Page 101 of Fourth Base with the Alpha
“Want me to?” Frankie asks, and I nod, gazing down with curiosity. We agreed no gifts. But then Hunter seems hell bent on spoiling me. Not that I’m complaining.
The bond in my stomach stirs at the thought of him. It’s so new, only half a year old, and we’ve only recently been able to stand to be away from each other for this amount of time.
But my grandma was insistent on this arrangement. We may have broken tradition and claimed each other before we were married, but there’s no way she’s letting me see my husband-to-be before the wedding.
Frankie rips open the top of the box. Underneath are a pile of record sleeves, a note resting on top.
Frankie hands me the note and I open it up as he pulls out the first record and turns it over in his hands.
“These are for you, Abuela,” I announce as I scan the message.
“¿Yo?” she says.
“¿Qué?” My mom steps closer.
“They’re the records Abuela sold. Hunter tracked down the man who bought them and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. It’s a gift for you on our wedding day.”
My grandmother lifts herself from the chair and hobbles over to the box, half her hair still filled with rollers.
Frankie hands her the record and she holds it in her hands staring at it.
“Are you pleased?” I laugh.
She nods slowly, her eyes wet, then she turns to me and, pinching my cheek, kisses me.
“Que buen chico1,” she says.
“Lo es2.”
She offers the record to my mom. As they examine it, Frankie steps closer and whispers in my ear.
“There’s something else in the box but I suspect you might want to open that one in private.”
I look at him and he waggles his eyebrows.
“Follow me,” I tell him. To the others, I say, “I need Frankie to help me find something in the bedroom.”
When we’re safely in the room, Frankie places a black box with a ribbon on the bed. Printed across the top is the logo of the lingerie shop Hunter and I stumbled into on our first date.
I laugh again, realizing there’s no hope in hell my eye makeup is going to make it through the day.
“I really, really want to see what’s in that box,” Frankie says, “but I’ll leave you to it.”
The door shuts and I pull at the ribbon. The box falls open and inside is a single pair of silk panties. They’re ivory-colored and tiny. Another note sits on top.
Don’t get too attached to these. I intend to rip them off my wife later.
I take off the pair I’d bought for the wedding and slide on this pair. They are heavenly soft against my skin and a perfect match for my dress – a traditional shape with plenty of lace that hugs every one of my curves. It probably wouldn’t win me any style awards and the designer who fitted me for the Stellar Awards would probably have a stroke if she saw it, but I am in love with this dress. It’s the kind of dress me and Maria would draw pictures of as little girls; the kind we’d cut out of magazines and stick into the wedding planners we’d make.
Wearing this dress, I can’t help feeling like she is with me. She’d be crying bucket loads by now, dressed in a perfectly hideous bridesmaid dress I would’ve handpicked for her.
Te amo, Maria3, I whisper into the air, knowing she’s here watching me, wishing me well, telling me to go marry my man.
* * *
Somehow my momconvinced me to hold the wedding at our church around the corner. It’s not exactly built for a celebrity wedding but my mom wouldn’t let the pastor say no. It probably helped that Hunter made a considerable donation that fixed the leaky roof.
I’m not sure the pastor was so delighted about the invasion our neighborhood has received, though. Apparently there are cameras and fans crowding around outside the church hoping to catch a glimpse of me, of Hunter, of the band and all the rock‘n’roll guests Kim insisted we invite.
