Avenging Us - Gina Whitney Page 0,83

of her mouth, tsking me. “Would you do any less for me, hun?”

I shook my head, because there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.

“I did see a certain broody alpha holding a certain adorable baby eating breakfast on my way in. He sent this up for you.” She held a rectangle, black velvet box out to me. My hands shook as I took it.

“Oh, for the love of all things holy…you’d think he was giving your hymen back to you. Open the fucking thing already,” Chance yelled as he poured some coffee from the carafe.

“You know…what was I thinking asking you to head my glam-squad? Maybe you should be with the boys,” I said, letting the last little bit trail off.

His face fell, and suddenly he was as pious as a priest. A little tough love goes a long way with this pain in the ass drama queen. “You wouldn’t deny me this…would you?” He blinked slowly, waiting for my answer.

“Wouldn’t I?” I lied succinctly, letting my fingers run across the top of the velvet box. I opened it slowly, not wanting to rush this. He picked something special out for me that held meaning. And it did. On white satin, a rose-gold necklace held a blue dragonfly. “Oh my god. It’s utterly gorgeous,” I whispered, my breath nearly leaving my lungs.

“I’d ask what it meant, but your baby-daddy-slash-future-husband has shown everybody. Proud as a peacock and all that,” Cindy said, helping me take the necklace out of its protective box.

“It’s so beautiful. I should thank him,” I said, walking toward the door.

“No!” They both echoed.

I turned, facing them. “You both believe in superstition?”

“Well, it’s not that we’re superstitious, but luck hasn’t been on your doorstep, has it?” Cindy responded a pained look on her face. “Let’s do this by the book… After all, this will be the only time you’re getting married. Might as well make it right.”

I agreed. “Okay, what’s on our itinerary, Chance?” I knew of course, but felt bad about my earlier threat. He was entirely too quiet for Chance, and after all, this was a celebration.

His head whipped around, a wide smile covered the bottom half of his face. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked. Michael should be here any moment with a light breakfast.” He air-quoted light, and I knew that was a knock on me. “You, my love, have a dress to fit into. You don’t want it too snug, do you?”

True, I didn’t, but I doubted very much a larger breakfast would put an instant five pounds on me. So I conceded.

“Hair, nails, and makeup. Then we’ll follow that up by a lighter lunch, and then the I dos…” He ended his schedule when Michael wheeled the breakfast cart through the door. He helped him set it up on the veranda and escorted him to the door, giving him a peck on the cheek before exiting.

“Two questions: When did that happen, and where’s the champagne?” Cindy asked, taking a bite of lightly buttered whole wheat toast. She seemed more interested in the location of the drink than the kiss between Chance and Michael, and yeah, I was curious myself. I could do with a glass or two of bubbly.

“Not too long, and she’s nursing. Do you want to be godmother to a baby alchy?” he answered while grooming his eyebrows in the mirror. He was a vein fucker. Not that he hid that fact, but his new romance had him on a whole other level.

“I’m the bride, and I want champagne. I’ve pumped enough for two days,” I whined and all I got out of him was an eye roll. “I’ll just text Woody. He’s the resident alcoholic, and would find this sacrilegious on such an occasion.” I laughed while Chance looked indifferent, which we capitalized on.

Woody happily brought a bottle of bubbly up before holding Cindy’s lips hostage for a solid two minutes. Chance timed it on his watch. She was flushed and breathless, leaving Chance and I curious as to where their relationship stood.

Her wobbly legs finally found their way back to the table. “Don’t even ask.” She held up her hand before a single word could’ve been uttered by either of us.

“Oh, so it’s only socially acceptable to ask about my relationship, but not yours?” Chance folded his arms over his chest, giving the kind of attitude to make any female jealous.

“He has a point,” I concurred, taking a piece of bacon. Fucking turkey bacon. Damn you, Chance,