49. June
49
JUNE
W hen Anderson pulls up to Copeland’s, it’s all I can do not to laugh. This is never going to happen. “What are you thinking? You sneak a look at their reservation list, and we pretend to be another couple to get in?”
“Now, why would I need to do that?”
“It’s Copeland ’ s ! There’s a six-week waiting list that you get on only if you know someone. Or bury a body for the Copelands.”
He smirks at me and pulls into the valet line.
“Come on. I’m not up for pretending to be other people on my wedding day. I’d be happier getting Chinese from our favorite delivery place than trying to scam our way in here.”
But he pulls forward when the valet motions to him.
“Anderson—"
The other valet opens my door. Shit. I guess he’s feeling adventurous. Or he’s playing some weird version of Chicken with me that I don’t understand yet. No matter what else is true, life as Mrs. Anderson West will never be dull.
I step out, and Anderson comes around to my side of the car to take my hand and lead me into the grand old restaurant. One of Boston’s original businesses, Copeland’s, feels like it’s a step outside of time. Wooden floors that must have been refinished a hundred times by now shine under warmly lit chandeliers, heavy with crystal from more than a century ago. The decor is stark—white, black, espresso—and the rest of the lighting is ancient sconces that have been preserved. Despite the stuffy surroundings, though, the live music is jazzy and at ease, playing at just the perfect volume to allow for conversation.
I absorb as much of it as I can right now because we are about to be booted at any moment. I meant what I said in the car—I am not pretending to be someone else on my wedding day. Today, I am officially Mrs. Anderson West, no matter how badly I have always wanted to eat here.
Though I’m not sure if I’ll actually change my name. I guess that depends on what the future brings. I’m professionally known as June Devlin. But considering my professional reputation is utter garbage thanks to my father-in-law, it might do me some good to change my last name. Hell, it would probably piss Elliot off to share his last name with me. That’s reason enough alone.
We walk up to the tuxedoed ma?tre d, and Anderson gives him a nod. “Gibbs, good to see you.”
“Mr. West, Ms. Copeland sends her regards and with them, her finest table. This way.” He leads us through the place.
I’m left gathering myself for a quick moment before I struggle to keep up. The table is in a corner by the window with a view of the harbor. We’re seated and given menus to peruse for only a moment before our server takes our drink orders. I hadn’t thought about how this dress would look when seated, and the slit makes it expose my thigh almost too high, which I kind of like.
Once we finally have a second to breathe, I blink at my husband. “You know the Copelands?”
He shrugs, eyeing his menu. “Gretta Copeland and my mother go way back. I texted her when we got in the car, so she set this up.”
The matriarch of the Copelands? Oh my god. “I thought she was a myth.”
He laughs. “Hardly. I still remember that old woman’s claw pinching my ear when she caught me spying on her granddaughter.”
“You did what?” That might have come out a little too loud for our surroundings.
“Cindy is our age. We were nine or ten at the time and getting ready to jump in her pool.” He gives a guilty smile. “I was a curious boy, so … ”
“You’ve been naughty since birth, haven’t you?”
His laugh is handsome. I’m so lucky. He nods once. “Perhaps I have been.”
“And Gretta Copeland caught you? I’m amazed you lived to tell the tale.”
“Admittedly, so am I. Gretta Copeland is a delightful menace. Cured me of spying on girls, I can say that much.”
“Well, good. You little pervert.”
He laughs. “I was curious. It’s natural. You can’t tell me you never did anything like that when you were a kid.”
“I was not a peeping tom when I was a kid. Maybe it’s a boy thing. Hell, is there a girl equivalent of a peeping tom?”
“I don’t think there is.”
“Wait, you said she is a delightful menace. She’s delightful, how?”
He leans close. “She makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. They serve them here, allegedly the same recipe, but it’s not. She swears it is, but then she gives you this look like you know she’s lying. That woman is an enigma.”
“Maybe I’ll have to make you my chocolate chip cookies and see if I come close.”
