two weeks.”

  “Okay, perfect. Why don’t we do a destination wedding in eight weeks? Plus a two-week honeymoon after that? Then we’ll come home and hunker down and get ready for the arrival of Mademoiselle Terrorist.”

  My heart skips a beat. “A destination wedding? Where?”

  “I dunno. A medieval castle in France? A vineyard in Tuscany? The beach in Bora Bora? Bali? Fiji? You pick.”

  “Oh my God, Josh. Slow down.”

  “Why? Any of those would be a blast.”

  I place my hand on my racing heart. “I’m overwhelmed. Gimme a minute.”

  “Please don’t barf, Kat. I love you, I really do, but I’m not sure my love can withstand watching you barf more than once a day.”

  I squint at him. “Don’t tempt me.”

  He laughs.

  “But, seriously, I might hurl if you keep talking about flying a hundred-fifty people to France or Bora Bora in eight weeks. I’m sorry to be Debbie Downer here, but some of my peeps probably don’t even have passports. Not everyone is used to gallivanting all over the world on a moment’s notice to party with Gabrielle LeMonde’s daughter.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “And, even if my peeps have passports, they wouldn’t be able to afford taking off work and getting themselves to France or Bora Bora just to watch me get married.”

  Josh waves his hand dismissively. “Babe, duh. Whatever we do, I’ll pick up the tab for everyone, all expenses paid. We’ll fly them to wherever and show ’em a great time. We’ll take over some resort for an entire week.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “Holy shitballs, I’m crapping my pants,” I say. I put my hand on my heart again. “You would do that?”

  “Kat, it’s our wedding. I’m only doing this once. YOLO, baby. Go big or go home. Work hard, play hard. We can sleep when we’re dead.” He grins. “I’m sure there’s another spiffy little catch-phrase that would be even more apropos than all those, but you get the gist.”

  “My family’s gonna lose their freaking minds.”

  “Good. Shit-stained pants and psychotic breaks are what we’re going for here.”

  “But I still think something international is too ambitious,” I say. “Just too many logistics. Plus, from here on out, I wanna stay in the U.S. ’til after Gracie’s born—just in case she decides to make an early appearance.”

  “Yeah, probably a good idea. I didn’t think about that. Hmm. Well, that really limits our choices for the ‘destination’ part of our ‘destination wedding,’ doesn’t it?” He pouts.

  “Sorry to rain on your parade, Groomzilla.” I assess Josh’s beautiful, pouting face for a moment. “You know what? Let’s just do it in Seattle, babe. It’d be so much easier for everyone.”

  Josh looks aghast. “Seattle? Fuck no. Jonas just did that. I’m Josh. I gotta show that bastard up. Plus, it’s my duty to show everyone the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, so how about here in Del Mar, then?” I say. “This resort’s spectacular.”

  “Yeah, we could do that.” He shrugs. “Or maybe Hawaii?”

  My eyes light up.

  “Oh, I see that little gleam in your eye, PG. The idea of Hawaii floats your boat, huh?” He snickers. “You dreaming of doing a little wedding-night hula-dance on my face?”

  “Yes, Josh. That’s precisely what I was thinking just now.”

  He laughs.

  “Really, we should just do Seattle, babe,” I say. “It’ll be easier. I have a huge extended family—lots and lots of batshit-crazy aunts and uncles and cousins. Plus, my mom and dad have longtime friends who are like family to me, and I really want them there—”

  “Babe, we’re not going for easy here—we’re going for awesome. Case closed. Decision made. I saw the look in your eye when I said Hawaii, and I’m in the fantasy-fulfillment business, remember? Hawaii it is.”

  I open my mouth to protest.

  “It’s settled. It’s an easy five-hour flight from the west coast; it’s still the U.S. but it feels like a faraway tropical paradise; and you said your family’s never been. Just give me your list and we’ll make it happen. Easy peasy.”

  I pause. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you really think we can pull this off just eight weeks from now?”

  “Of course. This is exactly why I pay T-Rod an ungodly amount of money. I get the crazy ideas and she makes ’em happen. She’ll find us a venue—you really can’t go wrong anywhere in Hawaii, so we’ll let her pick which island and resort depending on availability. And if we have to do it mid-week or something to book a good place on such short notice, we’ll do it. Bada-bing-bada-boom.”

  I squeal. “Okay. If you really think we can pull it off. Wow. That’s exciting. Done.” I clap my hands together.

  “Shit, that was easy,” Josh says. “That was like planning a wedding with a dude.”

  “I told you right from the start—I’m an honorary dude.”

  Josh snorts. “Yeah, yet another big ol’ steaming pile of bullshit brought to you by Katherine Ulla Morgan.” He snorts again. “You said that, but it didn’t turn out to be quite as true as the brochure promised.”

  I want to be pissed, but it’s impossible. I laugh heartily.

  “So you got any must-haves?” Josh asks. “Speak now or forever hold your peace. Time’s already tickin’.”

  I think for a minute. “Well, I definitely wanna wear a pretty white dress. I don’t care if I’m pregnant, I’m still your virgin-bride, right?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve never fucked you as Mrs. Faraday before. That’s virgin enough for me.”

  “And I want my family and best friends there, of course.” I twist my mouth, considering. “If we’re doing this in Hawaii, then I’d like to get married on a beach at sunset, right on the sand. And I don’t wanna wear shoes. I think it’d be hilarious if I were barefoot and pregnant.”

  Josh laughs. “Awesome.”

  “You like that idea?” I ask.

  “Of course. I love it. Why wouldn’t I?”
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  “Because if we’re gonna do a beach-on-the-sand-thing, you can’t really wear one of your fancy suits.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Them’s fighting words, babe. Why the fuck not? I’m wearing a tux to my wedding, no matter where it is. If it’s on the beach, I won’t wear shoes—but I’m wearing a goddamned tuxedo to my own wedding. I’m the groom.”

  I giggle. “Sorry, Playboy. Momentary insanity on my part.”

  “Jesus,” Josh says, mock-glaring at me. “Don’t even joke about me not getting my dream wedding.”

  I laugh.

  “We gotta look like the bride and groom on top of a wedding cake.”

  I laugh again. “Wow, you’ve actually thought about this, haven’t you?”

  “Hey, I know,” Josh says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we have everyone go barefoot? The theme can be black-tie barefoot-and-pregnant.”

  “Dude, you should be a party planner. It’s brillz.”

  “Yeah, I’m liking this,” Josh says, his eyes sparkling. “What else, Party Girl?”

  “I’d like to have a kick-ass band at the reception. Dancing is definitely one of my bridezilla demands.”

  “I’ll put Reed in charge of getting us a kick-ass band. He’ll get someone awesome for us, I’m sure.”

  My heart is beginning to race with excitement. “Oh, and a fully-stocked, open bar all night long so everyone but me can get shit-faced drunk.”

  Josh rolls his eyes. “You really feel the need to say that explicitly to me? Do you also feel the need to tell me you want food at our wedding? How about toilet paper in the bathroom?”

  I get up from my chair and fling myself onto Josh’s lap. “Thank you so much. This is the best day of my life.”

  “From this day forward, my goal is to make you say that every day of your life.”

  I kiss him. “Thank you. This is amazing.”

  “Hang on,” Josh says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme shoot T-Rod a quick text. If I tell her the gist tonight, by tomorrow she’ll have a list of potential venues for us, I guarantee it. And then you can work with her and whatever wedding planners she hires to get everything exactly the way you want it.”