My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

Her answer is written all over her face, but she makes me wait a split second while she inhales.

“Abso-freaking-lutely!” she shouts so loudly that I hear dishes clatter in the kitchen.

I smile so big that my face feels stretched and my heart feels filled with her. Standing, I grab her in my arms and spin her around as her family—our family—claps.

I take her lips, molding them to mine in a parent-unfriendly kiss, but I can’t care. I’m too happy, too amazed, and too shocked at the wild and crazy turn my life has taken. Twists and turns for the better with Abigail.

“Wait. On one condition,” Abigail says suddenly, and I freeze.

“Anything. You know that,” I promise, meaning it.

“You sure about that?” she tests.Chapter 27Abi“Okay, people, chug that coffee like it’s light beer at a frat party. We’ve got places to go.” I’m in full Boss mode, something my family understands quite well because we all tend to tackle shit head-on when it’s needed. We’re ambitious, hard-headed people.

Of course, right now, they’re looking at me like I’ve also grown a second head on my right shoulder and it’s wearing a fruit headdress because this is not what they expected three seconds after Lorenzo proposed. I’m sure most women tear up, flash around a ring, and start making plans for bridal gown shopping and venue selections.

I am not most women.

This is not most situations, where the wedding is happening after the honeymoon.

I’m a person who spends day in and day out listening to other people’s dreams, doing all the hard work of making them come true, and watching the stress of putting so much into one day.

I don’t want that. Never wanted that.

I want . . . Lorenzo.

I’m out of the dining room, dragging Lorenzo down the hall by his hand, though he’s coming willingly and with a smile that says he enjoys my weirdness that means he never quite knows what I’m up to.

“Oh!” Mom exclaims as she gets up to follow. “Abi, what are you doing?”

“Where are you going?” Courtney asks.

“Oh, hell, let me get my purse.” Violet’s a great bestie, always happy to do the crazy things with me too, though that’s changed a bit since Carly was born and she’s gone all responsible and mature on me. She needs a little crazy in her life again, I think gleefully.

In the foyer, I pause long enough to steal some blooms from the arrangement on the table. It’s one of my own designs, so I don’t feel bad about destroying it for my new purpose, but I do shoot Mom a look of apology and promise to send another one as soon as possible.

Mom just blinks in confusion.

Long before I even opened SweetPea Boutique, Mom would make special requests for flowers and I would go out back to hand-select just the perfect ones. Now, she supports me by having a standing weekly order for one foyer display and a small seasonal bud vase bloom on her vanity. It’s one of my favorite jobs each week because she gives me full creative freedom to make whatever I’d like.

I shove the handful of blooms to Violet. “Bring these with you because they can’t ride the bike. Follow us.”

She laughs, trying to hold the flowers, Carly, and a diaper bag at the same time. Ross saves the flowers by taking Carly from Vi’s arms. “By all means, Abs. This is your scheme. Lead on,” he tells me.

Out front, I stand by Lorenzo’s motorcycle. Struck by a momentary flash of nerves, I ask, “You meant it, right?”

He pushes my hair back from my face so he can slide the helmet onto my head. As he fastens the buckle below my chin, his eyes tick up to me. “The proposal?” he clarifies.

“Uh, no. I guess I assumed you meant that. You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

He shoots me a cocky smirk, one dark eyebrow lifting in that sexy way that makes me want to bite him. “No. Definitely not. Just interested in what we’re doing because you look so beautifully pink with excitement and happiness that I’m memorizing each expression on your face to take out and leisurely enjoy later.”

Sigh. The words that come out of his mouth.

I push up to my toes, planting my lips on his to taste the sweet romance he gives me. He tastes like coffee, tiramisu, and dreams come true.

“Anything?” I hedge.

“I’ll go wherever you tell me to go. Happily, mia rosa.” I can hear that he truly means it. Even when everyone else worries I’ve lost my ever-loving mind, he sees the method to my madness and the organization in my chaos and thrives it in all.

“Follow us!” I shout, climbing on the motorcycle in my dress. I could’ve worn pants tonight, but I’d wanted to look nice for dinner and hadn’t cared about the appropriateness of a skirt on a bike. Now, the dress seems especially apropos.