Page 4 of A Week To Wed
He gestures with his chin at the squat brick building with a flat roof and dingy columns around the front door. “This is the wedding, Maisy.”
“Not here,” I say.
From the look on Lincoln’s face, I see the exact moment where I go from fiancée to a pain in his ass. I don’t care. I’m not getting married here.
“What?” Lincoln emphasizes the last letter hard, through gritted teeth.
“We’re having a real wedding. With guests. Friends, flowers, and cake. And a dress!” I gesture at my outfit. “Look at me; this is not a wedding outfit.”
His eyes take in my jacket and skirt, lingering a long time on the two inches of thigh visible below the hem of my skirt. “You’re already more dressed up than anybody in that building; I can promise you that.”
Again, I shake my head. “I don’t have a proper wedding dress. Or flowers. Or rings. What about music? What about fish or chicken? The first dance? Toasts to the bride and groom?”
He studies me for an unsettlingly long time. Lincoln is unbuckled, his body is turned toward me, his torso leaning in slightly. Those light brown eyes squint like he’s eyeing a bug on his windshield. His big hand, the one that squeezed mine earlier, comes up to scratch the slight scruff of his chin like he’s deciding whether to let me in on a secret.
“We have to get married by Saturday, or the whole thing is off,” he says roughly.
I stare at him agog. “That’s in less than a week!”
He raises that eyebrow again, but there’s no mirth in it this time. “If money is the issue, I can make it happen.”
I square my shoulders. “Money is not an issue. I believe this is a big deal, and we deserve a real wedding with flowers and music, lights and dancing, and people.” To prove my point, I reach down and grab my oversized handbag, open it up and pull out a large three-ring binder.
“What is that?” Lincoln asks.
I open it up to the page with a laminated photo of the cake, holding it up for him to see. “I’ve been planning a wedding since I was 13 years old. Don’t you want a delicious cake to celebrate this momentous occasion? I do!”
He grunts. “We can get a slice of cake from the supermarket bakery section.”
I yelp and cover my mouth. “Sir.”
And now, I see the exact moment when Lincoln gives in.
“Fine. Can you make that happen in a week? In a town where you don’t know anybody?”
I huff. “No!”
He shrugs, and something sad shrouds his eyes. His voice drops low. “Then I’ll take that to mean you’re not serious about getting married. I ordered a bride, so don’t waste my time.”
The lump in my throat is threatening to undo me. Don’t cry, Maisy. Don’t do it. Toughen up, girl. This isn’t another tragic blind date at the country club. This is real cowboy country now.
“I have never met anyone so rude in my life. I thought I was marrying a decent human being. Why can’t we have some time to plan a wedding?”
He lifts his chin briefly. “I am decent. I’ve got money to do whatever you want. But it has to be before Saturday at midnight.”
“Why by Saturday at midnight?”
“I have my reasons.”
I squint back at him just as hard. He’s not ready to tell me why? Fine. I’ll get it out of him.
“Just so you know, I don’t need your money to plan our wedding.”
He rumbles, “No wife of mine is spending her own money.”
“No one would ever know,” I point out.
“That’s not the point.”
