Brit with the Pink Hair (The Rockin' Austen Series, #1)

by Bryan, Rebekah N.

  When Cord stepped onto the plane, Brit watched with pleasure as his tall frame moved toward her. Her pores worked overtime as nervous sweat poured out of them. Should’ve tried Botox in her underarms after she kept hearing how it worked so well. His sky-blue eyes checked the ticket several times before he found his row. He pushed his carry-on into the compartment above them, and Brit enjoyed the flash of belly when his T-shirt rode up. Cord in a T-shirt and jeans. She could get used to that.

  “That’s not your seat.” He smirked.

  “It is now. Sit down.”

  He did as he was told.

  They didn’t speak again until the plane was in the air. On the ascent, the ride was met with bumps through the clouds, and Cord clutched the armrest between them. His knuckles were white.

  Brit tapped one of them with her fingertip. “I didn’t know you were afraid of flying.”

  “I wasn’t until recently. One of the flights home from London was...not smooth. To say the least.”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  The plane hit another bump, and Cord sucked air through his teeth. Brit peeled his hand from the armrest and placed it in hers, interlacing his fingers with hers. She found it clammy and just as sweaty as hers was.

  “Here, you can squeeze this instead.”

  His hand relaxed and settled into its place in hers, and his head rested against the headrest, but his facial features were still tense.

  “How ‘bout that meeting the other day, am I right? I kind of went ballistic on Rube. I’m going to apologize to him. It was shitty.” Brit cleared her throat. “I regret that. I was being protective of my dad. And of you too, in a way.”

  He was slow to answer to the point that Brit wondered if she should keep babbling. Or offer up some more concrete apology.

  “You had a weird way of showing it with that nerd jab at me.”

  “I’m sorry about that too.” Brit tried to free her hand from his, but he kept it squeezed. “I thought that’s what we did—teased each other.”

  “We do, just...not in front of the rest of the staff.” He traced a circle on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I know you’re passionate, and I know you want this company to be yours someday. I want to support you in that.”

  “But...”

  “There’s no but. I still do. It scared me how much I did in that moment. I want to support you as your family. As your boyfriend, if that’s what you want. But I know you might not be there yet, or ever.”

  Brit squeezed his hand with both her hands now. “I’m there.”

  “You are?”

  He leaned his face close to hers. She waited for him to go the rest of the way, but he didn’t. She had to go the rest of the way. Give him a break. So she did. Closing the gap, she parted her lips and pressed them against Cord’s. His were soft pillows, so comfortable and perfect that she didn’t want to pull away.

  “Excuse me, can I get you something to drink?” asked the pretty flight attendant, breaking up their moment.

  Brit wanted to growl at her and yank the collar of Cord’s T-shirt until his lips connected with hers again. “Sprite.”

  “Red wine.”

  Brit stared at the back of her sister’s and Lander’s heads in front of them, not sure where to go from here.

  “I like your skirt.” Cord played with the hem of one of the gingham ruffles.

  Brit angled her knees toward him. “I remember.”

  “I don’t know what I was so worried about. Flying’s not so bad.” The plane hit another bump, and Cord grabbed Brit’s hand again. When their path smoothed out again, he brought the back of her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  Brit moaned quietly at the feeling of his full lips on her hand and hoped the whir of the engine hid her little noise.

  “But now I can’t wait to land,” he said.

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  BRIT HEAVED HER SUITCASE onto one of the beds in the girls’ hotel room to unpack and hang up all her dresses. While she smoothed the creases of her black velvet gown for the rehearsal dinner, Brit’s mind wandered to Cord.

  Her boyfriend.

  She hadn’t had one of those in years—she barely remembered what it was supposed to feel like, which would’ve made her nervous if it wasn’t Cord.

  “Which bed do you want, Barbara? Bride’s choice,” asked Saffron, lingering in the entryway, unsure of where to assemble her belongings.

  Barbara plopped down on the bed Brit’s suitcase was occupying, bouncing a shoe and a brush Brit had taken out from the bed to the floor.

  “Share a bed with me, Brit. I’m used to a body in my bed. Preferably a man, but you’ll do.”

