Bargaining with the Bride(16)

"Let's be serious, okay? No judgment. If it's, you know,” he leaned in and whispered, “kinky or something, you can tell me.”

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if her head was spinning because of her too-strong drink or because her normally stodgy boss had just said the word ‘kinky.’ Or maybe it was because the way the word sounded in his deep voice felt…

"Please. Stop.” She pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger. “How do you think proposals happen?"

“I don't know, but I also don't know why it would be a secret unless it involved gold anal beads along with your ring." He laughed, but her cheeks burned at the implication.

"Definitely not.” She slurped on her straw. He clearly wasn’t going to let up. Maybe if she said it quickly, like pulling off a Band-Aid, the mortification wouldn’t sear her as deeply. With a deep breath, she said, “I’m just embarrassed because he didn't propose. I did."

Go ahead and make fun of me. I don't care. My parents already laughed hysterically when I told them.

"You proposed?" He raised his eyebrows, finally taking a sip of his own drink.

The waitress stopped off, momentarily interrupting their conversation so that they could place their orders. Perfect, just enough time to let Rachael stew in her own, pitiful juices.

When the old woman finally plodded away, Rachael said, “Yeah. I popped the question.”

"Why? Because he was sick? Did you want the insurance money or something?" There wasn't judgment in his tone. That was a first. Even her own parents had asked if she was trying to get something out of it. Maybe that’s what had made the irony of the situation that much more bitter.

"I was sort of…” She paused, sipped what she now realized was the dregs of her cocktail. “Trapped. I couldn't leave him, sick and alone, and if I didn’t commit, then I was stuck with a mountain of medical bills he couldn’t pay because he couldn’t work. His parents had cut him off. I thought that getting married would at least save me financially if it couldn’t save me emotionally."

God, she must have sounded like some kind of Oprah special to him. It wasn't like her, really, to get all strung out about life. She'd been dealt a lot of short straws already; this whole thing was just another pothole in the road.

"That's really admirable."

"It's stupid. I know that now. But, ugh, it was awful. The proposal, I mean. I cooked Lance his favorite dinner and we talked about it the night after I'd spent the last of my savings fund. I don't really know why he said yes. Probably because he had it so good." She shrugged.

"How would you have liked to have been proposed to?" His voice was soft, thoughtful. Still, the fact that his pen was poised over that stupid notebook did something to dampen the spirit behind what he was asking.

"Oh, I don't know. I always like the guys who stage proposals where they first met their wives, you know? Parks and stuff. Proposals where people went on their first date.”

"Interesting," Garret's pen was scribbling away, and it took all of Rachael's effort not to roll her eyes into the back of her head.

“I guess so.” She swirled her straw in her empty glass and smiled at the waitress who motioned to offer her another. Hell, if they were going to talk about Lance much longer, she should just keep those suckers coming.

After a moment, Garret looked up from his scrawling and asked, “I was wondering on the way here. What are you going to do about Lance's family?"

"He doesn't have family. His parents disowned him after they cut him off. No brothers or sisters. Plus, he didn't really want to be involved in the wedding much. He thought of it as more of a favor to me than a commitment."

"Wow, I can't believe I never got to meet your big catch."

"Yeah. He was...he was something."

“A piece of shit from the sounds of it.” The words were clipped, the same way Garret sounded when someone cut him off in a meeting. In this context, though, she found herself taken aback by the command in his voice. And there was something else there, too. Something she couldn’t quite name.

“I think you were right. Talking about him is a waste of our time,” he sipped on his whiskey, then cleared his throat. “Tomorrow, you’ll call your mother and tell her that you’ve fallen madly in love and you’re marrying someone else.”

“Who would believe that?”

“Trust me, once your family meets me, they’ll understand how someone could fall in love so easily.” He grinned at her over the rim of his cup and she fought the urge to smile back at him.

“I’m glad you’re confident,” Rachael rolled her eyes.