Just like one of his mom’s chick flics—the lead couple breaks up at a wedding. How does the hero win her back? Serenade her? God no, she’d cover her ears and run for the exit. He was a crappy dancer too, but he’d spin her on the dance floor all night if that’d bring back her smile. Maybe he should grab the mic and declare his undying love. Nope, stupid idea. Already so nervous about love that she called it “the big L word,” a public declaration would freak her out for sure.
With Rosie in tow, Babka reached their table and smacked Eddie’s hand. “Eduard, stop chewing your paw like a mangy mutt.”
He noticed the blood welling from his thumb. Great, now he was regressing to nervous habits from his childhood.
Without the tiniest flinch, Rosie grabbed the napkin from his place setting and wrapped it around the bloody digit. Her hair brushed his cheek as she whispered, “Pretty sure they’re feeding us tonight. No need to resort to cannibalism.”
He groaned, cheeks roasting. “I’d apologize, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.”
“So dramatic.” She clucked her tongue. “I’m still on your side, Eddie.”
His mom bustled over, her lace jacket flapping. “The bride and groom are here. Let’s go.”
Rosie slid her arm through his, and they followed his parents and grandparents to the reception line. After greeting the newlyweds, along with their parents, stepparents, and more bridesmaids and groomsmen that he could possibly remember, they returned to their now-full table for frou-frou salads, chicken Kiev, and roasted potatoes. Rosie chatted amiably with his aunt and uncle to her left, gamely explaining the significance of her visible tattoos. The thought of the ones hidden under her clothing made him want to bite through his plate.
“Eddie, what is wrong with you?” Mama squinted. “This is good food. You got a stomachache?”
“Let the boy alone,” Dad admonished, his dark brows rumpled. “He’s grown. He knows if he’s hungry or not.”
Rosie bumped his knee under the table. “Must be all those canapes we had during cocktail hour.”
Liar. They hadn’t been near the hors d’oeuvre table. If she was still pissed at him, why was she running interference?
He nodded. “Yeah, those shrimp toasts were delicious.”
“Shrimp toasts?” His uncle Leo scowled. “I didn’t see no shrimp toasts.”
Aunt Anna poked him. “Dorogóy, shrimp gives you hives.”
Leo puffed out his chest. “Still, I would like to have the choice. Always so cheap at these things—one platter of the good appetizers, then it’s cheese and crackers. I tell you, these young people today…”
While the older ones squabbled, Eddie lowered his voice. “You don’t have to cover for me, Ro.”
“Don’t I?” She smiled sweetly. “I thought that was the whole point.”
Pressure built behind his forehead, the first throb of what promised to be a killer headache. “A month ago, yeah. Now, everything’s changed. I told you—”
Mom clapped her hands. “Hush, everyone. Time for speeches.”
Who needs a wedding planner when you have General Alina Volkov?
At the head table, the bride’s father tapped his glass with his spoon, and the room stilled for a string of maudlin speeches. By the time the best man finished his tribute, the whole crowd was sniffling. Beneath the table, Rosie clasped Eddie’s hand.
He grinned in relief. Maybe all this lovey-dovey mush had softened her up enough that she’d listen to his pleas with an open heart.
His mom stood, raised her wine glass, and shouted, “Gorka!” Everyone joined in, except Rosie, who shot him a quizzical frown.
“It means the wine is bitter,” he explained. “They have to make it sweet by kissing.”
“Awww.” She leaned against his shoulder.
Warmth spread through his chest. The wedding had worked its magic. It was all going to be okay.
The first dance came next, and Cousin Irina was a good sport when her tipsy groom’s attempt at a romantic dip nearly dropped her on her ass. After the father-daughter, mother-son dance, guests flooded the dance floor.
Rosie nudged his shoulder. “We gonna do this?”
“Absolutely.” Faking confidence he didn’t feel, he led her into the throng. Thank God the floor was too packed to do more than sway in a circle. Rosie held herself stiffly at first, but as Sinatra gave way to John Legend, she sighed and relaxed into his hold, her soft breasts pressed to his chest, her fingers toying with the hair at his nape. Fortunately, his jacket was long enough to hide his erection from his grandparents, who danced just inches away. Babka reached out and patted his shoulder, her eyes misty. “You two look perfect together. I hope I am still alive to dance at your wedding.”
Dedka chuckled. “She means don’t wait too long.”
“Is it so wrong for me to want great-grandchildren? My sister already has three.”
Rosie thunked her forehead against his and whispered, “Damn, Eddie. At least my family isn’t pressuring me to have kids.” She gave a dry chuckle. “They probably don’t think I could handle them.”
“Nah, you’d be a great mom.”
When her eyes bugged, he added, “I mean, someday. In the future. If you want to.” He scraped a palm down his clammy face. “Sorry. Just stupid wedding talk.”
“Yeah, all this happily-ever-after bullshit can fry your brain.”
So much for softening her up. He stroked his forefinger down her bare arm. “Hey, any chance we could find a quiet corner and talk?”
Before she could answer, the DJ bellowed into the mic, “Game time!”
Babka grabbed Rosie’s arm. “You come with me, sweetheart. This will be fun.”
“But I—”
“Go play.” Dedka flapped his hand toward the growing line of women along one side of the dance floor. “Eduard and I need to talk. Vadim, where are you hiding?”
****
Eddie’s grandmother tugged Rosie to the side of the dance floor where his mom beckoned, bouncing on her toes like a giddy tween. “Oh, this is perfect. What part of Rosie should we give him?”
Her eyebrows shot sky-high. “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s just a game,” Alina assured her. “They blindfold the groom, then he
