Heavy Secrets - Elle Aycart Page 0,3
Trek convention held in Vegas the weekend before Valentine’s every year.” Plus this year they had the premiere of a new Star Trek movie. Mega-geek bonus. “And no, I’m not going. Cole wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that. I’ve been dropping hints about it for a couple of months already, but he isn’t biting.”
Holly patted her on the arm. “So no hanging out with your nerdy friends and stuck with your mom. That sucks.”
Yep. Totally.
* * * *
“Try the cake. It’s fantastic.”
Christy lifted her gaze to the dark sky and took a deep breath.
Locking Martha in the sauna, turning it to high, and forgetting her there was extremely appealing at the moment.
Christy had excused herself from the table and gone outside Rosita’s for a bit of fresh air. Her mother, true to form, hadn’t taken long to follow her, that damn plate of cake in her hand.
“Come on, it’s just a small bite,” Martha insisted, pushing the dessert under her nose. “What harm can that do?”
Christy fought to keep her smile in place. With every passing second, it was becoming more difficult. “No, thank you.”
Martha tsked, giving her a chiding look, and took a piece herself. “You should have a healthy relationship with food. Even a kid can manage that.”
“Yes, Martha.” She would have loved to say something else, more along the lines of, Shove your uncalled-for advice up… but she stuck to the script. Giving explanations to her mother had never been anything but a waste of time and energy.
“This would be a good choice for your wedding cake. You’ve always loved triple-fudge chocolate.”
Yeah, and she had the scars to prove it.
“There won’t be cake at my wedding.”
Martha widened her eyes, horrified. “What are you going to offer? Skewered fruit? No, no, no. I absolutely refuse. Over my dead body. You have to have the picture of the bride and groom feeding each other cake. It’s a must.”
“Martha, whose wedding is it?”
“It has nothing to do with that.”
And that was why this conversation was useless.
“Now that we’re on the subject, what about the wedding? He proposed months ago. You have to pick a date. As soon as possible, my dear; you know long engagements are not your forte. You need to tie him up fast. We don’t want him to change his mind.”
“Cole won’t change his mind,” Christy answered resolutely, trying to ignore the condescending way her mother was rolling her eyes at her.
“Christy, if that disaster with Todd proved anything, it’s that you don’t know how to keep a man.”
Ha! Like her mother, with a trail of failed marriages behind her, would have a clue.
Martha continued talking, seemingly oblivious to Christy’s murderous thoughts. “Pity you sent all the wedding presents back. Oh well; there was nothing engraved. They can give them to us again. Except that horrible vase Lora got for you. It’s going to have an unfortunate accident if I see it again. Don’t people know to stick to a wedding list instead of improvising when they have neither the taste nor the money for it?”
“I liked the vase.” Lora herself had made it. It was unique and quirky. With character.
Martha—surprise, surprise—ignored her. “Your gorgeous and expensive engagement ring is a lost cause. That evil woman at the Salvation Army is holding it hostage.”
“Did you go bugging Mrs. Patty about it?” Because Christy had voluntarily donated it last summer. That ring was more than gone.
“Me? Close to that bloodthirsty monster? Of course not. Do you know what she did to poor Todd when he tried to retrieve it?”
“Nicked him on his balls?”
“It’s called testicular rupture,” Martha admonished her.
The bloodthirsty monster, aka Mrs. Patty, was a sweet old lady who took Mike’s senior self-defense classes.
Poor Todd’s dick could turn blue and fall into pieces for all Christy cared.
“What about the wedding dress? You were so unreasonable, standing me up in the bridal shop.”
“I was in a car accident,” Christy lied shamelessly.
“Excuses. Will the old one fit you? You need to watch it. You seem…healthier, if you know what I mean. But a fluffy, short jacket would cover any”—Martha gestured around Christy’s arms—“extra.”
Christy grabbed the lapels of her jacket and crossed them over her chest, feeling uncomfortable and exposed, which was nuts because she was covered from head to toe. “I asked you to get rid of the old dress. You didn’t?”
“The shop wouldn’t take it back. I decided to hold on to it. It takes months to get a wedding dress ready. Several fittings. I