by Tracy Wolff
Lyric felt her jaw hit the floor. Her mother was actually planning the wedding … right now? It was one thing to meet with an event planner, but they were discussing actual wedding details. What was she supposed to do now? Once her mother got rolling on something, it was full steam ahead. She might actually have to marry Heath. What were the rules of annulment? Could she ask him to go all holy matrimony as long as he knew he’d come out single on the other side of it?
Her breath grew shorter the more hysterical her thoughts became. No one else seemed to notice that the room was spinning on her, but Heath put his hand in the small of her back. She wasn’t sure what it said about her—about them—that just that small touch helped to steady her.
He leaned close to her ear. “Need me to get out the prime numbers? I’ve got them right here on my phone.”
“No, thanks,” she whispered back as she patted his hand.
He squeezed her hand and smiled broadly. “I’m partial to red velvet myself.” He squeezed her hand again and then walked around to stand by her mother. “Let me see the groom’s cakes. We’re going to need something large. My teammates are big eaters.” He flipped through the binder and then closed it with an unsatisfied snap.
“I’d like a football stadium … you know, that looks like Wranglers Stadium. I want everything—from the roof that opens up, to the people in the stands. I’d like for the players to be on the field and reenacting the quarterback sneak from last year’s NFC East championship.”
Oh God, here they went. Oh yeah, this was definitely what it looked like when the inmates were running the asylum. Lyric covertly pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t still asleep and this wasn’t some hallucinogen-induced nightmare. Maybe Cherry Cherry was grilling some magic mushrooms on her radiator and the fumes had a delayed effect?
Nope, unfortunately, this was her reality. She planted a big fake smile on her face. “Heath, can I see you out in the hall, please?”
Her cheeks quivered under the weight of her smile.
“Sure thing, darlin’.” He turned to Lyric’s mother. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back. And when you’re thinking of a wedding date, remember the ninth. It’s my jersey number. And my lucky number.”
Lyric was afraid her head was going to explode as she followed him out into the hall. She looked around. There were way too many people within earshot. Big surprise. Now that her father was on the road to recovery, half the hospital—patients, visitors, and medical staff—was standing around hoping to get the Deuce’s autograph.
She grabbed his arm and led him to the end of the hall. “What are you doing?”
“Why are you whispering?” He was all innocence. “I’m playing along. What do you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know, but I just want to clarify … you know we’re not really engaged, right?” It was one thing to tell her family they were engaged, but to actually plan the wedding, complete with absolutely asinine cake decorations? That was taking things way too far.
“Think about it. What better way to make sure your father recovers? You have given him a new lease on life. He wants to walk you down the aisle, and your mother needs something to worry about other than your father. It’s perfect. Everyone’s happy and your daddy is back on his feet in no time.” Heath nodded like he was especially proud of his own reasoning.
It did make a weird kind of sense … a little … maybe … if she squinted and pretended that she’d left half her brain cells in Hawaii.
“What if they start buying things for the wedding? We can’t let it go that far. And I bet Count Chocula in there is charging my mother a fortune for his crazy advice and extra s’s.” Lyric put her game face on. “I’m going in there and telling them the truth.”
Heath put a hand on her arm. “And risk your father’s health?”
All of the starch went out of her sails. “What else am I supposed to do? We can’t let this actually happen. Can we?”
“Let me talk to them and see if we can slow things down a bit.” He grinned down at her. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
She wanted to believe that, she really did. But things were starting to feel a little too real. Dread slam danced in her stomach. She’d been down this road before, and it had ended with her heart trampled under Heath’s boots. She glanced at his feet. He might be wearing flip-flops right now, but she was pretty sure that wouldn’t make it hurt any less.
* * *
Chapter 19
* * *
Heath needed Lyric out of the way. For what he was about to do, he really needed some one-on-one time with her parents. Otherwise Lyric was bound to have an actual stroke. And he just didn’t want to risk damaging that big, beautiful brain of hers.
“And while I talk to them …” Heath pulled Cherry Cherry’s keys out of his back pocket and handed them to Lyric. “Why don’t you go to Starbucks and pick us all up something? I’ll take care of things with your parents.”
“I don’t know. I feel like I should be there with you when you talk to them.” She sounded desperate, and he tried not to take it personally.
“Don’t worry about it, darlin’, I got this.” He really did … just probably not in the way she thought.
She still looked skeptical, but he was blocking her way back toward her dad’s room, so what else was she going to do but say, “Okay, I guess you can handle it on your own.”
“Take your time,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips before ushering her toward the front entrance. He waited until she’d stepped outside and the doors had closed behind her before heading back down the hall to Bowman’s room. He wasn’t going to tell her parents the truth, and he wasn’t going to let her do so either.
Not yet, and if he had his way, not ever. He knew she was afraid this whole thing was getting out of hand. And maybe she was right, maybe it was. But he didn’t give a damn. Not when he had a chance to plan the most perfect wedding San Angelo had ever seen.
Some would say that wedding planning should start with a bride who was actually on board with getting married, but Heath figured those people were just lacking in imagination. A surprise wedding was so much more romantic.
