“Formal?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for his underwear. “To avoid any misunderstanding, explain what formal means to you.”
“I’ll be wearing a full-length, white monstrosity of a wedding dress.”
“Right.” He stands to zip his jeans. “So … morning coat?”
Yeah, like I know what that is. I’m sorry I started this conversation. “Never mind. The rental place will help you pick out something.”
“Rental place?”
“You want to buy a tux … or whatever?”
His eyes slide away for a second. Way to go, Chelsea, you’ve reminded him he’s not rich anymore. “I mean … we could look for a deal. They must have sales on men’s formal wear too, right?”
“Actually, I don’t need to buy. Or rent.”
“Oh.” He owns a tux and, evidently, this morning coat thing? I glance at the closet.
“Some of my clothes are in our storage facility,” he says.
“I thought that was just your heaviest winter stuff.”
He shrugs. “That too.”
“Okay, so I guess you’re prepared for any eventuality.”
He cocks a brow. “Are you mocking me?”
“No, I think that’s great. It will save us money.”
He narrows his eyes and studies me for a moment. “Did you not hear what you said?”
I think back, but I don’t come up with anything that would confuse or anger him. I shake my head.
“Since when do you say things like for any eventuality?” Grinning, he takes me in his arms. “You’re adorable.”
I’m not stupid enough to argue.
CHAPTER 3
Jeremy’s sitting at his desk this morning, and I’m across the room on the twin bed where I’m supposed to be reading the scene he finally produced, but I’m watching him instead. His face is turned toward the window, but I get the sense he’s not really seeing what’s outside. He’s not working. When he’s working out some story thing in his head, his fingers move slightly like he’s typing. Right now, his hands are still. What does he think about when he drifts away like this?
“Jeremy? Who’s this uncle you want to invite to the wedding?”
He swivels his chair toward me. “Uncle Bert … Albert. My father’s brother.”
“He’s your favorite uncle?”
“My only uncle. But he’d be my favorite even if I had ten uncles. I used to wish he was my father.”
Does he not know the tone in his voice says he still wishes that? “Tell me about him.”
“He’s … jolly. He finds something to laugh about in almost any situation. He’s kindhearted and quite intelligent.”
I think I already know the answer, but I’ll ask anyway. “How did he feel about you quitting law?”
“He told me life’s too short not to follow your heart.”
Look at the way talking about his uncle makes him smile. “Sounds like opposite brothers run in your family.”
“Apparently.”
“I can’t wait to meet Uncle Bert. I love him already.”
“He’ll love you too.”
“So why don’t you take me to meet him in England?”
Wow! That smile vanished fast.
“How many times are we going to have that conversation?”
Until you give in. “Tell me more about your uncle. Is he married?”
His glare takes a few seconds to melt away. “He was. A long time ago. She died when I was four, I think. I barely remember her.”
“And he never remarried?”
“No. He travels a lot. Lives in a small flat when he’s in London. He used to live with us in the country house, but he moved out and into a cottage on the grounds after Aunt Lou died.”
“The country house?”
“Hmm? Oh. The family home. Where I grew up.”
“I thought your parents lived in the city.”
“Well … yes, they have a place there too. Because … my father works in the city. And my mother … has friends and … things she does there.”
“Uh-huh.” How should I decipher that response? “I know so little about you, Jeremy. You won’t even tell me about you as a boy.”
“That’s not true. I’ve told you many stories.”
“Mostly about you and Ethan as high school … I mean, secondary school and college roommates. What about your childhood?”
“I’ve told you stories about my sister and me.”
“Three incidents. Maybe. I hardly know anything about what you were like as a boy. Without Ethan. Without Laura. Not even what you looked like.”
“Yes, you do. Laura texted you a photo.”
One. And he was eighteen. My mom has photos of me all over the house, and he’s studied them all—including that horrible seventh-grade school photo, taken the day after Gabi and I dyed my hair black with blonde chunks—not highlights, chunks. And the photo albums. Oh. My. God. He’s seen every photo of me that was ever taken, and he thinks I should be satisfied with one photo of him. No way, dude. I’ll see them all when we go to London, which I’m now determined to do if I have to knock him out and ship him there in a dog cage.
“One little photo from your sister doesn’t tell me much.”
“Tell Laura to bring more when she comes over in May.”
He’s being deliberately dense, so I give up. For now. “What were you thinking while you were looking out the window?”
He turns back to his desk. “What to write for the next scene.”
“No, you weren’t.”
He faces the window again and doesn’t answer for a moment. “It’s my mum’s birthday.”
His mum? He’s never called her that to me before … and I doubt he’s aware he did now. A quick look at the world clock on my phone tells me it’s already 7:12 p.m. in London. “Have you talked to her today?”
He shakes his head.
I walk over to his desk and pick up his phone. “Call her.”
He just looks at me.
“Call her now.”
He takes the phone from me, so I leave the room to give him privacy. But I don’t close the door all the way until I hear him speak.