  “Fine, but no spooning.”

  Kicking her shoes off, Saffron collapsed into her own queen-sized bed next to the Byers girls’. “Hey, what’s your mom like? What should I be expecting?”

  With her dresses hung up, Brit moved on to arranging her shoe selection against the wall next to the TV. “Expect her to ignore you the whole time, moon over Barbara, criticize me, and belittle our father.”

  “Wow, she sounds...nice.”

  “She’s not.”

  Barbara stretched her long legs out from her place on the bed so that her pedicured toes were resting on Saffron’s bed. “Oh Brit, she loves you just as much as she loves me.”

  “That’s the biggest load of fake news I’ve ever heard in my life. Get the popcorn ready, Saffron. You’re in for some family drama this weekend.”

  FOR SIMPLICITY’S SAKE, the rehearsal dinner was taking place at the swanky restaurant attached to the hotel. The sisters came down the elevator together at lobby level. Brit offered Saffron the corner of the elevator so that she could cower accordingly until the ride was over.

  When the doors eased open, a pleasing sight of two dapper bearded brothers greeted them.

  Barbara grabbed Cord by the chin. “You’re going to shave that off tomorrow, right?”

  “No,” said Brit a little too quickly and loudly. “He should keep it. Don’t you think he looks hot? Is Lander shaving his?”

  “No way,” the betrothed said in unison.

  “I wouldn’t even recognize him without a beard.”

  Lander rubbed his facial hair protectively. “I’d look like a darker Jay-Z or something.”

  “Who?” asked Barbara.

  Brit rolled her eyes. “Beyonce’s husband.”

  Barbara cozied up to him. “Oh, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

  When Barbara and Lander turned to lead the way, Cord whispered in Brit’s ear. “I like that dress on you.”

  Brit checked over her shoulder to find Saffron averting her eyes, and she was sure her little sister had witnessed the not-so-covert interaction.

  “Barbara, my darling!” shouted a woman’s voice that echoed through the tiled corridor leading to the restaurant’s entrance.

  “Hi, Mom.” Barbara released Lander to embrace her mother. “It’s good to see you. And you remember Abednego.”

  “Yes, Abe! My handsome son, come here.”

  No one had cleared that nickname for takeoff, especially not Lander, but he grinned and bore it without telling her not to use it. Personally, it made Brit cringe, and she hoped Lander or Barbara would put the woman in her place one of these times.

  Lander gave the woman a hug and moved out of the way so that Brit could go next.

  With the lovebirds off to greet other family members, Brit had a chance to take in her mother fully. She hadn’t changed much since Christmas; then again, she hadn’t changed much since the nineties either. Her light brown hair was cropped into her signature bob, the ends perfectly curling under her chin to frame her constantly pursed red lips and overly contoured bronze cheekbones despite her round face. She smoothed the wide silver belt that cinched the waist of her steel-gray tweed Chanel suit like a makeshift corset until her hands came to rest on her hips.

  “And who is this fine specimen?�
�

  Brit shouldn’t have expected a warm welcome, so she wasn’t sure why she was disappointed when she didn’t get one anyway.

  “Cord, best man. Femke, mother of the bride,” offered Brit in a half-hearted introduction.

  Femke wrapped her arms around Cord’s back, her nails sharpened into points and painted a pearly white in stark contrast with Cord’s black suit coat. Brit had the urge to rescue her boyfriend before her mother could sink her literal claws into him. After Femke took Cord by the elbow, she seemed to remember that she had another daughter and turned to kiss Brit on the cheek.

  She picked at the small ruffle trim at Brit’s shoulder with a distasteful smirk. “This is an interesting dress you picked for tonight, Britnee. This is a celebration, not a funeral. In velvet, too.”

  Brit didn’t think the keyhole showing her ample cleavage would’ve been appropriate for a funeral, but she bit the inside of her lip, inflicting enough pain to distract her from her mother’s biting remark. This is Barbara’s day. You love your sister. Don’t ruin it, she chanted to herself. With a glance and an eye roll in Saffron’s direction, the younger sisters trailed behind Femke and Cord into the restaurant.