And yes, he knew he might have trouble convincing Lyric to actually marry him, but he had until the actual day of the wedding to make that happen. And besides, who else was she going to marry?
He and Lyric were meant to be together.
After spending nearly six hours making love to her and laughing with her and listening to her, it was all so clear to him. He was in love with Lyric and probably always had been. In high school, it was Lyric he’d run to with his problems and Lyric he’d missed when the Wright sisters had turned their backs on him, and it was Lyric he’d thought of every time loneliness set in.
She was the one … his one. He’d always thought being in love would be smothering, but it was just the opposite. It was freeing. He was just the same person, only better.
Did he make Lyric a better version of herself?
While he wasn’t sure if she was in love with him now, he figured he had time to convince her. He’d brought the Fort Worth Wranglers back from a twenty-one point deficit just in time to win the Super Bowl; surely he could convince an offbeat astrophysicist that she should marry him. He didn’t believe in giving up, and he sure as hell didn’t believe in losing.
Besides, if these last few days had taught him anything, it was that his life didn’t work without Lyric. From the moment she’d plopped down next to him on that plane, he’d been happy, truly happy, in a way he hadn’t been since he left San Angelo all those years ago.
No self-doubt … no troubled past … no restlessness about the future. Lyric brought out the best in him.
He wanted to believe that he did the same for her. And while this wedding might not be real for her yet, he’d never wanted anything so much in his life.
His cell phone buzzed in his back pocket. He pulled it out and checked the screen. Barry Lamont for about the milli
onth time. He couldn’t face the Wranglers’ team owner just now … not yet. He knew he’d played his last professional football game, knew that he’d never throw a seventy-yard pass into the end zone ever again. And he was coming to grips with it. He was. He just needed a little more time believing he was still a football player. A little more time being Heath “the Deuce” Montgomery.
If he picked up the phone, it was all over. He’d be out of a job … out of the public eye … out of the only life he’d ever known. And he wasn’t ready for that yet, wouldn’t be ready for it until his new life was on the way to becoming a reality.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket just as he pushed open the door to Bowman’s room. “I sent Lyric out for Starbucks. Now, where were we on those wedding cakes?”
This felt right … it had to be right. Lyric was all he had.
She would come around.
His palms wouldn’t stop sweating. If she didn’t, he’d end up standing at the end of the aisle embarrassed and alone. It was a chance he was willing to take.
“Is everything all right between the two of you?” Livinia looked nervous.
He smiled and waved off her concern. “Lyric just wanted to point out that putting people on the groom’s cake was a bad idea. Especially when you cut into it, since it’s red velvet and all.” He grinned at his hopefully future mother-in-law. “That’s my Lyric, literal and practical to the end.”
“You know her so well.” Livinia Wright matched his grin. “I’m so glad she dumped Rob for you. I would never tell her this, but we didn’t like him. He was very …” Her face screwed up like she’d just sniffed the world’s stinkiest cheese, and she looked at her husband.
Bowman took over for his wife. “He was an ass. Arrogant as the day is long and belittling to my baby girl. Vinny,” he covered his wife’s hand with his, “had to keep me from punching him more than once. And I only met the bastard twice.”
Looked like great minds really did think alike. He’d wanted to punch Rob more than once, and he’d never even met the man.
“I’d like to take this time without Lyric to bring up something rather sensitive.” He worked his wallet out of his back pocket, pulled out his black American Express Centurion Card, and handed it to Livinia. “I’d like to pay for everything.”
He held a hand up to halt any protest. “I don’t want to hear another word about it. I want no expense spared for my Lyric, and I’d like to help plan everything. The woman I love deserves the best, and I aim to give it to her.”
“That really doesn’t work for me.” Bowman used the remote on the bed to sit up straight.
“Well it’s going to have to, because I’m not taking no for an answer. You need to concentrate on getting better so you can walk her down the aisle. Besides, I have more money than I’ll ever spend in two lifetimes, so the matter is settled.” On the off chance that Lyric wouldn’t go through with the wedding, Heath didn’t want her family to be out even a single dollar.
Reluctantly, Bowman nodded.
Heath turned to Gregor. “Now, let me see those wedding cakes again.”
Gregor glared at him as he handed him the binder. Which only pissed Heath off more. How dare this pompous asshole look down his nose at Lyric? Heath was going to make him suffer.
Heath flipped through them and shook his head. “Gareth, nothing here seems like Lyric.”
“It’s Gregor.” Gregor crossed his arms and sulked.
Heath half expected him to pull some fake flowers out of his sleeve, just like a magician. Besides a superhero, who actually wore a cape?
Still, he shook it off. Gregor was just a means to an end. As long as he could take orders and stay out of the way, the two of them were going to get along just fine. And by fine, he meant that Gregor got to continue breathing.
He knew what he wanted for Lyric … something that was part classic and part off the wall. And all Lyric.
“What about eight or nine layers, with each one being a different constellation? You can make them smooth and clean, like that one.” Heath pointed to a picture of a sleek white wedding cake that looked clean and modern because it was missing all of the flowers and fuss of the others. “But each layer will be a different shape and flavor.”