I’m sort of shocked that Jeremy told me he’d been thinking about his mother. Getting him to open up about his parents is almost impossible. I know at least one of them phones him once a week, or more, but he always leaves the room to talk to them. And he usually needs cheering up afterward, which is why I’m baking him cookies now. Chocolate chips with pecans are his favorite, so my mom keeps the ingredients on hand at all times, and since she’s not here, we can pig out on cookies for lunch if we want to.
He walks into the kitchen just as I slide the first batch in the oven. His face doesn’t reflect the impact of the conversation he had with his mother. Surely, she was in a good mood on her birthday. Then again, at her age—which I don’t know but assume it’s close to my mom’s—she might have been depressed about getting older. Not that my mom gets depressed on her birthdays. She’s always happy just to be alive.
“Cookies for lunch,” I tell him.
He pulls me into his arms and holds me tight. Does this mean the conversation with his mother sucked? I lay my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat, pounding at first. He doesn’t loosen his grip on me until it slows.
“Chocolate chip?” he says.
“Of course. All you can eat.”
“Have I told you I love you?”
“Once or twice.”
He takes his phone from his pocket and types something. A few seconds, later my text message alert sounds.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
We’re still kissing when the oven timer buzzes. I take the cookies from the oven and start moving them, one by one, to the cooling rack. Sometimes, like now, when Jeremy texts me, I flash back to the horrible mess last September when his phone was stolen on his way to London, and we lost communic
ation for a couple of days. I thought he’d left me, so when he got a new phone and started calling and texting, I ignored him. Worst week of my life. But followed by a wonderful week of make-up sex.
“You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” he says.
“Mind reading?”
“No, you were smiling to yourself. That particular smile.”
“I have a sex smile?”
“You do. Wait. Don’t put that pan in the oven yet.”
“Why?”
“I believe it’s my duty to do something about that smile.”
I set down the cookie sheet. “Do you?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure what.”
I grab him by his shirt and pull him toward our room. “Let me educate you, sir.”
“Hot damn.”
Cookies and sex—two ways to a man’s heart.
*
Unlike Gabi, when I was growing up, I didn’t think a lot about marriage and motherhood and all that jazz. I mean, I thought a lot about dreamy guys and what having sex would be like, but my daydreams kind of faded to black after that point. And even though I always figured I’d get married, now that I’m actually going to do it, I’m prone to panic any time of day or night. One time, the seriousness of it hit me so hard I stopped dead in the middle of the frozen food aisle at Von’s and caused the woman behind me to rear-end me with her cart.
I’m going to be a wife in four months.
A wife.
Four months.
Sometimes, when I think about that, I can’t breathe. Like right now.
It’s not that I’m afraid getting married is a mistake. And certainly not that it’s a mistake to marry Jeremy. He’ll be a great husband—seriously, how could he not be? But what if I screw it up? I don’t buy into that if it doesn’t work, get a divorce mind-set. So I have to make my marriage work. And I’d have a lot more confidence that I could if we were living on our own now. Why doesn’t Jeremy understand that?
I save the scene I’m working on and close my laptop. “I want to move.”
Jeremy sighs but doesn’t turn from his desk. “We’ve talked about this a thousand times.”
“Okay. Let’s talk about it a thousand and one times.”
“I’m in the middle of something.”
“Well, now you’re already out of the zone, so we might as well talk.”
Total, complete, utter silence. It’s like I never spoke. So that’s it. End of discussion.
I text Gabi.
Talk to me.
What’s up?
What if I’m a terrible wife?
As the first notes of “Baby One More Time” play, Gabi’s face pops up on my screen. (What can I say? Britney Spears was hot when Gabi and I became friends.) I tap to answer.
“Hey, Gabs.” I have no intention of discussing my marriage fears in front of Jeremy, so before he can give me the not-while-I’m-working glare, I leave the room.
“Get a grip, Chels. There’s no way you’ll mess this up. There’s no way Jeremy will let you. He’s so in love with you, I think he’d overlook anything you do rather than lose you. Hell, he might even agree to let you have a lover on the side.”
“Ha. Ha. He won’t even agree to take me to London to meet his parents.”
“Maybe he’s afraid they’ll turn you against him.”
“As if.”
“True.” Ice clinking against glass fills my ear, and then she continues. “It’ll suck if you have to meet them for the first time at your wedding.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“And what did he say?”
“He told me not to invite them.”
“Like that’s going to stop you.”
I smile. “Yeah, I’ll get their address from Laura.”
More ice clinking.
“Does she have an explanation why Jeremy’s so stubborn about his parents?” she asks.
“It’s weird, but when I ask her, she sounds like she’s hiding something. I think Jeremy’s told her not to talk to me about them.”
Gabi laughs. “Is he blackmailing her or something?”
“Who knows?”
“I think it’s weird they haven’t even acknowledged your engagement,” she says. “I would never have married Matt without meeting his family first.”
“Matt’s family lives only three hours away.”
“And Jeremy’s family is rich. They could fly here to meet you. And even if, for some reason, they couldn’t do that, there’s always Skype.”
“You’re forgetting that Matt’s parents love him and you.”
“True.” She sighs. “I just can’t believe Jeremy’s parents are so cold toward him. He’s a great guy.”
