Page 81 of Crocodile Tears
The spotlight didn’t scare me the way it used to. Now we had over a dozen critically endangered breeding programs in the works and had successfully reintroduced five species that were extinct in the wild. If people were going to throw money at us for seeing my fiancé’s ridiculously handsome face, then we’d take it and turn it into something amazing. And we would do so much more together, Deacon and I.
I was pulled from my conservation daydreams when I realized Deacon was still waiting for me to hide so he could use the toilet. “Why don’t you use the bathroom downstairs?”
“Because between us, we havefournieces and nephews who are potty training and they seem to be in a constant rotating line for the bathroom,” he replied.
I chuckled. “You can come in. I don’t mind you seeing me in this dress. It’s not the real dress.”
“Itisthe real dress,” Deacon countered, still not opening the door. “This is therealwedding.”
“I know it is,” I replied. “Just come in before you pee yourself.”
The door opened and Deacon walked in with a hand over his eyes. His other one waved wildly in front of him, feeling his way around our bed toward the bathroom.
“You can’t be serious.” My shoulders shook with laughter. “And you call me stubborn.”
Deacon hit his toe on the bedframe and, with a loud expletive, went tumbling headfirst into the carpet. Luckily, he had quick reflexes, and his hands shot out to catch him before he ended up with a carpet-burned face in all our wedding photos. He and I both exploded into laugher as I rushed over to him. He finally opened his eyes to look up at me, his hand lifting to cover his heart. “Hello, future wife.”
“Hello, future husband,” I replied as he adjusted the purple flowers woven into my hair.
“You look”—he shook his head, his eyes crinkling as he smiled—“so heartbreakingly beautiful.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I replied with a wink as I helped him to stand.
My eyes dropped to a patch of orange fur across the bottom of his jacket. “We’re going to need a lint roller.” I laughed, picking clumps of cat hair off him. “I thought we agreed no Rook cuddles in our wedding outfits?” I wasn’t about to tell him I’d already broken that agreement twice today.
“He was purring so loudly. It’s like he knew today was special. I couldn’t say no to that little face!” Deacon exclaimed, like saying no to our fur baby was an impossible feat . . .. To be fair, Rook Valestrider did have the cutest cat face of any cat ever to exist in the history of the world, and I was definitely not in the least bit biased about it.
Despite all of the things that Cody had once told him, Deacon’s fans actually loved that he was an absolute goofball of a cat dad. If anything, his fandom had grown since announcing our relationship. There were quite a few fan edits of himsinging his new love songs to me in the VIP section and even more compilations of him talking about Rook and me in interviews. Apparently, Hollywood heartthrobs didn’t have to be heartbreakers anymore.Thank you, Gen Z.
Deacon reached for his phone and started flicking through his photos. “Simon is carrying Rook around inside his shirt and Rook’s making biscuits on him. It’s so cute?—”
“Sorry, Dove,” Lark called, busting in through the door with her daughter, Lila, and a sheepish Finch in tow. The three of them stopped short when they saw us. “Oh.”
“Are you two having a pre-wedding quickie? Frankie and I did the same thing?—”
“Finch!” Lark snapped, covering Lila’s ears.
“She’s not even three. She doesn’t know what we’re saying,” Finch said, waving Lark away.
“We were not having a quickie.” I rolled my eyes and nudged Deacon toward the bathroom door. “Go pee before there’s a line.”
“Right,” Deacon said, as if suddenly remembering he was busting, and dashed the rest of the way to the door.
I turned to my sisters. “Whyare the three of you wet?”
Lark and Lila’s floral summer dresses were caked in sand, the wet fabric clinging to their bodies. Meanwhile, Finch’s gray linen button-down and slacks were similarly drenched.
“Lila wanted to go swimming,” Finch said with a shrug, as if that were an excuse.
“And?” Lark added, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
Finch rolled her eyes. “And when Lars came to scold us, I pushed her in too.”
I guffawed. “Hence the patent Lark Lachlan death stare.”
Lark forced a tight smile at Finch. “I can’t wait to repay the favor when Frankie pops.”
I let out a low whistle. “You’re in for it then, Finch.”
