Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Riley
When Cari told me she wanted to take me wedding dress shopping, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve never even thought about my future wedding, not with any concrete plans. I’ve never had a guy stick around long enough to dream about happily ever afters.
The one thing I planned on was Carter standing beside me, and now I’ll be the one marrying her baby daddy.
The three Gonzales siblings, plus Viv fucking Gallagher, talk around me as I burp Emmy and clean up. She babbles, trying to keep up with them. Crap. Even my baby is more a part of this family than I ever will be.
“Wait,” Al says, before I can take her upstairs. “I need a kiss first.”
My eyes widen. What’s he talking about? We don’t do this.
With the baby in my arms, I approach him, and he bends down until his face is level with her full belly. He hesitates for a second, building the anticipation, then leans and gives her a raspberry while she giggles and kicks her feet. Laughing, he stands and drops a kiss on her chubby, sticky cheek.
“Okay. Now I’m good,” he declares. “Have a good nap, princess.” He chucks her chin before his gaze meets mine. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Yep. I’m good.” The words come out in a squeak, my throat inexplicably tight. “I’m going to put her down, then get ready.”
“Great.” His eyes soften. “You sure you want to do this?”
Do I want to? No. But it’s the right thing to do.
“I’m in this,” I swear to him, and he nods.
“We’ll leave as soon as she’s up from her nap.”
Dismissed, I take Emmy upstairs, change her, and settle her in her crib. And then I start to cry. This is not what I wanted for a wedding day. This is not what I wanted for a wedding.
I knew I’d never get the happily ever after in the storybooks, but I at least thought I’d end up with someone who likes me for me. Someone who cares about me and is interested in my life. Not a paper marriage to a man who doesn’t know the first thing about me.
His siblings might know the truth, but the judge and the rest of the world need to believe this is real. If social services think anything hinky is going on, they’ll pull Emmy from our care faster than we can blink. I wouldn’t put it past Joanne to do it just for shits and giggles.
No. This is what’s best for Emmy. That has to be my focus. Everything I do is for her.
So, I get to work.
First, I take a shower to scrub off the day’s grime, and then I blow-dry my hair until the waves look somewhat decent. The top-of-the-line hair dryer in the guest bathroom makes the process easy. I’d certainly never pay seven hundred dollars for one, but since it’s here, I’ll use it.
And fuck, does it work well. My chocolate-brown waves fall to right beneath my shoulder blades, and I twist the front back and secure it with pins.
As much as I love playing with bright and colorful makeup, today’s the day for simple, demure.
Although I do go a little heavy on the smoky eye for daytime.
Safe in the sanctuary of my room, I pull the dress from the garment bag. I’ve never spent this much money on a single piece of clothing, but when I saw it on the mannequin, I knew I couldn’t bear the thought of wearing anything else.
The dress might be lilac, or maybe periwinkle; it’s that in-between shade that’s hard to label, but whatever it’s called, the color flatters my skin tone and makes me feel like a princess.
It’s light and gauzy, with a simple slip underneath to cover all the important parts.
Fluffy chiffon sleeves fall to my elbows, and it drapes over my body to the floor.
With a pair of three-inch heels, it’s the perfect length.
The part that caught my eye was the intricate embroidery.
Floral stitchwork covers the dress, with little wildflowers and vines from head to toe.
It’s a little more bohemian than anything I’ve ever worn, but as soon as I put it on, I knew it was the one.
I felt confident and in control of my emotions.
From the next room, Emmy stirs, but heavy footsteps on the stairs tell me Al’s got her. He talks to her, or maybe to his siblings, his deep voice indistinct through the two closed doors between us.
A quick tap, tap sounds on the door, hesitant, like he doesn’t actually want to bother me. I slip on my shoes before I open it.
Al’s wearing a suit and holding his daughter, who immediately squirms, reaching for me. He starts to hand her over before he freezes, and his mouth drops open, Emmy suspended in midair.
He hates it. He hates me.
“Wow,” he whispers. “You look beautiful.”
Oh.
