Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
A rtek couldn’t stop touching Meara as they approached his mother’s house. His hand rested at the small of her back, thumb stroking the soft fabric of her dress. The memory of flames consuming the barn haunted him, making his bear restless with the need to keep her close.
“Finally!” Frenchy called from the porch where he lounged in an outfit that somehow incorporated both sequins and camouflage. “I was about to send a search party. Though judging by that hickey peeking out of your collar, Artek, I can guess what delayed you.”
Meara blushed adorably. Artek just smirked, adjusting his shirt.
The door flew open before they reached it. His mother stood dramatically backlit, one hand pressed to her heart. “My darlings! I was beginning to think I’d expire from anticipation! The doctor says my condition is very delicate these days...”
“Mother.” Artek sighed, but couldn’t help smiling as she pulled them both into a perfumed embrace.
“Don’t you ‘mother’ me!” Vida released them, fanning herself. “When a woman my age has no grandchildren to spoil, every moment of waiting is pure agony.”
“And we’re off!” Frenchy breezed past them into the house. “I smell garlic bread. Also, Vida, wait until you hear my ideas for the wedding. I’m thinking a winter wonderland theme—very Game of Thrones meets Frozen, but make it fashionable.”
“There’s no wedding,” Artek called after him, though his bear rumbled appreciatively at the idea of claiming Meara so publicly.
“Yet!” chorused several voices from inside.
Carys waited in the dining room, dark hair braided elegantly down her back. She hugged Meara warmly before fixing Artek with a knowing look. “You seem different, big brother. Almost... happy?”
“He’s definitely happy,” Trey said, appearing with a beer in hand. “You should see him at work. All these dopey grins when he thinks no one’s looking.”
“I do not grin dopily.”
“You kind of do,” Meara whispered, squeezing his hand.
Before he could defend himself, his mother swept in with a feast of comfort food. The table groaned under platters of herb-roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and fresh bread.
“So, Meara,” Vida passed the potatoes with an innocent expression that fooled no one, “have you given any thought to children? I always imagined at least three grandcubs...”
Meara choked on her wine. Artek stroked her thigh under the table, torn between embarrassment and amusement.
“Mother, we’re not?—”
“Oh, they’d be gorgeous cubs,” Frenchy interrupted, eyes sparkling with mischief. “With Meara’s artistic talent and Artek’s brooding good looks? The PTA wouldn’t know what hit it.”
Trey snorted into his glass. “Brooding good looks?”
“You know what I mean! All tall, dark, and growly. Speaking of which...” Frenchy turned to Carys. “Has he always been such a grump? Because let me tell you, before Meara came along, I wasn’t sure he knew how to smile.”
“Oh god.” Carys grinned. “Remember his goth phase in high school?”
“We do not need to discuss that,” Artek growled.
“We absolutely do!” Meara’s eyes lit up. “Please tell me there are pictures.”
“Already texting them to you,” Carys said, typing rapidly on her phone.
“I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t.” Meara kissed his cheek, and his irritation melted. Damn, she had him wrapped around her finger.
“See?” Frenchy gestured triumphantly. “That right there! Old Artek would have stomped off to brood in the garden. New Artek gets all soft and mushy.”
“I am not mushy.”
“Honey,” Vida patted his hand, “you’re absolutely mushy. It’s wonderful! Though you know what would make it even more wonderful? A spring wedding! The garden will be in full bloom, and?—”
“Actually,” Frenchy cut in, “I was thinking winter would be more dramatic. Picture it: snow-dusted evergreens, crystal ice sculptures, Meara in a stunning off-shoulder gown...”
“Ooh!” Carys clapped. “And the reception could have a hot chocolate bar!”
“Yes! With different flavored syrups and those tiny marshmallows...”
“And we could hang fairy lights everywhere...”
Artek watched in bemusement as his family planned his hypothetical wedding, completely ignoring his and Meara’s presence. Under the table, her hand found his again.
“Should we tell them we haven’t actually discussed marriage?” she whispered, eyes dancing with humor.
He turned to study her face in the warm lighting. Her cheeks were flushed from wine and laughter, dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. His bear rumbled contentedly. “Let them have their fun.”
“You’re not afraid they’ll scare me off?”
“Are you scared off?”
She pretended to consider it. “Well, the hot chocolate bar does sound amazing...”
He growled playfully, nipping at her ear. She shivered, pressing closer.
“None of that at the dinner table!” Vida scolded, though she looked delighted. “Save it for the honeymoon. Now, about the guest list...”
“Speaking of parties,” Frenchy said, “we need to discuss the bachelor and bachelorette celebrations. I’m thinking Vegas for Meara’s—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Though we’ll need to find some bear shifter strippers for authenticity...”
“Absolutely not,” Artek growled while Meara dissolved into giggles beside him.
“Oh, honey.” Frenchy waved his wine glass dramatically. “You don’t get a vote. This is sacred bachelorette territory. Besides, I already have some connections in the shifter entertainment industry...”
“From your brief stint as a club promoter?” Gustavo asked, eyebrows raised.
“That was a very educational month! And I’ll have you know, several of those performers are now successful business owners.”
Vida leaned forward eagerly. “Do tell! I might need to book some entertainment for my garden club. Those ladies could use some excitement?—”