Chapter 27
ABI
“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.
I guide our caravan of cars through the night by tapping Lorenzo’s belly and pointing where I want him to go.
Several minutes later, we pull into the parking lot as an entourage of vehicles—one motorcycle, my parents’ Mercedes, Ross and Vi’s new SUV—pretty sure that’s for the additional kids they’re planning but not telling anyone about yet—and Kaede’s fancy sports car he got to celebrate the opening of the latest One Life Gym.
Lorenzo parks and shuts off the Ducati, looking over his shoulder at me. The quiet of the night is shocking, and the sign’s yellow glow throws Lorenzo’s face into highlights and shadows. I can’t read his expression. He’s not mad or surprised. Maybe it’s simply acceptance.
He helps me take the helmet off and whispers, “We’re getting tattoos?”
I bite my lip to keep my plan from popping out like a champagne cork. Okay, not plan . . . this is a scheme too. I’ll admit that, even if I’ve argued the semantics of the two words multiple times with Ross.
“Uhm, sort of?” I respond. “Come on!”
Our hands locked, Lorenzo and I walk through the glass door, triggering a tinkling bell.
“Reno!” I shout.
“Hold your fucking horses,” his gruff voice answers.
“Abi?” Dad is looking around with uncertainty. And maybe a little bit of distaste.
I press up against Lorenzo, my hands on his chest as I look up at him, a plea in my eyes. “When we were here before—”
“You have a tattoo?” Vi snaps. “Why don’t I know this? Why haven’t I seen it?”
I decide right then and there that Ross is the best brother ever because he places a hand over Vi’s lips and whispers something in her ear that makes her mouth clack closed and her eyes silently lock on me.
There’ll be hell to pay later, I know that, but for now, she’s letting me keep this train chug-a-chuggin’.
I repeat, a bit harsher, “When we were here before . . .” softer, just to Lorenzo, I continue, “Did you hear what Reno said about how he started tattooing?”
Lorenzo shakes his head. “He could’ve said anything. All I saw was you. All I heard were the little whimpers of pain when he went over your ribs. I wanted to take the pain from you, feel it myself so you wouldn’t have to.”
“Ribs?” Vi says behind Ross’s hand. Well, I think that’s what she said, but it’s pretty muffled.
“He’s an ordained minister for a motorcycle club of vets. He’s former military himself. But he can legally . . .”
Lorenzo’s eyes flare, not with brightness but with dark heat. “You mean . . . ?”
“Abigail Marie Andrews! You cannot get married at a tattoo parlor in a dinner dress!” Mom shouts, utterly horrified. She’s gone along with a whole lot of strange things, loved me through some weird phases, and supported some odd ideas, but apparently, this is too far.
I turn to look at Mom. “I’m already married, remember? Or so everyone thinks. Might as well make it true. Besides, I don’t want to wait.” Locking my eyes back on Lorenzo, I repeat myself softer, sweeter, “I don’t want to wait. Do you?”
He might say no. He absolutely could, and I’d have to be okay with that. Hell, one of us should probably be the voice of reason in any given situation and it’s rarely going to be me.
But I hope . . . deep down inside my soul, I hope he’s the wild to my crazy, the ride to my die, the kerosene to my fire.
“No, I don’t want to wait to make you mine. If this is what you want, it’s what I want. Anything, always . . . for you.”
Swoon.
Maybe it’s the accent, I decide. Maybe one day, Lorenzo will be telling me to wash the damn dishes for the tenth time in a row and I’ll realize that it’s not what he says, it’s how he says it. But if that’s the case, it’s not happening today.
Today, he is romance, seduction, sweet, and sexy .
. . all tied up in one sexy package of man.
And he’s in my arms with his wrapped around me, his palm cupping my ass right here in front of God, my family and friends, and even my parents.
And if they don’t like it, they can learn to deal and knock on the door when they come over like I do.
“I don’t have a ring. I thought I’d have time to get my grandmother’s from Italy for you. But after talking with your dad, I couldn’t wait. I had to ask you tonight.”
One of my brows lifts. “You talked to my dad about asking me to marry you?” Warning bells are going off in my head and through my whole assembled party.
“You might not like it, but he’s a little traditional, dear. It was sweet.” Dad comes to Lorenzo’s defense. I can see Dad shaking his head at Lorenzo out of the corner of my eye, miming zipping his lip.
“So, you’d thought about it enough that you talked to my dad, had plans to get your grandmother’s ring, but then decided on a whim to just go for it and ask me tonight?” I clarify.
I can see Lorenzo teasing through the words, mentally translating them to Italian and looking for any errors. My family is utterly still and quiet, not even breathing. Well, besides Carly, who’s babbling away, happily oblivious.
“Yes,” Lorenzo says finally.
I jump up on him, my legs going astride his waist, and he catches me easily. “That’s so sweet! You were all ‘gonna do this right’ but got carried away because of me?”
I feel his smile against my lips as I pepper him with kisses.
“I do tend to do that with you, mia rosa.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. God, I love this man who’s somehow as rooted and as wild as I am.
“We can get rings later. But you’re totally getting a tattoo wedding band from Reno tonight. I’m leaving my mark on you,” I tell Lorenzo, leaving no room for argument.
His smile is soft as he lets me slide down his body until my feet hit the floor. His hands release my hips to cup my face gently. “You already have.”
“Okay, I think I get it now,” Vi says. It’s like she didn’t even know that her cousin was the best thing since Betty White or sliced bread.
“Are we really doing this?” Courtney whispers to Mom.