“Granny, if he got a cab, he did the responsible thing. It’s a wedding. They run late, and people drink. It doesn’t mean babies are going to get made. I don’t like him. And even if I did, he’s my boss, which makes him off-limits.”
“So you say.”
Granny and I break apart when the doorbell rings. I suck in a raspy breath. She titters away as she walks through the living room to the kitchen to answer the door. I wanted to beat her to it so she couldn’t say anything inappropriate to Philippe, but she’s already opening it and inviting him in.
Game time.
I put on a brave face and walk silently into the kitchen. When I reach the kitchen, Philippe turns his head and notices me. His eyes sweep over me, and they light up with appreciation, but it’s probably just the dress. It’s beautiful, the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn. It fits perfectly. The top part is modest even though it is tight, and the dress defines the flare of my waist and hips before flowing out from there. The feathers are also surprisingly understated but still very classy. The pearl earrings dangle from my ears, and the single pearl on the necklace sits just below the collar of my throat. I curled my hair into flowy ringlets, and I have the flats on, which fit perfectly. I remember complaining about my heels at Philippe’s house, and he remembered. I opted for a clutch for my phone, some money, and my driver’s license because you never know, and right now, I grip it hard in both hands.
“I baked some cookies for you.” Granny retrieves a bag of chocolate chip cookies from the counter and thrusts them at Philippe. I’m not sure where we’re supposed to put those, seeing as we’re going to a wedding.
“He can’t eat those,” I remind Granny gently. “He can’t eat gluten.”
“What the hell is gluten?”
“Flour and stuff.”
“I know.” Granny grins deviously at me. “I know all about the gluten thing. I baked them with rice flour.”
Philippe takes the bag and breaks into a smile I’ve never seen before. His whole face lights up and crinkles with it. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him smile with his teeth before. It reaches his eyes, which literally sparkle as it becomes wider and rounder.
“That’s very kind.” He tucks the bag at his side.
“Kind!” Granny scoffs. “I made those as a bribe. You eat my cookies; you don’t poke my granddaughter.”
“Granny!” I wail. I rush to the door, grab Philippe’s arm, and quickly steer him out. “Bye Granny, I’ll see you later. And I mean later. Don’t wait up, and don’t get worried. I’ll have my phone on. Don’t blow it up.”
The door bangs shut behind us, but I still hear Granny muttering something to herself. Philippe seems to be in a good mood because he’s still smiling when I dare a look at him halfway down the driveway.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Usually, no one speaks their mind. It’s refreshing.”
“I could do without it at the moment.” I gulp. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Like what?” Philippe blinks at me.
“Like a…like…you’re wearing combat boots!”
“Do you feel overdressed?”
“You’re also wearing jeans. To a wedding.”
“You haven’t met my sister. Trust me. She’ll appreciate it. This is more me than what I wear to work every day. I actually dress normally outside the office.”
Since I’m standing beside him, I don’t have to try very hard not to study him. I noticed enough from the window, including what Granny mentioned about his rear end looking quite nice in the tighter-fitting jeans. He really is wearing black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt, and a black blazer. The combat boots are brown, so they really stand out. They’re not actual combat boots, but they’re worn leather, and they look like a fancy, expensive version of something much more utilitarian.
“Don’t worry.” Philippe holds the cab’s rear door open for me. “The boots cost more than your whole outfit. I won’t be underdressed.”
I’m not very surprised, but I wisely zip it and slide into the back seat. Philippe gets in beside me. He gives the driver instructions, and after we get going, he opens up the bag of cookies and samples one. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat sweets, but after the first one, he jams another three into his mouth. The rest of the bag disappears pretty fast after that, and now we don’t have to worry about what to do with it when we get there.
“Those were amazing.” He pats his stomach. “Thank your grandma for me.”
“I will.”
He’s smiling that crinkly faced smile again, and I can’t take it, so I turn away for the rest of the drive.
I’m surprised when we pull up in front of a luxurious looking hotel. Philippe is paying the driver, so the wedding is clearly here. The ceremony too.
I can’t say it’s not nice. The rooms probably cost four or five hundred dollars a night, and the interior is dripping with fancy lighting and plush red carpets. There’s a big sign at the front that announces the Wilson/Hatford wedding in Ballroom A.
Philippe leans in. “Showtime,” he whispers. His warm breath curls over my ear and the sweet spot between my neck and shoulder. He sets a hand at the small of my back, and it’s all I can do to keep my toes from curling up in my shoes. In a good way.
When we enter the hotel, he steers me up a winding staircase with fancy metal railing. There is a crowd milling around on the landing upstairs, and they’re all dressed up, so I’m assuming they’re here for the wedding. Philippe doesn’t stop to chat with
