Matrimonial Merriment, page 13
“Say what you really mean. You want me to relinquish control of all these wedding plans and let other people help.”
“Yes.”
Quaid opened his mouth to protest, so I kissed him, backing him against the door and pinning him there. When I broke the kiss, he playfully sneered. “You can’t spend the whole evening shutting me up with a kiss whenever I want to protest.”
“I can certainly try. You need this, Quaid. Admit it. Stop being difficult.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
He deflated. “Okay. Fine. I will delegate jobs, but things have to be done my way.”
“You need extensive therapy.”
It was a joke, but it hit a little too close to home. We’d never discussed it, but there were times when I thought Quaid could use some outside help with all he’d been through in his life.
“Or maybe you need a long vacation,” I said instead, shifting the seriousness away from his mental health.
“It will be nice to get away when this is done.”
“Anywhere you want to go. I’m serious. Think about it.” We hadn’t talked about our honeymoon, but thanks to my parents’ generous wedding gift, we had the means to go wherever Quaid’s heart desired.
***
“Welcome to the first meeting of the Valor and Doyle Shindig Planning Committee.” I tapped a marker against the giant easel paper taped to the wall. I’d stolen it from a conference room at work.
“We’re not calling it that,” Quaid said from his spot on an overstuffed chair. Oscar had curled up on his lap the moment he’d sat down, and the two of them looked far too cozy. At least the cat had taken Quaid’s temper down a notch.
Torin and Ruiz shared the couch, Torin with his feet kicked up on the coffee table leafing through Quaid’s precious wedding binder—much to my fiancé’s horror—and Ruiz sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, twirling a pen, a yellow legal pad in front of him.
I pointed the marker at Quaid. “I hear your objection, but it is overruled because I already wrote it down, and we don’t have enough paper to start again.”
Torin smacked Ruiz. “That’s one.”
Nodding and grinning, Ruiz made a notch in the top corner of his legal pad.
“One what?” Quaid asked before I could.
“Nothing,” Torin said. “So how are we doing this?”
“Simple. We list everything that needs to be done, assign duties, set deadlines, and call it a day. Bingo bango, we have ourselves a wedding.”
Quaid snorted and rolled his eyes. “Just like that?”
“Just like that. You’ve made this far more complicated than it has to be.”
“Oh, have I?”
“Two,” Torin said. “Man, this is going to go down like a sinking ship.”
Ruiz made another notch.
“What are you two assholes doing?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Torin tried and failed to look innocent.
“What is he doing?” I asked Ruiz.
Ruiz shrugged. “We have a bet going to see how many idiotic comments you make before Valor’s head explodes.”
I spun on Torin and pointed with the marker. “This was your bright idea, wasn’t it?”
“What can I say? I make my fun where I can. I’ve got ten bucks saying you put your foot in your mouth six times before this one loses his head.” He gestured to Quaid, who was sneering.
“If it helps my reputation any,” Ruiz said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I said it would take at least ten. Quaid’s tolerance for dumbassery is much higher than most people think.”
“Well, he does put up with you almost every day, so it must be,” Torin said.
“Do you hear this?” Quaid asked Oscar. “The Valor and Doyle Shindig Planning Committee is off to a great start. I’m glad I stopped working to take part. These, my furry friend, are the men responsible for helping me plan a wedding. We’re doomed.”
“All right. All right. Enough with the games. Let’s get this show on the road.” I turned to the easel paper, ready to write. “Torin, you have the binder. What’s our top priority?”
“Um…” Torin turned a few pages, flicking back and forth, frowning. “There’s a lot of shit in here. How do I know what’s been done?”
Quaid gave an exasperated sigh and shooed Oscar off his lap, the cat vocally expressing his objection at being dismissed, and made a grab for the binder, but Torin hugged it to his chest.
“Give it to me,” Quaid said.
Torin eyed me. “I was told not to do that under any circumstance.”
