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“I’m sorry,” Frankie says, shifting Wesley, who’s cryingbecause she won’t let him eat the rose, to her other hip. “I think I’m just tired.”
After the black roses incident, Grayson sees me the morning of our wedding, because he says not seeing the bride before the wedding is an old wives’ tale and doesn’t mean shit. He also admits to not know what an old wives’ tale is.
I’m not entirely sure I agree with him, but I go with it because I don’t want to fight with him about it. Also, I think some of the silly traditions that come with weddings are just weird. Wear something blue? Uh, no. I won’t. It’s not my color. And besides that, my damn bouquet is fucking black because of the mess up.
Grayson also objects to our guest list of what he said would only be family. He tried to tell Frankie she couldn’t come, but as you can imagine, that didn’t work in his favor. What gets him is when Leigha and Dr. Nehls show up with their son. Gray.
Cute, huh? Looks like someone made an impression on them.
I take him in my arms right away because, yeah, I’m baby obsessed and hoping Grayson gets me pregnant tonight. Don’t tell him.
I’m kidding. We’ve talked about it already. I stopped taking my birth control pills two weeks ago.
“Aren’t you just the cutest thing in the entire world,” I tell Leigha’s son, trying to entice a smile. Nothing. Not even a quirk of his little baby lips. He’s also sleeping so that might be why.
Handing him back to Dr. Nehls, I lean into Grayson. Wrapping his arm around me, his mouth meets my ear. “Ours will be cuter.”
I slip my hand lower to his ass and squeeze. “What are you doing later?”
He bites my shoulder playfully. “You. Over and over again.”
“I knew you two had something going!” Frankie squeals. I had no idea Leigha was even pregnant, but I guess at Grayson’s last appointment, she did look like she had a little bit of a belly.
Grayson side-eyes Leigha who immediately yanks him into a hug. “Who invited you?”
“Grayson,” Julia gasps. “That’s rude.”
“Don’t worry.” Leigha turns and pours herself a drink, Dr. Nehls coming into the kitchen behind her. She flips her hand at Grayson. “This asshole told me to stick my penlight up my ass. I have thick skin now because of him.”
“It’s true,” Dr. Nehls adds, his jeans and button-down shirt making him look less like a neurosurgeon who I considered to be a god, and more like a human being who just happened to save my future-husband’s life. “She’s definitely tougher since Grayson was our patient.”
Grayson is not amused. “Do we have to talk about this shit right now?”
I gawk at Grayson. “You told her to do that?”
“She kept shining it in my eye,” he says defensively as he pours himself a drink. “After the fourth time that hour, I’d had enough.”
“Girl,” Leigha draws out slowly, my first taste of her Southern accent. “I could tell you all kinds of things he said to me when he was loopy.”
Grayson drops the drink he’s pouring and playfully grabs Leigha in a head lock and covers her mouth with his hand. “That’s enough. They don’t need to hear those stories.”
“Oh.” My eyes light up watching the two of them wrestle one another. “I might need to hear all about this.”
Leigha winks, untangling herself from Grayson’s arms. “It’ll be my wedding gift to you.”
“You two areneverallowed to talk.” Grayson stands between Leigha and me, his arms wrapping around my chest as he yanks me backward. “She’s lying about all her stories.” He turns his head and I’m assuming he’s glaring at her because she busts up laughing. “Whatever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?”
“I’m not your doctor.” Leigha points to Dr. Nehls. “He is.”
Frankie sighs happily, watching the interaction between all of us. “Can we just adopt her into the family? She’s perfect.”
I stand my ground, refusing to let Grayson pull me out of the room, and stick my bottom lip out. “I want one detail. Please? It can be my wedding gift?”
He raises an eyebrow. “I have to get you a gift? Isn’t marrying me the gift?” I give him my best sad face and he caves with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. One story. And not the one from the CT scan. You are never to tell that one.”
“I want that one.” I beam, waiting like a child does in line for ice cream.
Grayson throws himself onto the couch in the living room. “Worst day ever,” he mumbles.