Getting Even. Kayla Perrin
I didn’t say “Adam and I” have been planning the wedding. Unfortunately, Adam is a man—which is to say that he’s not the least bit interested in the intricate details that go into pulling off a wedding as elaborate as ours will be. He thinks the big day is more of a fairy tale for the bride, and I can’t say he’s wrong.
But I have to tell you, there’s nothing remotely fun about planning the fairy-tale wedding. It’s a lot of headaches and hard work. And there are things I need to know now, considering our big day is fast approaching.
I take my planner out of my Gucci tote and open it. “Diana needs to meet with us this weekend to go over all the wedding details. I made a tentative appointment for 10:00 a.m. on Saturday. Will that work for you?”
“Sure.”
“I know we had all the colors pretty much picked out, but I’m going back and forth over the bridesmaid dresses. I found out Rebecca Morrison’s bridesmaids will be wearing buttercup yellow, and considering our weddings are two weeks apart—” I stop when Adam begins stroking the inside of my wrist. “Are you listening to me?”
“You want to change the colors?”
“I’m considering it, yes.”
“Go ahead.”
“But I know you and the groomsmen have already picked out your tuxes.” Not to mention that the dresses have already been made and it will be a great expense for the designer to make new ones.
“So we’ll change the color of the flower we wear on our lapel.” He shrugs nonchalantly, as if to say I’m making a big deal out of nothing.
Maybe I am, but this wedding business is stressful. I decide to leave the subject of colors alone until our meeting with the wedding planner. But, there is another pressing matter. “You know how in the reply cards we gave people the chance to say whether they wanted red snapper or duck?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, the phone calls have started. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option. It’s like they expect this to be some sort of backyard buffet instead of a five-star wedding. They’re driving me and my mother nuts, but now I’m wondering if we shouldn’t have a beef entrée as an option, as well.” Rolling my eyes, I groan.
“How hard will it be to have beef?”
“I don’t know. I guess not that hard. As long as we get the count a couple weeks before the wedding.” Diana has arranged a fantastic lineup of chefs for our big day—straight from Commander’s Palace in New Orleans. “But maybe we should put our foot down. There’ll be eight courses. No one’s gonna starve.”
“If it’s no big deal,” Adam begins, covering my hands with his, “then we’ll have a beef entrée.”
“Are you sure, honey? What if it’s more complicated?”
“But we want everyone happy. Let’s have the variety. It’ll cost more, but that’s not a concern.”
“No. No, you’re right.” I relax in my seat. My father’s not worried about the cost, so why am I? “I do want everyone to be happy.” So happy that they’ll talk about our wedding for months after the grand event….
“I don’t know why you’re getting so stressed. Seems like everything’s in order.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t been doing the planning.”
I give Adam a look of reproof, and in response he plants a soft kiss on my lips. “You know I love you for it.”
“You’d better.”
“I promise you, our honeymoon will be the perfect reward for all your hard work.”
Right now, the honeymoon seems like some mythical fantasy that will never come to pass. “When will you tell me where we’re going?”
“When we get there.”
I should be excited, but I’m not. I think the idea of the honeymoon will really excite me once I know that all the kinks in our wedding plans are ironed out.
Adam releases my hands to reach for my margarita. He samples it and as I watch him, I can’t help thinking how truly hot he is. He’s six foot two, has closely cropped hair and perfect golden-brown skin. Adam is the kind of guy who commands attention whenever he walks into a room. Even here, at this eatery, I’ve seen the surreptitious and even brazen glances some of the other women have thrown his way.
But I’m not worried. They can look all they like. Adam isn’t going anywhere. He has no need to. I more than please my man in the bedroom.
As an attractive sister gives Adam a lingering look, I place a hand on his leg under the table.
“Mmm,” is his soft response.
“I love you, Adam Hart,” I whisper.
“I love you, Claudia Fisher.”
“I know.” I blow out a huff of air. “That’s why it’s been killing me to keep this from you.” Adam looks at me in alarm, and I realize how he has construed my words. “It’s not bad news,” I quickly assure him. “In fact, it’s the best news.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
Excitement bubbles up inside me. What I’m about to tell Adam is absolutely the most thrilling news. The perfect touch to make our wedding forever memorable—and the talk of Atlanta.
“Remember I told you I had a surprise for you?”
“Yes,” Adam replies.
“I wasn’t planning to tell you about this until the rehearsal dinner, but I’m so excited, I can’t wait that long.”
“What is it, baby?”
“You’re never going to believe who’ll be singing at our wedding. I’m so blown away by this, I could just die!”
Adam’s eyes are on fire with curiosity. “Tell me.”
“Babyface! Can you believe it?”
Adam plants a serious lip-lock on me, tongue and all, and I don’t even care. When we finally break for air, he asks, “How? When?”
“My cousin came through for me.” Morgan Fisher, one of my many cousins, is an executive at Palm Records in Los Angeles. He knows Babyface personally, but that wasn’t a guarantee that he’d be available to sing at the wedding.
“Oh, man.” Adam smiles from ear to ear. “The Babyface?”
“The one and only. Isn’t it fabulous?”
“You’re fabulous.” Adam’s tone changes, grows deeper. I can read what he’s thinking in his eyes. He wants to get me naked.
The waiter appears with our wine. He opens the bottle, pours some wine into a glass, and Adam samples it. “Very good,” Adam tells the waiter.
When we are alone again, Adam raises his wineglass. “To us,” he says. “And a very bright future.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I say, then clink my glass against my fiancé’s, knowing that I am the luckiest girl in the world.
Again, Adam slips a hand between my legs and says, “Come on, baby. Let me make you come.”
“Adam…” I protest weakly.
But he’s already stroking me, with much more determination, and against my own resolve, I am getting very wet.
“Do you know how much I love it when you’re wet like this?” he asks hotly against my ear. He slips a finger inside me and wiggles it around. “Let me taste you. Please, baby…”
I moan softly. “Right here?”
“God, yes.”