He lifted an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying him today, was she? Maybe he shouldn’t rock her boat too much. He knew her emotions were all over the place after that appointment. But he couldn’t help but want to make their wedding as memorable
as possible considering their complete lack of planning and provisions.
Not waiting for her to be sure, Eric parallel parked in one of the five unoccupied spaces in front of the costume shop and turned off the engine.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go see how much trouble we can get into.”
Still she hesitated.
“Don’t you want today to be special?” he asked.
She tore her gaze away from the store window, which had several costumes on display, including some fancy old blue dress that Rebekah had been examining with interest. Her eyes bored into his with all the enthusiasm for life and adventure that he’d come to expect from her.
“It’s already special,” she said. “Marrying you will undoubtedly be the most memorable five minutes of my life.”
“But don’t you want it to be an experience unique to us?” He leaned in closer, hoping to sway her with his obey me, woman look.
She just laughed at him. “Will it make you happy?”
He beamed a grin at her. “It will.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then I guess I’ll make a fool of myself.”
His brief kiss of gratitude soon turned into a hands-pawing, tongue-mingling, cock-raising expression of his undying lust for the woman. His heart raced as he tugged her closer. Kissed her deeper. Loved her a bit more every moment they were together for making him so deliriously happy.
When had he become such a fucking sap?
She tore her mouth from his and sucked in a deep breath. “Easy there, tiger,” she said. “You’re making my panties all squishy.”
“Mmm,” he said in appreciation. “Those are my favorite kind of panties.”
Maybe they should forgo the selection of costumes and get to the courthouse as soon as possible. He had a sudden urge to start the wedding night festivities sooner rather than later.
A bell over the door jangled as they entered the musty-smelling shop. A wrinkled old man in a white shirt, black suspenders, and red bow tie sat behind a long wooden counter near the door. On second glance, Eric noticed the thin man’s eyes were closed. Was he actually asleep sitting up?
“Are you open?” Eric asked loudly.
He didn’t stir.
“Are you alive?” Eric yelled.
The man started and smiled a greeting when his slightly cloudy eyes squinted at the pair of them.
“Welcome to Malachi’s Costume Emporium,” he said from his seat in a tall ladder-backed wooden chair next to the wall. “If you need assistance, let me know. Otherwise, enjoy your browsing experience.”
He rubbed his beak-like nose with the back of his wrist, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes once more. Within seconds his breathing had become deep and even. He was undoubtedly asleep again.
Eric glanced at Rebekah to share a moment of mutual surprise at the proprietor’s trusting disposition—he supposed costume-shop business would be especially light in December, but still…
Rebekah wasn’t paying attention. Some costume had already caught her eye. She released Eric’s hand and immediately gravitated toward the ugliest wedding dress Eric had ever seen. The yellowed and limp lace collar looked like an enormous bib that covered both shoulders and half of the front. The skirt was layered with wide ruffles and some net-like fabric that looked as if had been caught in a paper shredder. Rebekah touched the ugly thing as though it were made of solid gold.
His heart panged as he realized what was bothering her. She didn’t want to get married in a courthouse. She wanted a real wedding. One with flowers and bridesmaids and a church and an extravagant white dress.
“You look around,” he said. “I need to call Jace and let him know we’ll be at the courthouse a little later than anticipated.”
His best man and witness wouldn’t appreciate spending his entire day waiting at the courthouse while he and Rebekah goofed off in Malachi’s Costume Emporium.
“I should call my mom and let her know too,” she said, turning the dress to stare at the equally ugly reverse side. Five bows exploded from the rump in shameless celebration of the dress’s gaudiness.
“I’ll call her,” Eric said.
Rebekah tore her gaze from her strange obsession and blinked at him with her mouth hanging open. “You’re volunteering to call my mother.” She pointed at him and then at her chest.
He’d had a moment of bonding with Rebekah’s mother at the hospital that morning, and he wanted to use it to his advantage before he screwed something up and she went back to hating him again. He figured he had a couple days in Mrs. Blake’s good favor. Tops.
“Yeah, I’ll call her. No problem.”
Rebekah shrugged and went back to worshiping the ugly wedding gown.
Eric bit his lip as he watched her, wondering how to make her happy. He had a pathological need to bring her as much joy as she brought him. He figured it was time to call in a few favors. He stepped outside to make several calls because he didn’t want Rebekah to overhear his sudden change of plans. He hoped his friends would be willing to drop everything for him today and wondered how long he’d be able to stall his bride at the costume shop while they made his plan happen. His stomach was doing all sorts of acrobatics as he dialed his soon-to-be in-laws’ house and waited for someone to answer. He prayed his hesitant bride liked his impromptu surprise. He’d be crushed if he couldn’t make her burst with joy by the end of the day.
