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“So you’re not nervous?”
“Oh, darlin’,” he says, full drawl. “I’m shakin’ in my boots.”
I give a nervous giggle. “It’s not just me then.”
“Nope.”
We eat quietly, my mind whirling with thoughts.
But not doubt. I don’t regret any of the yeses or okays I said to Mase. I’m doing this.
The only thing is that I’m not sure what it is I’m doing.
Mase
Elviswasright;droppinghis name with Nell at the license bureau works better than my smile and she grudgingly prepares our marriage license while I run out and get her a coffee. In no time, we’re back at the chapel holding the precious piece of paper that is going to make us husband and wife.
Elvis’s assistant—wife?— whisks Fiona away for some girl time while I stand in the chapel with Elvis, awkwardly answering baseball questions.
He recognized my name from the license.
This is the third time I’ve proposed to a woman, but the first time I actually expect to go through with it. I think that says a lot about Fiona as well as myself.
The first time was a couple of years before I made it to the majors and I was dealing with Grandfather’s rants about my immaturity and selfishness whenever I made it home. In an effort to appease him, I picked the daughter of one of his business associates and started dating her. Six months later, we were engaged. Grandfather was ecstatic.
Unfortunately, Rebecca was not, once she figured I was more into making my family happy than working on a happily ever after with her. She was a great girl, and I could have made it work, but both of us would have been settling. Her ending things was a good move for both of us.
The second time came out of a whirlwind of a relationship. More of a tornado, really, and I found myself engaged before I knew what hit me. That time, I ended it days before we were to tie the knot, setting off a frenzy in the papers and social media, resulting in Grandfather threatening to disinherit me.
I wish he would actually do it, rather than just threaten.
My nerves at breakfast that resulted in me eating more than what is good for me, weren’t because of actually marrying Fiona; it was the thought of telling my family about her.
No one will like it. They might like her—eventually—but they’ll hate me getting married like this. My mother will cry because she wasn’t invited; my father will ask under his breath why I didn’t just sleep with Fiona and get her out of my system.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think of that myself.
My sisters will have different reactions: Carter will jump to fixer mode, with plans to get ahead of the narrative and concerns about the effect on the business. My younger sister Riese might be the only one who is truly happy for me, but she’ll only tell me that when Carter is safely out of earshot.
Grandfather… I know that’s not going to be pretty.
And that’s only my family. I’ve never been the naïve sort; I know I’m a celebrity, and with my lifestyle come uninvited comments, questions, and concerns, not to mention opinions on everything about my life.
I’ll have to announce it in a way so no one will think Fiona is after my money or fame, because peoplewilljump to that conclusion.
My family will think that.
“How long have you known the lucky lady?” Elvis asks after he exhausts the baseball questions. The quickness that he switches topics tells me he’s not the biggest sports fan.
I check my watch. “Long enough,” I say with a heartiness I don’t feel. Pancakes roll in my stomach, mixing with the remnants of champagne, whatever was in those Alabama Slammers, and the beer.
I shouldn’t have had the beer with breakfast.
I should give my family a heads-up. I should giveFionaa heads-up.
And then, from a hidden set of speakers, music begins, the recognizable “Love Me Tender.”
“Oh, god,” I mutter, the queasiness in my stomach feeling like I’m in a tin boat during a Category 5 hurricane.
