Own the Eights Gets Married - Krista Sandor Page 0,16
rate back into overdrive.
“What about it?” he sputtered.
“How long after meeting did you sleep together?”
Dammit.
“That happened about an hour after we kissed,” Georgie answered.
The wedding frau pursed her lips. “And you stopped hating each other in that short amount of time?”
Georgie shook her head. “No, I thought he was an asshat at that point.”
“Asshat?” Mrs. Lieblingsschatz repeated with a crinkled brow.
“Well, more like the Emperor of Asshattery,” Georgie corrected.
This was not going as he’d expected. First time hate sex or not, they needed to keep up a united front. He’d hardly had a moment to think before the wedding nymph returned and whispered something into the frau’s ear.
The frau nodded. “Ah, eni blödhammel.”
“Blöd what?” he asked.
Mrs. Lieblingsschatz gestured toward the slight woman, standing next to a giant vase, and he did a double take.
Had she been there the whole time?
“My assistant did a rough translation of the English word asshat into German. Georgie thought you were a stupid mutton when she met you, yes?”
His mouth fell open, ready to set the record straight when his fiancée nodded.
“Yes, exactly,” Georgie answered.
The frau turned to him with an appraising eye. “And what did you think of Miss Jensen after you first met?”
“Well…” he trailed off, growing hot around the collar.
Georgie had made him crazy from the first moment he saw her. Granted, at the time, he was still completely committed to the hyper-masculine version of his Marks Perfect Ten Mindset protocol. And, in all honesty, it had made him act a lot like an—
“Asshat? Is that what you thought of Miss Jensen, too?” the frau questioned.
He felt his cheeks heat. “No, I didn’t think she was an asshat.”
“A stupid mutton?” the wedding planner pressed.
He pulled at the collar of his shirt. It had gotten damn hot in the lobby.
“Nope, not that either. I didn’t like her shoes or her hair,” he answered.
Christ! He sounded like an asshat or a blöd-whatever!
The frau emitted a disapproving humph as Georgie’s worried gaze screamed for him to do something.
They needed damage control, and they needed it damn quick.
He cleared his throat. “I think both Georgie and I can agree, at that point in our relationship, we hadn’t quite worked out our differences yet.”
“But you kissed and slept together within a matter of hours,” the woman supplied with another scribble in her notebook.
Jordan swallowed hard. When did this become a session with Dr. Ruth?
Georgie’s pageant expression was back. “Have we qualified to advance to the next level of the wedding competition?”
The frau frowned. “What?”
Jordan patted Georgie’s back. “What my lovely fiancée means is what happens next? Will you contact us? Should we exchange numbers?”
The wedding frau waved off his questions. “I have all your numbers. I already know everything.”
“I bet you don’t know our blood types,” he tossed out, half-joking, but the wedding planner didn’t laugh.
“O negative and A positive,” she supplied.
He turned to Georgie. “Are you A positive?”
“Yeah,” she answered wide-eyed. “Are you O negative?”
He nodded.
The frau watched them closely. “You did not know this about each other?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Jesus! What kind of boyfriend, now fiancé, was he? What if something had happened to Georgie and God forbid, he needed to know these things?
The frau made another mark in her notebook, then glanced over at her wedding minion. The woman nodded and joined them with two swaths of fabric in her hands. No, not fabric—eye masks. She handed one to Georgie and the other to him.
“Come, now. We’re leaving,” the wedding frau said with a wave of her hand.
“What about our engagement party?” Georgie asked, glancing over her shoulder toward the doors to the ballroom.
“I’m sure your mother and the CityBeat founders will be able to entertain your guests and not mind your absence,” Mrs. Lieblingsschatz answered as she slipped on a pair of Jackie O-esque sunglasses and headed for the exit.
“What the hell is going on?” he whispered to Georgie as they fell in step behind the Angel of Wedding Darkness.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
He threaded their fingers together. “What do you think about all this?”
Georgie lowered her voice. “I think I’ve heard of this wedding frau.”
“You have?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’d heard whispers about an iron-fisted wedding planner from a few happy eights couples who wrote in to thank me for helping them find their way to the altar. But nobody actually talks about her. She was an urban legend to me until now.”
He followed Georgie into the tight space as they navigated the spinning door.
“Urban legend or not, I was hoping