The Consummation: Josh and Kat Part III (The Club Book 7)

by Lauren Rowe

  Garrett clenches his jaw. “Yeah, I’m genuinely sorry about that.”

  Kat’s face magically transforms into pure sweetness. “I forgive you, Garrett. But only because I don’t give the slightest fuck about you.” Kat flashes me a truly angelic smile. “Go ahead, my darling beloved. You were saying?”

  I smile broadly. “You’re pleased with his apology?”

  “Quite pleased.”

  “All right, then. Let’s proceed.” I clear my throat. “‘My dearest Katherine, if your feelings are the same as you described to me that horrible night in the hospital, then tell me now—one word from you will silence me forever.’”

  Kat’s face lights up with instant recognition of the scene I’m portraying. She puts her hand on her heart, her face aglow. “Mr. Darcy,” she whispers, her eyes watering. “Oh, Josh.”

  I kneel down slowly, my eyes fixed on hers, and open the ring box.

  Kat gasps at the sight of the spectacular rock. “Josh! Oh my God! Josh!”

  I hold the ring up and beam a huge smile at her. “Katherine Ulla Morgan, the love of my life, the mother of my future baby girl, the Party Girl with a Hyphen and Heart of Gold: ‘You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.’”

  “Oh my God,” Kat breathes.

  I take a deep breath. My heart is racing. I’m shaking like a leaf as adrenaline suddenly floods me. “Kat, my love, will you please make me the luckiest man in the world and say yes to marrying me?”

  “Yes!” Kat shrieks, tears springing into her eyes.

  I stand and slip the ring on Kat’s finger—and she shrieks at the sight of the massive rock on her hand. She throws herself into my arms, crying and cooing and purring and basically losing her shit completely.

  “Can I go now?” Garrett says dryly.

  I break free from Kat and wipe my eyes. “Almost, Garrett. We’re really close. There’s just one more thing.”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Garrett says, rolling his eyes. “My wife’s gonna be home any minute.” He looks at his watch. “Whatever it is, say it already and get the fuck off my property and the fuck out of my computer.”

  I take Kat’s hand and squeeze it. “Kat wanted you and you rejected her,” I say. “Big mistake. Big.” I motion to Kat like I’m giving her the floor but, much to my surprise, she looks at me with wide, blank eyes, not catching my meaning. “Big mistake. Big,” I repeat. I motion to Kat again. But she’s still clueless. I throw up my hands, totally annoyed. “Aw, come on, babe,” I say. “You’re totally fucking this up, babe.”

  “I am? What am I supposed to do?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Babe. Duh. I’m doing the thing when Julia goes back to the ritzy clothing store in Beverly Hills after the store clerk wouldn’t help her the day before?”

  “Oh my God!” Kat slaps her palm on her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t get that. My brain’s not even functioning right now.” She holds up her hand, displaying her massive rock. “Who could blame me—holy shitballs, honey—this thing is causing me brain damage.” She giggles. “Okay, cue me again, honey. I’ll nail it this time.”

  “You two are fucking crazy,” Garrett says.

  “Ssh,” I say to Garrett. “Listen up, fucker.” I clear my throat, clearly cuing up the script. “Garrett, she wanted you and you rejected her,” I say. I motion to Kat, yet again.

  A huge smile spreads across Kat’s face. “Big mistake,” she says enthusiastically. “Big. Huge. Now I gotta go do some shopping.”

  “Are you people insane?” Garrett asks. “You show up at my house in fucking formal wear, blast Whitney Houston at me, and hack into my computer—and then you fucking barf on me and tell me to—oh shit.” Garrett’s eyes suddenly bug out of his head. “My wife. Oh, fuck. You gotta get the fuck out of here. Oh, God, no.”

  We all turn toward the end of the long driveway, just as a sleek black Mercedes pulls in.

  “Oh, shit,” Garrett blurts, suddenly looking panicked. “Please. I’m begging you. Don’t you dare—”

  “We won’t say a word,” I say. “Chill the fuck out, fucktard. I told you. I have no desire to hurt your wife.”

  A demure brunette walks up to us, a quizzical look on her face, looking every bit the nice girl Kat described, right down to her sweater set and the large cross around her neck.

  “What’s going on, sweetheart?” the woman asks. She nods at Kat and me. “Who are your friends?”

  I put out my hand. “Hi, I’m Kevin. And this is my wife, Whitney. Garrett and I went to school together—we played on the golf team together. Whitney and I were visiting a friend in your neighborhood on our way to a benefit gala so we thought we’d pop by and say a quick hello.”

  “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.”

  Chapter 39

  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, we’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.”
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  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—”