Mine To Honor (Southern Wedding Series Book 7) (Southern Weddings)

The alarm rings on my phone but I’m already up. I’ve been up most of the night, again going down the rabbit hole that is Google. I was so far down the hole I texted Alice in the middle of the night and asked her if it would be possible to get updates on Cici daily.

She replied right away.

Alice: She’s sleeping like you should be. Will follow up in the morning.

When I got home yesterday, I pulled up flights. I got us both booked on the second earliest because no one should legally be allowed to enter an airport at 4:00 a.m. for a 6:00 a.m. flight if you aren’t going to be sipping pineapple drinks by the beach four hours later. Once I texted Levi the confirmation, I then went about canceling and rescheduling all my appointments the following week. Even though I went to work the day, and pretended I was fine, I knew deep down I wasn’t fine. I also knew deep down I would have a breakdown eventually, and I wouldn’t want to do it in front of anyone. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything the following week. I knew once everything was settled, more or less, and I gave myself time to think about it, it would be a very hard day.

Going over to my closet to get dressed, I stare at my clothes. “What does one wear when they are getting married?” I ask myself as I go through the hangers in my closet. “Should I do floral?” I look at the floral dresses I have. “I’m going to do….” I go on, walking over to the white pants I have, sliding them on. They sit tight on the hips but then flare off all the way down to the floor. I walk over to the drawer, taking out a lilac lace bra before my hand grabs the lilac silk top that is classy and elegant. If we take pictures, it will look great. I put one arm in and then the other, before I crisscross the front and fasten the buttons on the side and knotting the sash on the side. Turning I grab a pair of white high-heeled sandals before I walk out and to the bathroom.

I try to cover the puffiness in my eyes as much as I can. My hair also has a mind of its own, so again, I wear it pinned away from my face. Instead of a ponytail, I decide to wear it in a bun at the nape of my neck. I’m putting in the last bobby pin when my phone rings from my bedroom.

I snatch it up from the side table when I see it’s Levi. “Hello, dear,” I answer, pretending I’m happy.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” he says to me. “Are you bringing a bag?”

“No.” I walk out of the room with the shoes in my hands. “Why would I bring a bag? We are in and out.”

“I don’t know how these things work. I brought an in-case bag.”

“Ugh.” I put my head back. “Should I bring an in-case bag?”

“I would,” he advises. “Be there in ten.”

“Goodbye.” I hang up, dropping the shoes on the stairs and rushing back to my bedroom. Pulling the stool out of the corner of the room, I grab my carry-on bag. I throw in a couple of outfits that would look good in pictures, before rushing to the bathroom and taking out my makeup bag. Shoving a bunch of shit into it, I toss it in the carry-on bag along with a pair of flat shoes.

In five minutes, I’m ready again, this time with an in-case bag. Dumping the bag on the stairs, I sit down and slide my feet into the white, high-heeled sandals and tie them around my ankle. I walk back to the kitchen, where I take out two to-go cups and fill them with coffee and milk. I’m slipping the covers on when the front door opens, and Levi steps in. He doesn’t even see me in the kitchen; instead, he shouts my name up the stairs, “Eva!”

“In here,” I call to the doorway where he stands. His eyes look from the stairs to me. “I made you coffee,” I say, holding up the to-go mugs. “See, I’m already starting with my wife duties.” I smile at him as he laughs at my joke.

“Where is your bag?” he asks, and I motion with my chin toward the bag on the steps.

“See, you are also starting with your husband duties.” I wink at him and all he does is shake his head.

“After you,” he mumbles and I walk out of the front door, hearing it slam shut after him.

“I see we are still grouchy,” I observe as I walk toward the car. “You could have taken care of the problem yourself.” I juggle the cups in my hand, opening the door and getting into the car. I place the cups in the cupholder before I buckle my seat belt.

He gets in and starts the car. “Are you nervous?” I ask as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Not really,” he replies, looking over at me. “You?” His hair looks like he ran his hand through it a million times.

“Yes,” I answer him honestly. “I spent all night thinking of things.”

“So, no Juan?” He snickers, grabbing one of the cups of coffee.

“Good one.” I grab my own cup as he makes his way to the airport.

“Who has to-go cups in their house?” He looks over at me as he takes a sip of the coffee.

“A good wife does.” I try to hide my smile, but when he glares at me, I can’t help but chuckle.