“Torin,” Quaid said through gritted teeth. “Give. Me. My binder.”
“I can’t. Az said—”
Quaid launched at him, and Torin panicked, throwing the binder at Quaid, saying, “Jesus, take it, you freak,” before retreating as fast as he could on the couch, where he collided with Ruiz, who shoved him back where he belonged.
I threw my hands up. “Torin! What did I say?”
“Dude, I don’t want him to bite me.”
“He’s not a fucking animal.”
“Are you sure?” Torin gestured to my bruised hand.
The fact Quaid was gnashing his teeth and practically growling at my best friend was not helping my argument.
I chuckled. “Correction. He has animalistic tendencies. Particularly in bed when I’m giving him a good dicking.”
“Az!” Quaid snapped, giving me a death glare.
“What? It’s true. You bit me.” I displayed my palm.
Quaid fumed and looked ten seconds from coming at me next.
“Three.” Torin and Ruiz said at the same time.
Quaid narrowed his eyes and glared at all three of us. If he could have made our heads explode with mind power alone, he’d have done it. When he’d gotten his point across, he settled back into the cushy chair and laid the binder on his lap.
“Now if we can all act like grownups”—Quaid fished a page from a front pouch on the binder—“I have a list of things that still need to be done before the wedding. If you all insist on helping—which I didn’t ask for, by the way—then let’s get this over with.”
“Feel better?” I smirked.
Quaid glared.
“Okay.” I clapped my hands. “Now that that’s settled, I say once we have a list, we divide into two teams and make a game of getting it done as fast as possible.”
“You want to make a game out of our wedding?”
“Four,” Torin said, nudging Ruiz. “See how his temple’s pulsing? He’s gonna blow. One more doozy, and…” Torin made an explosion sound and performed the actions with his hands.
“At this rate, it’s going to be you who sets him off, not him,” Ruiz said, angling his head in my direction.
“Man, they aren’t even married yet and the honeymoon’s over.”
Ruiz patted Torin’s legs. “Careful. If he launches at you again, I might not be able to save you in time.”
To me, Quaid said, “How exactly is this helping to reduce my stress? Honestly, tell me. I’m deeply curious.”
“It sounded good in my head.”
“I’m not sure it will be an arguable defense in court. For the record, if you don’t control your partner and best friend, he will be the first to die.”
“You hear that,” I said to Torin. “Behave. Joking aside, he’s right. Let’s get to work and prioritize what needs to be done. Hit me, hot stuff.”
Lips pinched in a tight line, Quaid referenced the sheet of paper in his hand. “Music. Now why is music still on the list, you ask? Because someone still hasn’t called DJs, even though I asked him to do it three weeks ago and have reminded him no less than fifteen times since.”
Yeah, that was true, and I felt the sting of his words as I wrote it down. To prove I’d been listening all those times, I added no headbanging junkies with scraggly beards who smell like patchouli in brackets. “Next?”
Torin snickered at the side note. “Nice one.”
“Cake,” Quaid said.
I wrote it down and waved a hand for him to keep going.
“Decorations.”
The marker squeaked as I jotted it all in list format.
“Can I make a comment?” Quaid asked.
“You have the floor.”
“I’ve begrudgingly allowed our wedding colors to be red and green and gold, but under no circumstances is anyone to get it into their heads that this is a Christmas wedding. It’s not. Understand?”
We all looked at him. No one said a thing. Quaid was still in denial, but no one had the balls to point it out.
“Sure, my sweet, oblivious man. No Christmas wedding.”
“I’m serious.”
“As am I.” I nodded at the list.
Quaid sighed and cleared his throat. “Flowers, and believe me, I’ve been working on that particular detail for weeks. I have a list of all the florists in the city. Hang on.” He rummaged through the binder and extracted a paper from a plastic sleeve before handing it to me.
“Are the ones you’ve crossed out unavailable on the twenty-third?”