  Stolen glances were all Brit got from Cord during dinner, but each one made her heart jump. That was until her mother, apparently tired of dumping wedding details on Barbara, zeroed her attention in on Brit.

  Femke dabbed the edges of her mouth and laid the cloth napkin, which was now kissed with her red lipstick, on the table. “Britnee. Your father tells me you’re thinking about getting a job. I didn’t know you had it in you, but you’re welcome to shadow me anytime. We could use another associate.”

  Brit chewed on the inside of her mouth, sure she would break the skin one of these times. “Actually, I’m going to take over the family business. The Byers family business.”

  Lonnie piped up from between swigs of some cocktail the waiter had handed him. “That reminds me, Britnee. If you’d be up for it, I’d like you to go join Mike and Cord in London to complete the purchase and prepare the new club for opening. If your mother doesn’t have a better opportunity for you.” He looked pointedly at Femke, challenging her to retort.

  “That’s a lot of work, don’t you think? I could give you something easier to do here.”

  “I can handle it. Yes, Dad, I want that.” She had to resist clapping her hands together like Daisy would’ve.

  “Not without help, you can’t handle it.”

  Cord stood from his spot across the table and walked around to squeeze Brit’s shoulder. “I’ll help. But she won’t need it. It was nice to meet you, Femke.” He shook her hand. “I’m beat from traveling. I’m going to head up.”

  “Me too.” Brit pushed her chair out and hopped up, straightening the velvet of her dress. She squeezed his waist. “Your room or mine?” she said in his ear.

  He pulled her by the hand all the way up the stairs and into his room.

  Wasting no time, she lay back on his bed and pulled the straps of her dress down off her shoulders. Leaning back, she let Cord tug the rest of the dress off her hips. With her naked body below him, he breathed, “You’re gorgeous.”

  She pulled him onto the bed and showed him how much the feeling was absolutely mutual.

  AT THREE O’CLOCK IN the morning, Brit checked her phone for any messages from the frantic bride and then scrolled through Instagram while Cord got ready for bed, brushing his teeth. “Oh, thank God.”

  “What?” He stepped out of the bathroom, still naked, with floss held between his teeth.

  Brit couldn’t help but smile at their domesticity. “Daisy and Isaiah are hanging out again.”

  Cord disappeared and then came back out and climbed in bed next to her. “I’m glad to hear you’re not against that anymore. I encouraged him to try again.”

  “My hero.” She kissed him again and nestled under the covers, wrapping her arms around his warm body. “We’re going to be dead tired tomorrow. Should I leave?”

  “Mmm mmm,” he murmured, his eyes closed, and he wrapped himself around her, burrowing in for a short night’s sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  BRIT STRETCHED AND kissed the nose of the sleeping form of Cord before she slipped her dress from last night over her head and closed the door behind her with a quiet click.

  Saffron was up when Brit went back into the girls’ hotel room. Barbara was nowhere to be seen, but Brit heard water running in the bathroom. The room was lit only by the opening in the curtains, letting cloud-covered pale light into the space.

  “I had to sleep in your bed with Barbara last night,” said Saffron as she pulled her hair out of the ponytail she slept in.

  “Oh no, is she pissed? Did you have fun spooning? Did you tell her where I went?”

  “I don’t know where you went. I could take a guess, but no, I didn’t say anything.”

  Brit hadn’t seen Saffron without a full face of makeup since they were children. She was pretty in a low-maintenance, sporty girl kind of way. It worked for her.

  “I told her you were keeping an eye on dad and probably crashed with him.”

  “Thanks, Saff.”

  It was a viable lie. He did look out of it all night.

  “So, you and Cord?”

  Before she could confirm or deny, the woman of the day came out of the bathroom with a smile on her face. “Brit! Nice of you to join us!”

  “You look well rested, Mrs. Bride.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? Saffron even let me spoon her.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the moment, and Barbara opened it to find her mother, two hairdressers, a makeup artist with toolbox in hand, and the wedding planner carrying a hefty garment bag. The dress! The day could officially start now.