“You’ve made them.”
I cast an innocent look at my husband. “I made you my mom’s recipe. Not mine.”
“Oh, devious. Then, by all means, we will go home right now and?—"
“Hell no! I am not leaving until I’ve had their roast and Yorkshire pudding. You could not drag me out of here right now. Oh, and the walnut crème brule.”
“As you wish, wife.”
Why is hearing him call me wife so hot?
Our drinks arrive, and sipping my martini while looking out on the harbor makes me take stock of the day. It’s not the wedding I pictured. He’s not the husband I imagined. Nothing is what I thought I’d get.
It’s so much better.
Even though I’d never dreamed about my wedding day as a girl, I wondered about what kind of man I’d end up with. Married or not. Given my own father and his abusive relationship with my mom, I didn’t understand how a relationship could be a good thing. All the women on TV were pretty and married to slobs. They weren’t abusive unless they were on one of the expensive channels, but for the most part, no one on TV sold me on the idea of a husband.
Boyfriends were always cute, though. I was pretty sold on the idea of boyfriends forever.
But Anderson did a good job of changing my mind about that. It is startling to even think about, and for the moment, it is all I can think about. “We’re married.”
“Is that what all the hubbub at the courthouse was about?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m just saying it’s … well, for now, it’s surreal.”
“How so?”
I laugh, still trying to figure out the words for it. “Married. Me. Who’d have thought it?”
“Me. Every moment of every day that we weren’t married.”
“Seriously?”
“June, I meant what I said.” He toys with the rings on my finger before he speaks again. I love my wedding set. I keep toying with it, too. It feels like pieces of my hand that I’ve been missing until now. He declares, “You are my everything. I have waited a very long time for this day.”
I sigh, smiling at him. “If you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to get me pregnant with just your eyes.”
He laughs. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“Or, we could be naughty and go into the bathroom here?—"
“June, Anderson,” Kitty says out of nowhere as she comes to our table. Elliot is next to her, and my libido takes a nosedive into hell. “How good to see you!” She hugs each of us in turn while Elliot gives his version of a warm glance.
Out of instinct, I subtly drop my left hand beneath the table. Telling his parents about our wedding is not something I want to cover right now.
Anderson’s face tightens the way it does when he’s stressed out. “Mom, I didn’t know you and Dad were coming to dinner here tonight.” Every word in that sentence rings with the tone of, “For fuck’s sake, we have to start checking these things because I did not want to see them today.”
Kitty motions to the server. “Put our tables together. I wish to dine with my son.”
The server’s face is a perfect mask of decorum, but I have a feeling we’re getting some sympathy from him. “Right away, ma’am.” Within seconds, our tables are cozied up to each other, and we have the world’s most unwelcome dinner guests.
Not that I don’t adore Kitty. I do. But dining with Elliot on my wedding day? Kill me now. But at least they don’t know about today. We can have an uncomfortable dinner and let that be that. We can keep our wedding day private if I can secretly pull my rings off under the table.
But Anderson’s is in full view. Shit. I casually glance down at his hand, trying to signal to him to hide it or something. When that doesn’t work, I take that hand in mine as if I just need to touch him. I smile brightly at Elliot. “What a strange coincidence?—"
“Not that strange,” he says haughtily. “Copeland’s has the best martini in Boston.”
I smile and raise mine to him. “As I’ve recently discovered.”
The look he gives me stops my heart. It’s vaguely approval-like. They order theirs, and we get another round, and before I know it, things are less uncomfortable.
Kitty notes, with her eyes on our joined hands, “You two remind me of Elliot and me when we were young. Couldn’t keep our hands off each other, either.”
I laugh a little too hard at that. It’s impossible to think of Elliot being affectionate that way. “I’m sure there are times that are like that now, too.”
Anderson brings my knuckles to his lips to brush them with a kiss and stares into my eyes when he says, “We are a little more amorous today than usual, on account of we just got married.”
He just had to go and bring that up.