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I give her a weak smile even though she isn’t looking at me. I also don’t tell her that her vision obviously isn’t as good as she thinks it is if that’s what she imagines she saw.
“I got married in the springtime,” Lala says almost distantly, as if she’s stuck in a memory rather than actually sharing. “But the guests sneezing was quite distracting. So I think a fall wedding would be better for the two of you.”
“Fall weddings are beautiful,” I say diplomatically.
“Evening time.”
“Of course,” I agree. “Soft candlelight. Lots of muted colors. Plum, maybe stone or bordeaux.”
“That sounds lovely. An extensive wine list to match.”
I chuckle. “Plan the entire reception around the wine list. That’s a wedding I can get behind.”
She laughs with me. “And children?”
“We’d have to start right away. I’m thirty. He’s already thirty-three.”
The conversation continues, the details and advice getting more and more personal as we talk and by the time Gaige approaches, I’m sure my face is as red as the wine Lala and I discussed serving with the steak at the wedding reception that will never happen.
“Hi,” I say, begging him to rescue me.
He hands me a flute of champagne, and uncaring of what it looks like drinking midday in front of his entire family, I drain the entire thing in one go. He chuckles when I hand the empty glass back to him.
He hugs his grandmother before walking away, telling me that he’ll get me another glass, and I realize I just shot myself in the foot with that one.
Conversation shifts as more people join the party, but it doesn’t get better. Lala, transitioning from the incredibly lucid woman I carried a detailed conversation with, starts introducing me to family members as Gaige’s fiancée. She does it with a glint in her eye that makes me realize this woman is completely lucid and possibly the biggest prankster in the group, but no one calls out a ninety-year-old woman at her birthday party, so I smile and nod when people respond with shock and a million questions. Lala tells them about our fall wedding, planned for next year of course because this year would be too soon and people would be looking at my stomach and counting off the months on their fingers wondering why the rush—nudge, nudge—insert old lady cackle here. The woman is hilarious, despite her comedy being at my expense.
It’s another thirty minutes before I see Gaige again, and the look on my face must be enough because he walks up and holds his hand out to me.
“Lala, I need my girl for a minute.”
“It was lovely to meet you,” I tell her.
She gives me a sweet smile before we walk away. I wrap my arm around his waist, pinching his side as hard as I can. I know it hurts, but he doesn’t hiss or pull away. Gaige grins down at me.
“Had I known you were just going to throw me off the boat in shark-infested waters, I never would’ve agreed to this.”
“You were smiling the entire time. I thought you were having fun.”
I actually was having fun, but that’s not really the point. He deserted me.
“Did you know she’s telling everyone we’re getting married?”
He grins down at me. “I figured it out after the third congratulations.”
“Next fall because apparently everyone will think I’m knocked up if we do it sooner.”
“Fall weddings are nice. Not too hot, not too cold. Allergies are horrible in the spring for guests.”
He must’ve heard about her wedding more than once for him to say something like that, and it hints at how close he is to her.
“She’s worried my hips won’t spread wide enough to birth your children.”
Instead of his eyes growing wide at the thought of impregnating me, he takes a step back, eyes drifting to my lower half as he takes a sip of the champagne he never offered me. “That could be a problem.”
“She wants to know if I plan to breastfeed.” His eyes lift. “She doesn’t seem to think I’m going to have any problems there.”
He licks his lips, a smile in his eyes. “Probably not.”
He places the glass in his hand on a table and slips his palm against mine. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going to dance.”
“No one else is dancing, Gaige. Are you purposely trying to embarrass me?”
“No.” He tilts my chin as he pulls me close, and we start to sway. “It’s just us.”
What in the world is going on right now?
He spends time looking in my eyes, watching my mouth, his fingers sweeping slowly up and down my spine, and the rest of the world just fades away.
“She loves you,” I whisper.
“And I love her.”
“She says you’re a kind and caring man.” He gives a soft smile, as if those words coming from his grandmother mean the world to him. “She said you’ll be gentle when you deflower me.”
