“Or mow a lawn or pound in a nail or use a goddamn drill.” My hands curled into fists.
“No, now that you mention it.” Nick had the nerve to look amused. “What’s this about, cupcake?”
His nickname for me, which I’d always loved, now sounded childish and silly. Like I was pretty and sweet, a pink-frosted birthday confection. He thinks of me as a helpless girl, just like my parents do. “You think I’m just a princess. You think I can’t do anything on my own just because I’ve never done it before. You think I don’t know how to work with my hands.”
“Now that’s just not true.” He set down the fork and bowl. “I’ve seen you work magic on me with your hands many times. Come here.”
“No.”
“Come here, stubborn.” He pulled me in for a hug, and I didn’t resist for long, allowing his arms to twine around my waist, my forehead to rest on his solid shoulder. “I’m sorry I upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m sorry too.” My voice was muffled in his shirt. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, which was now mingling with my perfume on his skin. “It’s not really all about what you said. It’s this house thing—I’d be taking on a huge amount of work on my own, and I’m scared that my family will tell me I’m crazy, like Mia did. Not only because it’s a lot of money, but because of all the work it needs.”
“I think that’s great.” He squeezed me tighter. “And you can do anything you set your mind to. I know you can.”
I sighed. “You haven’t seen this house. Part of the reason I’m scared to ask my parents for help buying it is that Mia could be right. But I just love it so much.”
“Show it to me.”
“Show it to you? When?”
Nick released me and reached for the sour cream. “Tomorrow morning maybe? We can drive through Indian Village before we get on the road.”
“Really?” I clasped my hands together under my chin.
Nick spooned some sour cream into a bowl and added a teaspoon of baking soda. “Yeah. Do you think we can see the inside? If I’m going to give you an honest opinion about the investment in terms of time and money, I’d like to see the entire thing.”
“Maybe. Let me text my agent.” Hurrying toward the door where I’d dropped my purse, I pulled out my phone and saw that I had four messages, one from Erin wanting to know how things were going (which made me smile), one from Mia apologizing for being harsh with me today (which made me feel guilty), one from a vendor assuring me I could get all the outdoor furniture I wanted (which made me thank God) and one from Angelina, asking if we could change the whole party to a luau theme (which made me frown in confusion because she spelled it loo-ow. Took me a minute). She wanted me to call her immediately, no matter the time.
I groaned.
“Problem?” Nicked called over Johnny Cash’s rough-hewn twang.
“No. But give me a minute, OK? Can we turn the music down slightly?”
“Sure.” He picked up a remote and the volume decreased.
I wandered over by the windows, my phone to my ear. Angelina picked up after one ring.
“You got my message?”
“Yes, but Angelina, I really think your first idea was the best for your event.”
“But it doesn’t have a theme. I want a theme.”
I thought fast. “Sure it does—Italian luxe. We’re going to make your parents’ front yard look like Donatella Versace’s living room!”
“Hmm. I do like Versace.”
“Trust me. It’s perfect, just the way we discussed.”
“But Jodi Mannino’s party had a theme, and everyone’s still talking about it.”
“What was her theme?”
“Game of Thrones.”
Oh dear God. She probably wanted dragons now. “Angelina.”
“So maybe I should do a TV theme too. How about The Walking Dead? That could be crazy cool, like zombies and stuff walking around? But not me, of course. I want to be hot. So maybe not Walking Dead. Another show. Or a movie.”
“Angelina.”
“Or—oh! Oh! I know what theme it should be—Fifty Shades of Gray! We can have like whips and chains and things. I can dress like a dominatrix. That’d be hot.”
My head was starting to pound, and I touched two fingertips to my temple. “Angelina!”
“Yeah?”
“I really think what we already have planned is the best. You hired me because you liked the Wedding of the Year, remember? That’s what I do best— beautiful, luxurious events that are glamorous and sparkly, just like you are.”
Behind me, Nick started to laugh.
“I guess. But it doesn’t seem very fun.” I could just imagine Angelina’s frosty pink pout.
“It will be. I promise. And everyone will be talking about it for months to come—until your wedding, which will be an even bigger, more beautiful, more outrageously over-the-top bash. Girls will be telling their planners they want everything you had, but they won’t even come close.”
“I like that.”
“Good. By the way, I got Nick Lupo for you.”
The squeal that she emitted was so ear-piercing I had to hold my phone away from my head.
“Oh my God,” Nick said, laughing again.
I turned around and saw him with the electric mixer in his hand, waiting for me to hang up before he turned it on. “So really, it’s all coming together just the way you planned. Let’s stick with it, OK?”