Page 82 of Captive Bride

Which, in turn, kicks off a competition of bad bee puns.

I sit, sipping my champagne, nibbling and laughing. They won’t allow me to get up from my comfy pink throne—except the two times my tiny bladder has to take a wee break—bringing me stacks and stacks of presents, wrapped in shiny yellow and gold papers, tied with pretty pink bows.

“The first one is from Callum.” Kitt holds the big square box as carefully as if it were a newborn baby, and she brings it over to me. “Brought it straight from a very special store on the island.”

I take the box. It’s heavier than I anticipated. Eager to find out what he’s gotten me, I tear away the pink bow, holding the lid closed.

“Careful. Every ribbon you break is another bairn.”

“Seriously?” I lift the lid, peeling back layers of white paper. But I don’t hear her answer because all my world suddenly becomes what’s in the box on my lap.

It’s like Mam’s big bowl, the one from the shop on the island her mother bought her as a wedding present.

Only this bowl is…mine.

“It’s pink.” I run my hands over the cool, pale-pink glass. There’s a note inside, in Callum’s handwriting.

Your Mam’s blue bowl will always have a special place in our family-to-be’s story.

As will she.

But you, my sweet Fiona, deserve a big bowl all your own. In your very favorite color.

Pink.

All my love,

Your Monster

“Oh, freck! I’m going to cry!” The women tear up too and pass the bowl around, knowing how much my mam means to me, how many special memories I have of baking with her, and how much I love this new bowl.

If we have kids…I hope they share the same memories with me.

Pressing the tears away, I go to open the next gift. My fingers are hovering over the bow when Freya stops me. “Don’t tear this one! You’ve got to untie it. Careful, or you’ll be squeezing bairns out of that golden vagina of yours.” Tipsy Freya giggles, finishing her flute of champagne.

“Golden? Why would mine be golden?” I ask.

“Twenty-four karat. Made of pure gold.” Her multicultural-influenced accent goes full Scottish when she’s drinking. “That minge of yours has to be magical—you’ve got me wee brother’s head so far turned he’s looking backward half the time.”

Feeling loose and giggly, I joke, “There’s nothing wee about that man. Trust me.”

“Och! Fiona! Keep it to yerself!” Freya buries her face in her hands. “That’s me brother you’re on about!”

Carol Ann hands me a large box with yellow-and-pink striped paper and the bow tied with a thousand knots. Her eyes twinkle. “This one’s from me!”

“How am I meant to open it without tearing it?” I laugh.

She laughs with me. “That’s the fun!”

Carol Ann has given me sexy black leather high-heeled knee-high boots. She winks. “For in AND out of the bedroom.”

In the end, I’m surrounded by enough lingerie to dress the entire cast of the musical Chicago—which Freya and I enjoyed the live performance of on our last GNO—and nine broken bows.

“Nine wee ones! Och!” Freya howls. “And knowing my brother, your belly will be filled with his offspring before you even return from yer honeymoon.”

“Freya—” I shake my head, blushing.

Freya stands on teetering heels. “Raise your glasses, lassies!”

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