“Um… something like that.” Quaid’s cheeks took on color.
I bit the inside of my lip to stop the smile. The truth was Quaid had managed to piss off several of these people, and they would no longer work with him.
“What else?”
“The bar needs to be organized, and you aren’t doing that.”
“Doesn’t the venue provide a stocked bar and bartender?” Ruiz asked. “Most do.”
“Usually,” Quaid said, “but not on December twenty-third. They have limited available staff that weekend. I knew those stipulations when I booked the place.”
“Okay. Bar,” I said, writing it down. “Next?”
“I want someone to film the ceremony, but so far, I’ve had no luck finding a wedding videographer. For such a bustling city, there aren’t many options.”
I added it to the list and scanned what we had so far. Something was missing. “What else?”
“Rings, but that’s for us to do. They can’t help with that.”
I made a side note for rings. “We should do that soon in case they need to be sized.”
“Do you have a photographer?” Torin asked.
“We do. That’s one thing I’ve got covered.”
“What about a travel agent to help plan your honeymoon.” Ruiz looked between us.
“We haven’t decided where we’re going yet.” What I didn’t say was how a travel agent was much like a wedding planner, and we hadn’t had good luck with them, so I figured we’d be planning our vacation on our own.
Ruiz glanced at Quaid. “Dress rehearsal and dinner?”
“Bachelor party?” Torin added. “We’re getting strippers, right?”
“We aren’t having a bachelor party,” Quaid mumbled.
“Why the hell not? It’s the perfect excuse to be allowed to watch strippers. Allison can’t tell me no. It’s practically required.”
“I said no. Besides, if we did have a bachelor party—which we’re not—and I agreed to strippers—which I’m definitely not—Aslan’s bisexuality aside, they would be male, not female, and that point would be nonnegotiable.”
Torin deflated. “I didn’t think of that.”
“Oh, I did,” Ruiz said under his breath. “Many, many times. It gave me nightmares. What about the menu?” he asked Quaid.
That was what I was missing.
Quaid pressed his lips together and dashed a quick glance in my direction. “I’m taking care of the menu.” His tone brooked no argument.
“Dude,” Torin said with a warning in his tone. “We talked about this.”
I snorted. “Relax.” To Quaid, I said, “Nice try, you sexy thing, but that ain’t happening. You and food are mortal enemies, and with respect to all people in the food industry, I am officially disallowing you from going anywhere near that task.” I added menu to the list.
“You’re disallowing me?”
“Yes.”
Quaid sneered.
“Won’t work.”
He sneered harder.
I grabbed myself and groaned. “Oh, baby, take it down a notch. You don’t wanna make me hard in front of Ruiz. He’ll get jealous.”
The face broke, and Quaid snorted a laugh against his better judgment, but it turned into a wince as he readjusted himself in the chair like he was uncomfortable. “You’re such a shit.”
Ruiz, shaking his head, cursed under his breath, but he was chuckling too.
“Ruiz is right,” Quaid said, voice strained, wincing. “Add dress rehearsal to the list. We also need to organize a dinner or late lunch for everyone.”
I jotted it down. “Is that all?”
Quaid checked the paper in his hand, face contorted as he massaged the heel of his palm against his sternum. “I think so.”
“Are you all right?” Ruiz asked.
“I’m fine.” He waved a hand for me to carry on.
I studied him for a moment. He was not fine. He was in evident pain. Again. It was starting to be concerning. “Quaid?”
Before I could address his obvious lie, he got up and excused himself, heading for the stairs to the second floor. “I need a minute.”
Chapter 12
Aslan
“I’ll be back.”
I dropped the marker I’d been using on the coffee table and followed after Quaid. I found him in the bathroom, pouring two-extra strength TUMS into his palm before tossing them into his mouth and crunching them to dust.
He’d been eating them like candy lately, sneaking them whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. If it wasn’t TUMS, it was something for his stomach. None of it seemed to work.