We get checked in and I’m not shocked at all when he upgrades us to first class. “It’s a one-hour flight,” I mention to him as we walk away from the girl. “You go up and you come down.” I motion with my hand.

“You know what else goes up and comes down?” he says as we walk toward security.

“You mean your little friend?” I tilt my head to the side.

“Um, unless you’ve seen it, you can’t call it little because it’s not,” he defends with clenched teeth. “I was talking about the sun.”

“No, you were not.” I shake my head at him as he tries to hide the smile.

“No, I wasn’t, but just for the record, it’s huge,” he boasts.

“Of course it is,” I humor him as we walk to the gate, getting there at the same time they are boarding.

We walk in and sit in the big seats. “This is nice,” I note, looking at all the extra room. The flight attendant comes over and asks if we want something to drink. I wait for us to take off and be in the air before I ask him, “Did you make a list?”

“I did.” He reaches for his phone. “You ready?” he asks and I nod my head.

“As ready as I’m going to be,” I reply nervously. It’s only when I look back at him does my stomach decide it’s time to turn at the same time my chest feels a sudden tightness in it, making it a touch harder to breathe. It feels like my heart is doing flutters.

“So we get married.” I don’t know if he’s asking me or telling me, so I don’t say anything.

“Prenup?”

My eyebrows press together. “Damn fucking straight, I didn’t bust my ass for my ‘husband’ to take my shit away from me.”

His eyes go big as he stares at me. “Well, at least we agree on that. Not that I would take shit away from you. I would never, by the way.”

“And I would?” I retort, insulted he would think this and forgetting I’m the one who insinuated he would do it to me.

“Better safe than sorry,” he says to me, looking down at his list.

“Obviously, we have to get papers drawn up for me to get custody of the baby after the divorce,” I remind him, “just to be sure.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Where do we live?”

“My house,” I say like it’s the obvious answer because it is.

“Why?” he asks, all shocked and offended.

“Because it’s home.” I turn in my chair to look at him.

“But I have a home.” He points at himself.

“Do you?” I quiz him with all the sarcasm I have in my body. “How many women have been in that home?” He just glares at me. “Let’s say in the past seven days.”

“One.” He puts one of his fingers up. “You. Ha ha.” He chuckles as if he just won the debate.

“Slow week.” I roll my eyes at him.

He shrugs. “Full moon maybe.”

“Okay, honestly,” I declare to him, “we can’t live in your house.” He just stares at me, his body turning to mimic mine. “Imagine CPS is there and one of your girls shows up looking for Mr. Big.” I point down to his crotch and he immediately covers himself.

“Okay, one, you didn’t even sound like you were convinced about me being big,” he reminds me, and all I can do is stare at him with my mouth hanging open. “And two, why does that make me sound like a pimp?”

“It is what it is.” I lean over and put my hand on his arm that is still covering his dick area. “It’s okay. I still love you.” He smirks at me, as if his house is still an option. “But seriously, the baby should be living in my house so when we divorce, she isn’t thrown for a loop again.”

He moves his head side to side as he thinks about what I just said, finally giving in. “Fine,” he pouts and looks back down at his phone. “Now, what about dating?”

“What about it?” I ask, confused about this question.

“Well, I date.” He points at himself and I can’t help the laugh that escapes me and fills the airplane.

“No, you don’t.” I shake my head, still laughing. “You spend four hours with someone naked.” I wait for him to tell me I’m lying.

Instead, all he says is, “Sometimes longer.” I throw my hands up.

“Sometimes shorter, I’m guesstimating and giving you the benefit of the doubt.” I smile sarcastically at him.

“What if I want to sleep out?” he asks as if I’m his mother.

“So sleep out,” I tell him. “Levi, the only thing that is going to change between us is you and me seeing each other more than we did before.” I squeeze his arm with my hand. “If you want to bring a girl home, you take her back to your lair and do your thing.” He looks at me as he processes what I just said. “The only thing I ask is that you just wash your hands when you get home before touching the baby.” Now his laughter is the one filling up the plane, and the pain in my chest loosens up just a bit and my stomach is starting to settle.

“Okay,” he says, putting away his phone before turning to me. “Now let’s break it to your cousin”—I tilt my head to the side—“and my best friend.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him, “I’ve got your back.” I smile at him as he just rolls his eyes, so I lean over and kiss his cheek. “I always have your back.”