  THE CHURCH WAS INSANE. Three spires stretched into the cloudy sky, and a massive flower-shaped stained-glass window was a friendly welcome to the wedding party. A stairway let up to the front of the church from the canal, and buildings closely flanked each side of the church, not giving the street any relief of whitespace.

  Barbara, Brit, Saffron, Femke, and Lonnie pulled up in a horse-drawn sleigh. Despite the chilly temperatures of winter, and the snow on the ground, the white faux fur stoles Barbara had provided to her sister-bridesmaids kept Brit warm on the drive from the hotel to the church. The only thing that put a wrinkle in the serene journey was Brit’s mother. Femke had asked last minute if her boyfriend could come in the sleigh with them, taking Saffron’s place, but Barbara thankfully had put her foot down about that before Brit blew up.

  “Just because Saffron’s not your family doesn’t mean she’s not ours.” Barbara should just be relieved that Brit didn’t add “Bitch” to the end.

  Saffron popped her eyebrows at Brit’s defense of her. On the other hand, Lonnie appeared unruffled about the ordeal, but Brit was sure that was because he was medicated with legal marijuana.

  The music mounted as the horse-drawn sleigh pulled away from the church, letting the family off. The doors under arched entryways yawned open to welcome the bridal party. The groomsmen lined the back of the church to meet the women and walk them down the aisle.

  Brit turned to face her sister before her parents gave her away to Lander, whom she had spiritually belonged to long before this moment. Barbara’s smile had not dimmed one watt since that morning in the dimly lit hotel room.

  Smoothing a curl beside her sister’s face, Brit said, “You don’t look nervous. You haven’t looked nervous this whole time.”

  “Why would I be? I’ve never been more sure about anything. I have you to thank for that.”

  “I hope I’m this sure about something someday. Anything.”

  “Me too, sis. I’m gonna go see my husband now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Knock ‘em dead, beauty queen.”

  With that, Cord offered his elbow to Brit, and she rested her fingers on the white silk fabric of his tuxedo. She was relieved to find that he hadn’t shaved his bear
d off since she saw him that morning. She straightened his black tie under the matching black vest.

  “You look handsome.”

  “You are stunning. The green suits you.”

  As they lined up behind Saffron and Lander’s cousin, the first notes of Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love” played.

  The first couple processed, and when they were halfway down the aisle, Brit and Cord followed.

  An old woman with blue-gray hair who Brit didn’t recognize leaned in to the woman next to her and said way too loudly in a shaky voice of age, “I didn’t know this was an African American wedding. Is she marrying an African American?”

  Shhs peppered the old lady along with harsh whispers, and Brit tightened her grip on Cord’s arm.

  “Ignore it,” whispered Cord, placing his free hand over hers.

  She ventured a glance over her shoulder and found Barbara, happy as ever, flanked on one side by her father, who looked relatively sober besides the glassy eyes, and her mother, who had clearly not yet dislodged the stick from her ass.

  Once Brit and Cord were in place, Lander, a vision in all white, including tails, met his bride halfway down the aisle for the hand-off. He wiped a tear from his cheek before he took Barbara’s arm in his. Yeah, he better cry, Brit threatened in her head.

  The inside of the church was just as beautiful, with a narrow aisle furnished with paintings of Bible scenes under archways beside the pews.

  During the ceremony, peace returned when Femke was relegated to the pew and Brit was up front behind Barbara. From there, Brit could watch her proud brother-in-law tear up as he said his vows. She glanced over Lander’s shoulder and smiled at Cord, who’s tight lips indicated that he was trying to keep the waterworks at bay himself.

  At the kiss, Cord finally returned Brit’s happy smile. They were family, siblings-in-law, oddly. Who were sleeping together.

  AFTER THE CEREMONY, a fleet of horse-drawn sleighs pulled up the drive, waiting to take the small wedding party and their guests to the reception. Lander insisted on paying for the party, which was held at a castle. A real, live castle complete with towers and sprawling gardens, all currently blanketed in snow. It was a sight to behold. Barbara had outdone herself with this one. Brit was sorry she hadn’t planned it herself.