The Wedding Pact Box Set - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,326

face in his chest. “How do you always know just what to say to make me feel better?”

He had no idea. It was probably the only thing in his life that had ever come naturally to him. Only further confirmation they were perfect for each other.

“Come, come,” Angelica said, tugging on Libby’s arm. “We must get you dressed.”

The woman snagged the bag from Noah and grabbed Libby’s arm. “I’ll get her ready,” she said, tugging Libby down a cherub-lined hall. “You pick out the extras.”

“Extras?”

The door to the dressing room closed and Noah jumped when a man’s voice sounded behind him. “Flowers. Rings. The like.” He had a deeper accent than Angelica. It sounded like a bizarre mix of Italian and the Deep South.

Noah spun to see a plump, bald man walking through a curtain behind the counter. The man tightened the sash of his white satin robe. Had he just gotten out of bed?

“I’m Tito and I’ll be happy to assist you. So what will it be?” the man asked, his voice sounding like it was on autopilot. His head bobbed as he spoke, drawing Noah’s attention to the tufts of thick chest hair peeking above the V of his robe. “We offer several flower options.” He led Noah to a refrigerator full of bouquets and boutonnieres. “What does your bride like?”

“Uh . . . nothing too fussy.” The bouquets in the case looked like the ones Megan and Blair had carried—roses and lilies in formal arrangements. That wouldn’t work. “What about those?” He pointed to a pile of flowers at the bottom. A mix of yellow daisies, pink rosebuds and some other flowers in pinks and purples covered the floor of the cooler.

“Those?” Tito shook his head, chuckling, then explained slowly as though Noah were a simpleton. “Those are the leftovers. The ones that weren’t good enough to be in bouquets.”

Didn’t that describe him and Libby? Never feeling like they were good enough? He knew these were the flowers she’d want. “We’ll take those.”

“You don’t understand,” the bald man said, enunciating each word. “Those aren’t for sale. They’re at the bottom because they were the leftovers.”

“Then why are they in the case?”

The man groaned. “Because Angelica gives them to her mother to make sachets.”

Noah gave him a blank look.

“You know, those little bags full of flower petals that stink up drawers.”

“I still want them.”

“They’re just loose.” He opened the door and snatched them up. “See? They’re not even in a bouquet.”

Noah reached around him and grabbed a roll of twine. “So just bundle them together and wrap this around them.”

The man lifted his hands in the air in defeat. “Take them if you want. You can have them for free. But your bride is going to walk out on you the minute she sees them.”

“You don’t know my Libby.” His Libby. He marveled at his words. She was his. She was actually his.

“Do you have rings?”

“Oh, shit. We don’t have anything.” No wonder Libby had been so stressed over the last month. Even if Mitch had come up with the ideas, he knew she’d organized it all. Turned out there was a whole lot more to this wedding planning gig than two willing participants.

“Not to worry.” A smug smile lit up the man’s face. “We can take care of everything.” He moved over to a glass case full of rings. “We have a nice selection of rings over here that will fit anyone’s budget. From the bare basics to the high rollers.”

Noah seriously doubted high rollers got married here unless they were drop-dead drunk. But the selection ran from simple gold and silver bands to large diamond rings that he suspected might actually be cubic zirconia.

“Let me see those.” He pointed to silver bands—his and hers. The larger band was thick and the smaller band daintier, but both were smooth silver with tiny beading at the edges.

“After the bouquet decision, I’m not surprised,” the man grumbled under his breath. “These are part of our budget selection.”

Noah had to admit the design wasn’t much, but he was certain Libby would love them. He’d get her a diamond engagement ring later . . . from a more reputable place.

The man’s gaze zoomed in on Noah’s crotch and then moved slowly up his chest and stopped at his face. “What size are you?”

Uh . . .” What the hell was he talking about? Cup size? Then it dawned on him. “I already have a tux. See? I’m wearing it.”

“Not for the