Page 92 of Married to Number 22
The place is so gorgeous, it could be a showroom.
There’s not a box or speck of dust in sight.
But it doesn’t compare to Luna in the space—she shines more brightly than the wood floor, looks more comfortable and at home here than anywhere except when we steal a few minutes for just the two of us in bed or sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking hot cocoa.
There’s something settled in her, some rough edge that has been honed down, and that truth sews itself deeply inside me.
My mom has been working her magic.
And Luna is beginning to accept that we’re not just a marriage license, not just friends or lovers.
We’reus.
And one look at her tells me she’s getting comfortable with that truth—something that makes me want to preen like a fucking peacock.
I don’t have a chance to, though.
Between answering the door and showing my teammates through the house, playing my part of host and newlywed, I’m too busy.
When I finally slip free of my hosting duties, I seek her out in the kitchen. She’s filling platters of food on the counter, a teenage girl with brown hair and striking brown eyes—did Bri really come?—hovering close to her side. My mom’s close too, as though they’re sandwiching the girl, protecting her.
Yup. That definitely must be Bri.
Knowing a bit of what the teenager has been through, I immediately slow my approach, waiting for Luna’s eyes connect with mine.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say gently, touching her cheek lightly with the back of my hand.
“All good?” she asks. “We’re almost done here.”
“All good,” I tell her lightly. “The masses have been allowed in to the keep and given the full tour.” I snag the empty container from her and bring it over to the sink. “Then, as instructed by the lead tornado”—I hitch my head toward my mom—“they’ve been sent out back with beers so they don’t get underfoot.”
“Well done and thanks.” A beat, her mouth curving. “From meandthe lead tornado.”
“What’s all this tornado talk?” my mom asks in the edgy way she gets when in full party prep mode.
“I used to call Luns tiny tornado because of the way she spun on the ice,” I explain without delay—it’s best not to delay when my mom is like this. Provide all information. Follow all orders. But teasing? Absolutely not. But have I learned my lesson? I suppose not. Because my next words are, “It also works with a mom in Party Mode.”
She scowls at me. “I’m doing this for you, you know.”
“I know.” I kiss the top of her head, pull her into a half hug. “And I really appreciate it.” I take the container she’s holding and keep it steady as she finishes with her platter. “I love you, Mom.”
Her tongs still.
Then she sets them down and pats my cheek. “I love you too, baby boy.”
“I know,” I tell her. “And seriously, thank you for all you’ve done these last few weeks.”
“Pish.” She waves a hand. “It was nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” Luna says before I can, coming over and hugging her too. “Thank you for everything, Kathy. I mean it.”
My mom sniffs. “Stop it you too.”
Probably seeing how close she is to the edge, Luna gives her another hug then releases her, getting back to business. “Take that to the sink,” she orders me of another empty container. “Then come meet Bri.”
The brunette teenager stiffens for a moment and I know when she exhales and I watch the girl deliberately calm herself, that Luns has called out the introduction in order to give her time to prepare for it.
This girl has been through shit.
