I frown but manage to catch myself before I shrug.
No point pouring gas on the fire mom’s already got lit.
“That means,” she continues with a sigh as if she resents having to hear it all out loud again, “…That the final rehearsal is tomorrow and the wedding day has to be brought forward from next Sunday to this coming Tuesday,” she nearly shrieks, her voice rising at the end in a tone of total disbelief.
“Who the fuck gets married on a fucking Tuesday!” she shrieks again as if I have the answer.
My mouth opens in question before I pucker it tight.
Keeping it shut, if only to stop from smiling again.
“So you’ll just get married a few days earlier?” I ask, but she ignores me.
Lost in her thoughts.
I’m unable to believe my luck but also wonder why mom wouldn’t be happy too.
Getting married sooner, I mean.
Does it really matter who’s there or not? As long as you’re making it final. That’s all that counts right.
“You do wanna marry Rhys, don’t you?” I ask. I have to ask.
If only for the fact it’s the one thing bringing me closer to Reeve.
I can worry about my mom’s emotions later.
Right now the Reeve Bannon train is boarding, and I don’t wanna miss that ride.
Not for the world.
“Of course, I wanna marry Rhys!” Mom snaps, shocked as she throws her hands up in the air. “Jesus, Piper, why the hell would you say something like that?” she cries out. Her voice trembling with emotion.
“Well… I thought if you were getting married sooner, then you’d be happier?” I ask innocently, thinking absently that the kitchen table could hold my weight as well as Reeve’s too.
Thinking about his thick length inside of me, with the table holding me at just the right height as he fucks me so hard I literally scream his name.
“Piper? Earth to Piper…?” My mom drones, pulling me back to reality.
“What the hell’s the matter with you,” she snaps again before explaining why she’s so pissed.
“This means that the invitations, the catering, and the limos… everything has to be changed, and at impossibly short notice,” she says icily.
Giving me a look that would usually hurt me. But today it feels like nothing could go wrong.
Not for me or Reeve anyhow.
Her anger drops to a broken look of worry until finally, she starts to cry.
I console her, standing up and moving over to hug her shoulders.
Glad she can’t see the smile I’m wearing now, because somehow I just know that Reeve’s plan is already working (whatever it really is), and he hasn’t even lifted a finger.
This is meant to be. This is destiny, I can feel it.
“I’ll have to call Rhys… Have to explain…” she sobs.
“He’s used to dealing with a crisis, especially on short notice,” I console her. Suddenly having a brainwave.
“I could call Reeve?” I offer, my voice sounding just a little too excited by the idea.
“Why would you call Reeve, Piper?” Mom sighs, working hard to pull herself together.
“You’ll be busy with Rhys and changing all the catering and whatnot,” I inform her, not even wanting to mention how many people will cancel because you don’t change your wedding day the week beforehand.
Even I know that.
“Plus, if he’s gonna be staying here while you’re gone, I may as well have his number. May as well get to know him a little,” I suggest, forcing myself to sound less interested.
“Oh… I suppose you may as well,” Mom finally says, reminding me with a look as she fishes for her phone that Reeve is the last person she wants to speak to right now.
As opposed to me.
I almost squeal with delight when she brings up his number on her phone and I swiftly punch it into mine.
Suddenly terrified.
Suddenly empowered to contact the man himself directly.
I freeze up, feeling like I’ll die if I don’t call him but also like I might also actually die if I do call him.
“Well?” Mom asks, shaking her head at me, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Aren’t you gonna call him?”
I casually announce I’ll call him after breakfast as I pour some cereal into my bowl.
“Breakfast,” Mom grunts. “It’s almost midday.”
I’ve got no real comeback for that. I’m still reeling from the fact I actually have Reeve Bannon’s private number on my phone.
Like all of this might actually be real and not just my imagination?
I offer to make a fresh pot of coffee, which mom gladly accepts as she holds her hands to her head, puffing out air through billowed cheeks.
“I dunno how we’re gonna do it,” she murmurs, some of her trademark determination coming through. “But Rhys and I are gonna get married, one way or another,” she says, forcing confidence.
“And go on your honeymoon.” I feel the need to remind her, watching her face fall for a moment, my body seizing up at the thought they might cancel that too.