“Thanks. But apparently, with them, you do what you’re told, or you’re blacklisted. I don’t know if they’ll ever forgive him for giving up a law career.”
“So you’re just going to avoid the Pearces forever?”
“I don’t want to. I’m not exactly anxious to meet them, but still. My mom’s been hinting that maybe she should make the first move.”
“Well, if you won’t—”
“I can’t.”
“Yeah, Chels, because we both know how shy you are.”
“I mean, I can’t let my mom contact his parents because they … don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
Sigh. “That I exist.”
Gabi’s silence is because she’s waiting for me to laugh. When I don’t, she gasps.
“Seriously? And why don’t they know you exist?”
“Jeremy never told them.” I picture her eyes nearly popping out of her head.
“That’s fucked up, Chelsea. What the hell? He’s just been using you? I’ll kill him.”
“No. You’ve got it wrong.” I take a deep breath. “He didn’t really want to tell them, and … I was okay with that.”
“Why the hell am I just finding out about this? Never mind. Whatever you were going to say won’t make a bit of sense to me.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me either—now. We can’t just surprise them with a wedding invitation. We have to tell them.”
“No shit.” She sighs. “So why didn’t Jeremy want them to know you’re engaged?”
“I guess he thought they’d give him more grief about not marrying Alison.”
“You guess? Jesus, Chelsea, maybe you guys should have a real conversation once in a while.”
“Yeah. Hey, I gotta go, but we’ll see you tomorrow.”
I pocket my phone and creep back into the office so I don’t disturb Jeremy again. Maybe I’ll write a scene where the hero refuses to invite his parents to his wedding because he’s a stubborn ass. See what he says about that.
*
Matt and Jeremy have become close friends, which is great for Gabi and me. It’s Super Bowl day, so we’re at Sunset Brewhouse, where even Jeremy can find a beer that meets his standards. The guys are watching the game on the TV across from our table, but Gabi and I are looking through an issue of Brides.
“What do you think of this dress?” she asks.
“It’s beautiful, but kind of … traditional.”
“A wedding is a traditional occasion, Chels. Were you planning to just hot-glue some lace onto one of your tank top and shorts ensembles? Don’t forget to glue crystals on your flip-flops too.”
“Ooh, pregnancy is making you quite the bitch.”
She smiles and pats her stomach. “Nine more weeks.”
Her baby bump is the cutest thing. It really does look like she stuffed a volleyball under her shirt.
“I can’t wait for this baby to get here.”
“And you’re also terrified.”
“Damn straight.” She looks wistfully at my margarita. “And I can’t even have a drink to chill.”
We both jump when the guys react loudly to something in the game. A love of sports is one thing they share. Matt’s recruited Jeremy to join his softball team for the summer. I can’t beli
eve it’s been only seven months since Gabi secretly arranged my first date with Jeremy after one of Matt’s games.
“Earth to Chelsea.” Gabi’s pointing to another dress in the magazine.
“Nah. I don’t like that one either. Sorry. I wouldn’t feel like myself.”
Gabi holds up the magazine to show Jeremy. “What do you think of this dress?” No response. “Jeremy.”
He tears his eyes away from the game long enough to look at the photo. “You’ve chosen that dress?”
“No, we’re asking your opinion of it.”
His eyes are already back on the game. “Nice, but that’s not Chelsea.”
“Told you.”
She sighs and puts the magazine away. “So, do you think his parents will come to the wedding?”
The place is so loud now, Jeremy probably didn’t hear her question, but I glance at him to check. He’s totally concentrating on the TV. I scoot closer to Gabi so we can talk quieter and still hear each other. “They’re getting an invitation, but who knows if they’ll accept. I’m still trying to convince him I need to meet them before then.”
“I know they don’t approve of his new career, but it seems awfully drastic to reject him over that. And it certainly won’t help things if they get a wedding invitation out of the blue.”
“Exactly. Tell Matt to work on him. Maybe he can change his mind.”
She shakes her head. “There’s probably some man code against that. We don’t want to risk their friendship.” She grins. “You know what I heard Matt say the other day when he smashed his thumb trying to put the crib together? He yelled bloody hell, just like Jeremy does.”
“And Jeremy sounds more American since they’ve been hanging out.”
“Ow.” Gabi presses on the lump visible through the fabric stretched tightly across her baby bump. “With all this punting, I don’t have any doubt B.G. will be athletic.”
(B.G. stands for boy or girl, which is what we call the baby because Gabi and Matt opted to wait for the birth to learn the sex.)
Gabi takes a sip of her iced tea. “Have you and Jeremy talked about having kids yet?”
“I’m just not sure I’m mother material, so I haven’t brought it up. And neither has he.” She gives me that look. “We’ll talk about it. The wedding’s not until May.”
“It’s already February.”
Suddenly the noise level in the place rockets and so do most of the people, including Jeremy and Matt. I glance up at the TV just as the fourth quarter ends. By the gleeful high-fives and backslapping our guys are giving, I assume their team won. Matt motions for our server to bring another round.
Love & Liability (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 2) Page 3