Heat rushes to my face, pooling in my cheeks. “Thanks.”
She squawks, upset at being ignored, and I pull my niece into my arms, giving her a quick snuggle. Although I suppose she’ll be my daughter now. Stepdaughter. Does it matter? She’ll be mine, and that’s all I care about.
Al clears his throat. “We’re getting ready to go.”
“Okay. I’ll change her.”
“She’s clean. I just did.”
“I got her an outfit.” One singular baby dress shouldn’t cost over a hundred dollars, but if he and I are getting dressed up, so should she.
His eyes soften. “You did?”
“She’s part of this. Hell, she’s the whole reason we’re doing it.”
I squeeze into the doorway and he takes a step back, letting me pass.
His cedar-and-firewood scent lingers in the air as I enter her room, and he stands in the threshold, watching while I pull out the light purple dress.
It’s frilly and full of taffeta, and I anticipate she’ll hate it—she hates most clothes—but it has delicate embroidery that coordinates with my dress. I even found little ballet slippers.
Emmy whines as soon as I take off her onesie, and she is definitely not happy to wear the dress. She kicks her feet and screams while I struggle to put on her shoes.
But when I scoop her into my arms and deposit her into Al’s, suddenly she’s happy as a clam. She grabs at his beard and he chuckles, kissing her palm before tucking her more securely against his broad chest.
“My princess,” he murmurs into the top of her head, and my heart squeezes, filling it with warmth and reaffirming my decision to do anything to protect her. Even if it means the death of my dreams for love. Her happiness comes first—always.
We make our way downstairs and into the car. He has a top-of-the-line SUV, sleek and black, with a car seat already installed in the back.
“Where are your siblings?” I ask as Al gets Emmy situated.
“Cari drove them, since we don’t all fit in here.” He rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat beside me. “Any news on your car?”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t know if it’ll survive a trip out here.” I bought it from a guy I used to work with, and it had already been through a few owners. “I guess I should find a new one. With my savings, I should be able to afford it in a few months.”
I still have to figure out what to do with my apartment. All I have with me is a few days’ worth of clothes. Most of my singular suitcase was packed full of baby things, as I certainly wasn’t planning to move here last week.
Al grunts. “I’ll get you a car.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Riley, you’ll be my wife,” he says, turning to glance at me before focusing on the road again.
“What’s mine will be yours. But more importantly, you need a way to get around, and to get Emmy to doctor’s appointments and the park or wherever you want to go.
You shouldn’t be trapped at the house all day, every day. That’s a surefire path to a breakdown.”
Uncomfortable, I force a laugh. “We take walks with the stroller.”
“Great. Still buying you a car.” He clears his throat.
“I ordered a credit card for you, and I trust you’ll be responsible with it.
Household supplies, groceries, formula, diapers, whatever you need…
Most of my meals are organized by a dietitian, but if you want Tyler to make you meal prep, too, just let me know.
I’ll ask him for his menu. I know he has a special offer for his athletes’ partners so you don’t have to eat the same healthy slop we get. ”
There is a stack of glass containers in the fridge, but for some reason, I thought he prepared them. It makes sense they come from a dietitian, though. He doesn’t exactly get a lot of time off to cook.
We arrive at the courthouse and, of course, Emmy has fallen asleep, so I pull out the stroller while Al wrangles with the car seat. He clicks her into place and then takes the wheel.
Cari, Tony, and Viv meet us inside. I still can’t believe Viv Gallagher is at my wedding. They’re dressed up for the occasion, and I’m suddenly glad I chose to buy a new dress rather than wear jeans and a T-shirt.
After what feels like forever, we’re called back to the judge’s chambers. Al squeezes my hand, then grabs hold of the stroller, and Emmy stirs, looking around with her wide brown eyes.
Judge Alexander McCall is younger than I expected, maybe in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a kindness in his expression. He’s wearing one of those robes you see on Court TV, and as he stands from behind his desk, he shakes both Al’s and my hands.
He flicks through the packet of paperwork I hand him, then says, “Everything seems to be in order. Let’s get married, shall we?”