Chapter Two
Rebekah Blake—soon to be Rebekah Sticks—peeked over the rack of costumes she was contemplating and gazed at her very tall, very handsome, very tattooed, very fidgety fiancé. She was supposed to be deciding what to wear to their spur-of-the-moment courthouse wedding, but she couldn’t stop looking at the man. Couldn’t stop thinking about how sweet he was. How gorgeous. How generous. How wonderful. How thoughtful and understanding. How absolutely perfect.
Just how did she get to be so lucky? And why was she so fucking nervous? Her belly wouldn’t stop writhing no matter how much she told herself that this was what she wanted. And it was. Her heart and her mind were ecstatic about marrying Eric. It was only her stomach that seemed against the idea.
Having just rejoined her after making some twenty-minute-long phone call outside the store, Eric pulled a costume from the rack and held it up to his neck, glancing down at the green tights, brown tunic, and felt hat dangling limply from the hanger.
“Ah, perfect,” he said. “I’ll rob from the rich and give to the poor.”
“You are not wearing that to our wedding,” Rebekah said with a shake of her head.
“Green looks great on me,” he said, glancing up at her and sporting a dreamy grin the instant his blue eyes touched on hers. “And Robin Hood is the type of hero who makes the ladies swoon.”
Eric was the type of hero who made Rebekah swoon.
“But you’re too tall for tights,” she said.
“Too skinny, you mean?”
“No, you’re not skinny, you’re too tall. You’ll end up with your crotch at your knees.”
“I think you have me mistaken for Tripod.”
Rebekah laughed. Eric’s best friend, Jace, apparently had some monster cock, the sheer size of which scared the eggs out of chickens. Or maybe it scared them out of the ovaries of all species.
“What did you pick out?” Eric asked, lifting his cleft chin and then cocking his head in interest.
“Cleopatra?” It was far more a question than an assertion. If they were going to dress up for their courthouse wedding, she figured they should play at being one of the great couples in history. Robin Hood and Maid Marion would have worked, but Cleopatra and Mark Antony had been naughtier. Much more comparable to herself and her rock star lover. Well, except for the double-suicide thing. That was a no-go for her. She loved life too much to give it up willingly.
“So I get to choose between tights and a skirt?” he said, eyeing the pair of costumes Rebekah had taken off the rack and turning his nose up at the Marc Antony toga she’d
selected. “Maybe we should go for Romeo and Juliet. But wait—doesn’t Romeo wear tights too?” He shook his head and paused, tapping his chin. “How about Bonnie and Clyde? I could dress like Clyde without looking like a tool. Gangsta!” He rattled an imaginary Tommy gun, making all the appropriate sounds. Loud sounds.
The shop’s proprietor remained undisturbed in his chair behind the counter.
Cleopatra and Mark Antony. Romeo and Juliet. Bonnie and Clyde. Those couples had died horribly for each other.
Rebekah’s scrunched her eyebrows together. “Ever notice how the most memorable couples all died way before their time?”
“I guess suicide is more romantic than paying the mortgage and folding laundry.”
She chuckled. “Depends on who you ask. I’d much rather fold your laundry for the next seventy years than prove I love you by falling into an early grave.”
“Ah, baby,” he said with a crooked grin, “where’s your sense of suicide pacts?”
Rebekah lifted the Cleopatra costume and gave it a shake for emphasis. “As much as I love you, I won’t be kissing a spitting cobra to prove it. So don’t go shoving any swords through your chest on my behalf.”
“I have a snake you can kiss,” Eric said and slid his hand down over his crotch. “It’s not poisonous, but if you kiss it just right, it does spit.”
She snorted and shook her head before shoving the Mark Antony toga against his chest. “Go try this on,” she said.
“Also, I believe Cleo kissed an asp, not a cobra,” he said.
“I’m not kissing your asp or charming your snake before the wedding.”
“But after…” He lifted his brows and wiggled them at her.
She grinned. “Count on it.”
Eric glanced over at the proprietor sitting behind the front counter. The elderly man—who was apparently mostly deaf, even though his ears were uncommonly large—was still sound asleep with head resting against the wall. Eric grinned and sidled over to the front door, locking it with a barely audible click. Old Malachi emitted a soft snore, but didn’t open his eyes.