Page 60 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
“I think you should,” I said back. “The sooner we get all the traditions done, the sooner we can get to the good part.”
“What’s the good part?” she whispered.
I almost blurted out “You, me, naked,“ but instead I said, “The cottage, without an audience.”
She giggled, turned her back to everyone, and tossed the carefully structured bouquet over her head and into the audience.
There was a collective gasp as the flowers plopped into Mila’s hands. “What am I supposed to do with this?” she growled. “I’m not the marrying type.”
There was a round of laughter, then we followed the flower girl — daughter to one of the workers — as she walked down the aisle strewing flower petals.
Then I managed to restrain myself while we cut the cake and fed a bite to each other. And while we were part of the serving line, accepting congratulations from all of our guests. Officially, there were fifty people there, but I think they were either going through the line twice or they kept multiplying.
Then the musicians got up on a little platform. It was a mariachi band, made up of Quinn Vineyard workers. They played the opening chords, and Kandis danced with me to a bright and lively two-step beat.
At three months along, she hadn’t slowed down a bit in spite of having to keep crackers and ginger ale on her bedside table to avoid puking every morning.
Her face was solemn, but a smile was trying to sneak out around the corners of her mouth. Then I realized what the band was playing, and I supported her carefully as we danced to the sentimental strains of “Havin’ my Baby.”
The band then segued into a more traditional waltz, and I handed Kandy over to her grandfather, and I gently danced a few turns with her mother, then finished up the waltz with Mimi.
“I do love it when a plan turns out,” she said, smiling up at me.
“You planned this?” I asked, whisking my grandmother-in-law away from the sticky hands of a toddler who was carrying chunks of cake in both hands.
“Kandy needs someone strong and smart to take care of her, especially now that she’s taken on guardianship of her mom. You are quite a wheeler and dealer, Richard Lane, but you always paid a fair price for any business you took over. Let’s just say I had hopes.”
I laughed. “Mrs. Quinn, you are amazing.” I danced her back to Pops and left them standing together. They were holding hands and looking exceptionally pleased. Did I feel manipulated?
If I had been, I could only be glad that Mimi Quinn was an exceptional matchmaker.
I looked around for my bride, hoping that we could make our escape. I spotted her dancing with Roger. I was about to claim her for myself when Mila cut in, whisking Kandy away.
Teagan claimed me, and Roger asked the flower girl to dance. That was a charming site — the tall young man gravely and politely spinning the little girl through the dance figures.
Then they all made a game of keeping us away from each other, until finally Kandy was returned to me. She was flushed from exercise and giggling from some joke told her by her previous partner.
“Have we been good long enough? Can we run away now?” I whispered in her ear.
“I think so,” she whispered back. “Go dance with Mila so she can complain about catching the bouquet, and I’ll go powder my nose. Meet me behind the tent in about five, no, ten minutes. I really do need to go.”
Mila just grinned at me when I claimed a dance from herand cheerfully waltzed me around behind the beverage cart and out a side entrance I hadn’t noticed.
Kandis waited for me. My heart... and other things... warmed when I saw her.
“Better run for it, kids,” Mila whispered. “Someone was talking about a shivaree. You’ll want to get ahead of that.”
Officially, we were going to be staying in an adorable cottage at the bottom end of the vineyard. But the only people who would be there tonight would be my mother-in-law, Mila, and Teagan.
My stretch limo waited at the bottom of the vineyard in the big delivery lot. Someone or several someones had found it. Tin cans trailed off the bumper, “Just married” was written in soap on the back window.
Caleb waited for us. He propped up the dummies in the back seat, dimmed the windows, and nodded toward his little orange Honda Civic that was parked inconspicuously under the wide branches of a walnut tree.
We took off in one direction, while he took off in the other, driving slowly past the revelers.
I pulled a ball cap over my head, and Kandis ducked down in her seat. When we reached a long stretch of desert highway, she asked, “Do you think it’s safe now?”
“I think so,” I said.
