Eric #2
With our date set and Eric’s dad fully onboard with our plan to take over his home and yard, I go full steam ahead into wedding planning, to the exclusion of everything but Eric and work.
I avoid the news and the internet and anything that might trigger a setback.
I feel strong again, focused, determined to keep moving forward and to leave the pain of the past behind.
A week after we set the date, we invite Rob and Camille to dinner at a five-star restaurant that requires suits, ties and cocktail attire for women. We’re all dressed up and in high spirits as we discuss the wedding.
After we’re served a round of drinks, I glance at Eric, who nods. “So the reason we asked you here tonight is because we’d like to ask you both to return the favor as our best man and matron of honor.”
Camille lets out a squeal that draws the perturbed attention of other diners and the tuxedoed waitstaff.
Rob clamps a hand over her mouth.
“You owe me fifty,” she says to her husband, her words muffled by his hand.
“You guys bet on why we wanted to see you tonight?” Eric asks.
“Duh,” Camille says. “We bet on everything. I usually win, and I’ve never been happier to be right than I am now.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” I ask.
“Duh,” they say together.
“Of course we will,” Rob says. “It’d be an honor.”
“We should all go somewhere together for the bachelor and bachelorette weekend,” Camille suggests.
“Not happening,” Rob says. “No chicks at the bachelor party, except the strippers.”
Eric laughs, and his brother offers a high five.
“Do it and you’re dead,” I tell him.
“Sorry, bro. I’m gonna leave you high and dry on that one.”
“Already whipped, and you’re not even married yet.”
“Shut up, Rob,” Camille says, “or you’ll be high and dry. Emphasis on the dry.”
Rob offers his wife a shit-eating grin. “Yes, dear.”
Camille rolls her eyes at him and raises her glass. “To sisters marrying brothers!”
“To our kids being double cousins,” Eric adds.
I hadn’t thought of that, but how cool will that be? We touch our glasses and offer other silly toasts that keep us laughing. I’m afraid they’re going to kick us out before we eat at this rate.
“Speaking of sisters marrying brothers,” Rob says, “I told one of the New York Times reporters who covers Dad that my brother is marrying Camille’s sister, and they want to do a Vows article about the governor’s sons marrying sisters.”
“That’s so cool!” Camille says. “You didn’t tell me!”
“Truthfully, I forgot about it until right now. What do you guys think?”
I glance at Eric.
“It would be some positive publicity for the family and your campaign after the parental scandal from hell,” he says.
“That’s my thought, too,” Rob says.
“But only if Ava is in favor,” Eric says, looking at me. “I know how private you are.”
“I’d be okay with it,” I tell them. “How soon do they want to do it?”
“The reporter said they’d jump on it if we give the go-ahead,” Rob says, “so probably fairly soon. I’ll let you know.”
The next day, Eric and I interview two caterers and choose the second one because he seems to totally get the relaxed vibe we’re going for, whereas the first one wanted to turn our wedding into a society affair.
My mom comes into the city the following weekend to go wedding dress shopping with me and Camille.
I find the dress I want in the first place we go and refuse to try on any others after finding “the one.” It’s simple and elegant and classy, with intricate bead work on the bodice that transforms it into a wedding dress.
“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Mom says.
“This is the one. It’s exactly what I want.” I try to picture myself walking toward Eric wearing that dress, and I can see it so clearly. He’ll love it as much as I do.
“Well,” Mom says. “That was easy.”
“You can say it, Mom,” Camille adds. “She’s nothing like me.”
“You said that,” Mom replies, smiling. “Not me.”
“Since we have the rest of the day, we can spend it helping Camille pick her dress.” I’ve told Camille, Jules, Amy and Sky to pick navy-blue cocktail-length dresses in any style that works for them.
“One day won’t be enough,” Mom says, making us laugh.
We have such a great time that Mom decides to spend the night in Eric’s guest room so we can choose invitations on Sunday before she goes home.
In bed that night, Eric refuses to come anywhere near me because my mom is sleeping in the next room. Naturally, when presented with a challenge, I bring my A game to convince him he’s being silly.
“She knows we sleep together and that we have s-e-x.”
“Hush. Leave me alone and go to sleep.”
I suppress the urgent need to giggle madly. He’s so damned cute and funny and sweet. Sitting up in bed, I tug at the hem of the T-shirt he told me I had to wear to bed because we have a guest. He wore a T-shirt that he tucked into flannel pajama pants.
“What’re you doing?” he whispers.
“I’m hot.” I fan my face for effect.
“You who are cold in the middle of summer are suddenly hot?”
“I’m roasting.” I lift the T-shirt up and over my head and toss it aside. “That’s better.” Gathering my hair into a ponytail, I hold it up with one hand and continue to fan myself with the other. “Did you crank up the heat?”
“You think I don’t know what you’re up to.”
“What am I up to?”
“You’re trying to break me.”
“Why would I do that? I love you. I don’t want you broken.”
Laughing softly, he says, “Yes, you do.”
I release my hair and crawl across the wide expanse of bed he put between us for the first time ever.
His eyes, illuminated by the street light coming in from outside, flare with desire. “Go away.”
Smiling, I lean over him and begin to kiss his neck. “No.”
“Yes,” he says, sounding more desperate as I move toward his abdomen.
“Make me.”
He buries his hands in my hair but makes no move to relocate me. “Ava…”
“Hmm?”
“What’re you doing?”
I tug on his T-shirt. “Breaking the seal.”
“Not with your mom here.”
“Yes, with my mom here.”
“You know I can’t resist you.”
“So why do you try?”
He gasps when I take him into my mouth. “Ava.”
“Shhh, you wouldn’t want her to hear, would you?”
“I thought you loved me?”
“I love you so much. More than anything.” Sensing his surrender, I set out to show him just how much.