“Excellent,” she breathed, clasping her hands in front of her then she took us both in. “What’ll it be? Menu’s on the counter. We got a basic version then add-ons or you could go with the deluxe package. And, I tell all my lovebirds, whatever you do, go for the bubble machine even if it’s just as an add-on. Nothing says joy like bubbles,” she advised and I pressed my lips together to stop from giggling but even though I thought she was funny, I couldn’t exactly argue with the fact that nothing said joy like bubbles, I’d just never thought of bubbles like that. She looked behind us then at us. “You need witnesses?”
“Yep,” Walker answered.
She leaned in. “We throw that in, freebie.”
Walker just stared at her.
“That’s great,” I said.
“Basic,” Walker said and her smiling, love is in the air eyes went up to him and her face fell a little.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“Cash,” he added.
She gave him a top-to-waist and muttered, “Right.” Then she moved to the cash register.
My eyes moved to the bouquets.
After Walker told me what I needed to know for now and gave me thousands of dollars to make it so, I’d braved the Vegas heat and gone shopping. I was exhausted. I wanted a shower and a nap but he was intent on getting this done and I figured, if we did it then it would be over, I wouldn’t have a mind filled with whether or not I’d made the right decision or kicking myself for getting played by Shift rather than upping stakes and getting the f**k out of Dallas about thirty seconds after we laid Ronnie in the ground.
And as I tried on dress after dress trying to find one to get married in, I thought about the men in my life (by the way, the first dress I’d been instructed to get I’d found right away – a wedding dress, not so easy and, incidentally, I’d done a detour from Walker’s instructions in order to buy a bikini, a hopeful effort that I might eventually get to veg beside a pool where every girl knows she can let the sun bake away her life, however crazy it is, and I needed that for certain).
In thinking about the men in my life, I started at the beginning and counted them down.
First, there was my grandfather. A decent enough guy if you didn’t know him. Not so decent if you did. Total shit at being a Dad. This was evidenced by the fact that my mother was a mess. He hadn’t learned any lessons from what went bad with her before taking me on. This was because, first, he didn’t want to learn and second, he was the kind of man who always thought he was right so he didn’t think there was anything to learn and my Mom flying off the rails was therefore all on her not on the fact that her mother was a weak woman cowed by an overbearing man and her father was more interested in football than fatherhood and expected the women in his life to tow the line and wasn’t best pleased, and showed it, when they didn’t do what he wanted even if he hadn’t expended the effort to explain what he wanted.
There you go. Enough said about Granddad.
Then there was Ronnie.
And, enough said.
Then there was Shift.
Definitely enough said.
Now there was Ty Walker, an admittedly gorgeous and weirdly honest yet still unforthcoming ex-con who went to a pimp to get himself a wife for reasons unknown.
Again, enough said.
Evidence was suggesting in the man department I should give up while the giving up was good.
So, upon finding my wedding ensemble, an extortionately expensive dress full price that had been marked down twice and I knew why, only a buyer would see it on the hanger and know it was fabulous, I decided to give up while the giving up was good.
In other words, this would be my only wedding. I was done with men and that done could be displayed in neon lights, that was how done I was.
And I had a fabulous dress, great shoes and Ty Walker’s diamonds.
And since this was it for me, I wanted a bouquet.
“Can you, uh… add on a bouquet?” I asked the lady. “Ring it up separately. I’ll pay for it with my credit card.”
Her gleeful eyes came to me and she cried, “Absolutely, darlin’!” Then she threw out an arm indicating the bouquets like she was the gowned eye candy on a game show. “You pick.”
I looked at the bouquets and instantly spotted the one I wanted. “Top row, second one in.”
A huge, close bundle of blush-colored roses mixed here and there with gorgeous ivory ones. Nothing else. Just roses pressed together tightly. Elegant. Gorgeous.
“Fabulous choice,” the woman approved, moving to the bouquet, she plucked it out and I saw the spray of stems was bound with a wide, ivory organdie ribbon tied in a big bow. She turned, offered it to me, I took it and she announced, “One hundred and fifty dollars.”
Oh my God. One hundred and fifty dollars? There were a lot of roses, probably two dozen, maybe even more, they were gorgeous, each one sheer perfection, but still.
I stared down at the bundle, muttering, “Um…”
“Add it,” Walker rumbled and my head jerked back and to the side to look up at him.
“You don’t –” I started.
His eyes tipped down to me. I shut up.
“All righty, lovebirds,” the woman chirped.
“Photo,” Walker stated and I looked from him to the now beaming woman.
“Five by seven or eight by ten?” she asked.
“Two. Of both,” he answered.
“No problem,” she stated. “Anything else? Confetti?” She did the game show thing with her arm again, indicating the boxes of confetti behind her but eyeing my dress. “We got pink.”
“No,” Walker said firmly, she bit her lip and I waded in.
“My man isn’t a confetti type of guy.”
And this I knew to be true. Earlier, he’d returned to our hotel room while I was in the bathroom getting gussied up for the big event. When I came out, he barely looked at me even though I was coiffed, made up and had the dress on (but my feet were bare) before he passed me and went into the bathroom saying, “Delivery will come. Accept it. Tip. The boxes on the bed are for you.” Then he disappeared in the bathroom.
No, “Honey, you look fabulous,” which I wasn’t expecting but his eyes didn’t even flare. Nothing. My dress was fantastic, it fit like it was made for me, it was sexy yet elegant and my hair had totally behaved for once and it looked amazing, all this but nothing from Ty Walker. I could have been wearing a potato sack.
So definitely not a confetti guy. I was surprised he wanted pictures.