“I suppose it cans be done.” Gregor sounded like he’d rather not go off book, but he took notes on his iPad anyway. “But it will cost you extra. I’ll get with my baker and have her put together a mock-up for your approval, and we can go from there.”
Was it just Heath, or had the wedding planner’s accent slipped a little? “Grady, where are you from? I can’t place the accent.”
Gregor pulled himself up to his full five-foot-two-inch height. “I’m Swedish by the way of Düsseldorf and Madrid. I am one hundred and seventeenth in line for the Swedish crown.”
What the hell did that even mean? He was probably from Dallas.
Livinia’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. “You’re royalty?” She bowed.
Heath didn’t have the heart to tell her that she should have curtsied.
Clearly, being one hundred and seventeenth in line for the Swedish throne didn’t pay very well, or pretentious Gregor wouldn’t be event planning.
“I am used to workings with the brides, not the grooms.” Gregor clearly didn’t like his name not being remembered or his lineage and his accent being questioned.
Heath put his arm around Gregor. “Grainger … Grahman … Gandalf … whatever your name is, let me explain something about myself. I’m a quarterback—that’s an American football term for man in charge. I like to call the plays, and most of the time I like to run the ball myself, which means I’m a real hands-on kinda guy. Sorry, buddy, but Lyric’s really not into this whole wedding business. You get me?” He clapped him on the back a couple of times and then dropped his arm.
Gregor grabbed his lower back like Heath had broken a couple of vertebrae. “Well, this one time I am guessing it is okay.”
“One more thing … I insist on strict confidentiality. Every vendor, including you, will have to sign a confidentiality agreement. My wedding won’t become a field day for the press. Are we clear?”
Like hell was the most important day of his life going to be a three-ring media circus. Lyric wasn’t built for public life. He didn’t want that for her or for himself or for the life they’d build together. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn’t the Wranglers’ quarterback anymore, he was just plain old Heath Montgomery … average citizen and soon-to-be husband of the world-famous astrophysicist Lyric Wright-Montgomery. His fiancée was liberated. A hyphen situation was fine with him, but his name better be in the mix somewhere. People needed to know that she was a Montgomery. He wasn’t going to all of this trouble so Lyric could stay a Wright.
“I am understanding. No press. I will makes sure they stay away.” Gregor looked a little disappointed. No doubt he’d been bragging to his fellow cape-wearing party planners about the Deuce tying the knot.
“Is there some sort of list we need to check off for all of this wedding stuff?” Heath gestured toward the wedding binder. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Wedding stuffs? What is this stuffs you are talking of? This is very important business.” Gregor’s face was turning a very unbecoming red. It was probably the fake accent. They were hard to keep up for a long time.
“Okie dokie. I get it. Very important business.” Heath had to fight the urge to mimic Gregor. “But is there a list or something we need to follow?”
“Sir Gregor? Or is it Your Highness?” Livinia smiled brightly at Gregor. “I’m sure Heath doesn’t mean any offense, he’s just new to the whole wedding planning world.”
Gregor’s smile was so hollow, Heath almost thumped it like a watermelon to see if it was ripe. “It is just Gregor. In America, I no longers use my title.”
“Go easy on my new son.” Bowman pointed to Heath’s leg brace. “The boy’s been through a lot.”
Son? He’d love nothing more t
han to be Bowman’s son, but he wasn’t there yet. He had no idea how Lyric felt about him, and he wasn’t sure he could stand Gregor long enough to plan the wedding.
“What about the date?” Livinia’s voice was hopeful that everyone would get along. A real peacemaker she’d turned out to be. “We really can’t plan very much without setting a date.”
Tomorrow was probably too soon. “Like I said, I’m not much of a waiting man. How about a month from tomorrow, since that’s the ninth.”
Livinia looked like she was about to keel over with joy, and Bowman’s whole body smiled. Damn, if Lyric didn’t marry him, he hated to think of the consequences. Thank God he was a glass-is-always-full kinda guy.
“Excuse me? Did you say a months from tomorrow?” Gregor looked from Livinia to Heath and back again, like he was waiting for the punch line.
“That’s right. One month from tomorrow.” It was good to know that Heath didn’t have to kill Gregor for being annoying, because the man was going to collapse in a puddle of shocked fake royalty right here.
Sometimes it really was grand being him.
Gregor held a finger up like he needed a moment. He closed his eyes, did some deep breathing in a pattern that sounded a little like a chain-smoking asthmatic, and then opened them again. “It cans be done.” It was said with all of the gravity and put-upon-ness that Jesus must have felt when he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,” right before he died on the cross.
Had Livinia gotten this guy off of Groupon? Surely there was another wedding planner who was less annoying and didn’t have a fake accent. Then again, this was San Angelo, and the wedding was a month away.
“Don’t worry.” He nudged Gregor with his elbow. “I’m calling in reinforcements. It’s the off-season, and the whole offensive line’s got nothing better to do than come down here and plan this wedding.”
“Are they all likes you?” Gregor liked to throw in random s’s to remind everyone he had a fake accent.