“Heartburn again?”
“Probably the soup. Too acidic. Tomatoes, peppers, spices. I should know better.”
Dinner might have contributed, but I thought most of Quaid’s recent issues were stress related. He’d spent over half an hour on the phone, carefully controlling his rage while the vein near his temple pulsed and throbbed. He’d gotten a call from the forensic lab earlier that day, informing him the results of the sample he and Jordyn had sent didn’t yield the answers they were hoping for. Plus, I’d surprised him with a wedding intervention, forcing him to relinquish control.
Braced on the bathroom counter, he leaned forward, hanging his head. His breathing was shallow. “I’ll be fine. Give me a minute.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor. You’ve been going through TUMS and the stomach stuff like crazy, and they don’t seem to help.”
“They help.”
“You know how I joke about stress giving you an ulcer? Maybe it’s actually given you an ulcer. They can treat you properly.”
“It’s not an ulcer, and it’s not stress. It’s the soup.”
“You’re a mule sometimes.”
He didn’t respond.
I rubbed his back and waited while the TUMS did their job and his breathing became less strained. After a few minutes, Quaid stood upright, shook two more tablets into his palm, and ate them. “Okay. Good as new. Let’s go.”
“You are so stubborn.” I tugged him into my arms, and he didn’t fight.
Quaid rested his head on my shoulder. I studied his reflection in the mirror. He had always been pale, but the shadows under his eyes made him seem all the more washed out. I stroked my fingers through his sun-bleached blond hair and wished, not for the first time, that I could convince him to stop trying to carry the world on his shoulders.
“I’m trying to help,” I whispered by his ear.
“I know. I appreciate it. I do. I just want the day to be perfect.”
“It will be. I’m marrying you. How can it be anything but?”
I watched the man in the mirror. A content smile pulled at his mouth. “You’re such a charmer. I love you.” He squeezed me tighter.
“I love you too.”
We stayed locked in an embrace for a few more minutes until someone—Torin—whistled from downstairs. “Hello? If you two are getting busy up there, we’re leaving.”
“I hate him,” Quaid mumbled.
“No, you don’t.”
“He makes me crazy.”
“News flash, hot stuff. You make all three of us equally crazy.”
He chuckled and let me release him. “Fair enough.”
“Come on.” I offered him my hand, and he took it, letting me guide him back downstairs.
We rejoined Torin and Ruiz in the living room, and Quaid collapsed into the overstuffed chair again, his exhaustion glowing. I didn’t miss the subtle signs he still wasn’t feeling well. I logged them into my brain, intent on addressing them again later.
“Is this everything?” I asked, gesturing to the list we’d made.
Quaid made a cursory scan and nodded. “I think so. There are smaller things, but that’s the bulk of it.”
“So now we team up and divide tasks.”
“Team up? We’re really doing that?”
“Yep. You’re with Ruiz. I’m with Torin.”
“Did we draw straws, and I missed it?” Ruiz asked. “Why do I get Quaid?”
“Because you lucked out. Plus, you two are besties.”
Ruiz arched a brow. “Does this job come with bodily insurance?”
“Don’t worry. For your safety and all those involved, Torin and I are taking charge of the menu and the cake.” I wrote our names beside those two tasks.
Quaid had long ago accepted he would be outvoted for those duties, but his silence was unusual. I expected a comment or a sneer, but I got neither. He sat in the chair and let the conversation happen around him. His fight was circling the drain.
I studied the list. “You two can take flowers and…”
“Music,” Ruiz said, interrupting. “I have some ideas for that, and I know people.”
I put Quaid and Ruiz’s names beside those jobs. “That leaves the bar—”
“We’ll take that too,” Ruiz said before Quaid could interject.
“Amelia said she would take charge of decorating, so I’ll mark her name here. That leaves planning the rehearsal dinner.” I glanced at Torin. “You solid on that with me?”
