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"This dog, you’d think he’d have learned by now not to drink, considering he always suffers a hangover the next morning."
Nadine strides toward the dog and catches his jaws. It takes her and Dorian’s combined efforts to pull the bottle away from the pooch. And even then, I suspect it’s because he’s already downed the contents of the bottle. He wags his tail happily, and I swear, the Great Dane laughs as he staggers back to his mat.
"And that was the most expensive bottle of champagne in the wine shop," Dorian laments.
"No problem; I came prepared." A new voice says.
I glance over my shoulder to find my mother standing at the door. Behind her is a liveried butler with a tray of flutes filled with champagne.
* * *
"A dog with a drinking problem?" I smirk.
“Your mother arrived with her own catering van?" She scoffs.
"And you call him Tiny?"
"Hewastiny when he arrived. We didn’t think he’d grow up to be so big."
"He’s a Great Dane," I point out as I swing the car onto the highway. That was the most entertaining few hours of my life, to be honest. Even if the same woman who asked me if I loved Isla hinted that she wasn’t happy that I hadn’t answered the question directly.
Luckily, people had been too distracted by my mother’s arrival, and the subsequent food and drinks that had been served to them, to press the matter further. And Nadine seemed too overwhelmed by the events to notice otherwise. Dorian, Isla’s brother had, however, shaken my hand, then leaned in close and warned me that he’d been her protector growing up, and if I did anything to upset Isla, he’d sic the Great Dane on me. When I asked him who or what he had to protect her from, he looked at me with a funny expression on his face and suggested I ask Isla about it. Then, he glanced at Tiny and back at me and assured me that Tiny could be a terror when necessary.
Looking at Tiny, who was snoring softly in the corner, I wasn’t sure he was capable of hurting a fly—unless it was by inadvertently squishing it— I wasn’t certain but decided never to test that theory.
What I still find hard to comprehend is the champagne. "Tiny really likes his booze?"
Isla raises a shoulder. "Only champagne. Nothing else tempts him. But every time we open a bottle of bubbles, he gets to it first. And it doesn’t seem to do him any harm. On occasion, he’s woken up with a hangover, but like most of us, it doesn’t seem to put him off the champers."
"What does a hangover look like on a dog?" I muse.
"As ugly as it does on us humans. Last time Tiny emptied a bottle of bubbles down his gullet, he was so sick the next morning, my ma threw him in the bathtub and hosed him down. Tiny was not happy, but he didn’t dare move from the tub. My ma can be fierce when she’s pissed off."
I glance sideways at her. "You’re kidding, right?"
"No." She meets my gaze and we both laugh.
The image of Nadine, who’s shorter than Isla, facing off with Tiny, the Great Dane looking properly cowed while being hosed down, is hilarious. Our gazes hold, and the laughter dies.
Just like that, a familiar heat ignites in my belly. My groin hardens. I clear my throat and glance forward, focusing on the road.
We drive for a few minutes in silence, then she says, "Thanks," and clears her throat. "But you needn’t have."
"Needn’t have what?"
"The ring. It wasn’t necessary."
"On the contrary, it’s important, so the press knows we’re genuine."
She fingers her ring, then glances at me. "It really is beautiful. How did you know sapphires are my favorite?"
"I didn’t, but they’re deep and mysterious, with a heart of passion locked at their core. It reminded me of your eyes."Where the hell did that come from? Now I’m waxing poetic about her eyes—when there isn’t even anyone around to hear me? Get it together, man.
She swallows. Her gorgeous eyes grow deeper until they seem almost indigo in color. Color flushes her cheeks. She opens her mouth to speak when her phone buzzes, as does mine. She glances at her screen, then squares her shoulders. "Speaking of, I hope you’re ready for what’s coming."
10
Isla
