Love and Neckties - Lacey Black Page 0,30

cheeks pink as she looks at her brother and sister-in-law.

“It’s a fertility blanket. It’ll help get the juices flowing and baby gods buzzing,” Emma insists, proudly waving her hand in front of the blanket like Vanna White.

Harper’s ears turn a lovely shade of red, and I have to look away. While I’m well aware my sisters and their significant others are…adults, and engage in…adult things, I can think of a dozen things I’d rather be doing right now than thinking about my sisters and…that. Root canal with no pain meds. Run over my foot with a semi. Rip my arm off and beat myself to death with it. All things I’d rather do than allow a sexual thought featuring one of my siblings to enter my brain.

“Do you see that reverse cowgirl, Sammy? That’s amazing needlework,” Freedom coos, as if this obnoxious blanket is the greatest thing since sliced bread.

“Are you serious?”

She turns those dark eyes my way. They’re dancing with humor and enthusiasm. “Definitely! Do you not understand how critical a good reverse cowgirl is, Sammy?”

“Very important!” Emma hollers, ensuring all eyes—every single pair in the restaurant—is on me.

“True, Samuel. There’s nothing like watching the bounce of a beautiful cowgirl.” This from my eighty-something-year-old uncle. Vomit burns my throat, and I’m one-hundred percent sure I’m going to have to give myself a head injury to rid the image his comment just conjured up. “That’s good stuff,” Orval replies, raising a hand in toast.

I’m starring in the Twilight Zone. That’s the only reasonable explanation as to why we’re discussing sex positions during brunch, mere hours before my sister’s wedding. It’s not real. I’m still in bed, sleeping off my hangover. I’m not surrounded by my family, by inappropriate conversations and gifts. I’m not stuck listening to my aunt and uncle overshare stories of their marriage. I’m not married.

But I am.

It’s all real.

My reality.

Chapter Eight

Freedom

We’re getting ready in a suite bigger than my apartment. I don’t know how they secured this baby, but kudos to Latham for going all out on the honeymoon suite. The bed in the other room is big enough to comfortably sleep a family of four, much bigger than my postage stamp bed back at home. Not that you’d invite a family of any size to join you in bed, especially on your wedding night, but you get my point.

Marissa tops off my champagne and I catch the sparkle of the diamond on my finger. If anyone has noticed it, they haven’t said, which I’m grateful. Not that I’m embarrassed or upset I’m wearing Samuel’s ring. Oh, no. Just the opposite, actually. But I don’t want what has happened between us to overshadow or cause pain to my bestie. It’s her day, after all. We’re here for her and Latham, to celebrate their love and witness their union in holy matrimony.

“Free, are you about ready?” Harper hollers through the bedroom doorway.

“Thanks,” I say to Marissa as she tops off her own glass and heads toward where Harper is getting ready. “Coming!”

I follow Harper’s younger sister to the bedroom, where I’m stunned silent at the vision of my friend. She’s simply gorgeous in her strapless ivory lace gown that hugs her curves from chest to thigh. It fans out subtly at her knees and cascades around her sexy ivory pumps. Her long, auburn hair hangs in big soft waves down her back, three rhinestone jeweled flowers pinning some of those curls from her face.

“Holy shitballs, Harper. You’re…wow!”

My best friend smiles widely. “You think?” She glances down at her dress, softly touching the lace at her sides.

“Oh, Latham is going to shit a brick when he sees you,” I confirm, making my friend laugh.

“Well, I kinda hope not, but I do hope his reaction is as big as yours.”

“No worries there,” Marissa adds, emptying the champagne bottle into her sister’s glass. “He’ll swallow his tongue.”

“Well, as long as he coughs it up so he can use it later,” Harper says, a sly grin showing over the rim of her champagne glass. “His tongue is one of my favorite attributes.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what I walked in on,” Mary Ann, Harper’s mom, says as she enters the bedroom. “Oh, Harper.” She stops and covers her mouth with her hands as tears brim in her eyes.

“You like?”

Mary Ann approaches her daughter and takes her into her arms, holding her tightly in a hug. “You’re beautiful,” she says, those tears no longer contained. They fall freely, and I admit,