Marriage of Inconvenience(Knitting in the City Book #7)(57)

“Where do I stand?” Steven asked. I glanced over my shoulder and saw he was trailing behind us.

“Anywhere is fine.” Mr. Lee motioned to the left of the podium. “How about here? Good spot for pictures.”

Steven walked around us, taking the place Mr. Lee had indicated, and clasped his hands in front of him like he didn’t know where to put them. He also looked nervous.

Why the fuck was he nervous? All he had to do was stand there.

We hadn’t quite made it to the podium when Kat said, “You know . . .” and then stopped. She pressed her lips together, shaking her head.

“What?”

“I wasn’t—” Kat took a deep breath. She whispered very, very softly and in a hurry, “I wasn’t coming on to your friend.”

I glanced at her, surprise slowing my steps. We were still a good ten feet from where Mr. Lee and Steven were waiting. Kat was blushing, her cheeks and neck were tinted pink, but her jaw was set, a stubborn light in her eyes.

“Despite what you think, I wouldn’t do that,” she continued, still whispering, a frown between her eyebrows. “You don’t have to worry about me coming on to every random person.”

Whoa.

“Kat,”—I stepped closer to her, dipping my head toward hers and also whispering—“I didn’t—I don’t think you were—or are—or—”

We’d made it to the podium. Frustrated, I reached into my breast pocket and yanked out the marriage certificate, handing it to Mr. Lee. Meanwhile, I knew she was pissed. At me. And I needed to fix it.

So in the short time it took our officiant to look over our marriage certificate, I decided it was a good idea to inform her, “My aunt is polyamorous.”

She blinked. Then she turned her face to mine and blinked some more, like what I’d said was a riddle. “Pardon?”

“I mean, I get it.” My attention flickered to Steven—who was watching us with rapt interest—then back to her. “No judgment.”

She gave her head a subtle shake. “What are you talking about?”

“You know.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Your lifestyle,” I said on a rushed whisper.

“Lifestyle?”

“Polyamory.”

“Mr. O’Malley, Ms. Caravel-Tyson.” Mr. Lee nodded to us, one at a time. “Before we begin, do you have any questions?”

“Did you just say polyamory?” This question was not whispered. Kat pulled her hand from mine and shot me an intensely confused glare.

“Excuse me?” The old-timer inclined his head forward, as though he couldn’t hear us, or hoped he’d heard her wrong.

“Just a minute.” I held a finger up to our officiant, and then faced Kat. “It’s cool. Consensual, ethical, and responsible non-monogamy. I dig it. I’m just not into it.”

She glared at me for several seconds and I lifted my eyebrows, tilting my head meaningfully toward Mr. Lee.

But Kat either didn’t catch the hint or didn’t care. “Dan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Listen, we’ll talk about this later.”

“No. We won’t. We’ll talk about this now.” Kat’s tone was demanding, and she didn’t seem to be bothered that our officiant was glancing between us like we were fruitcakes.

“All right,” I ground out, then offered Mr. Lee a flat smile. “We need another minute. Be right back.”

I looked to Steven and found him looking at us with engrossed, wide eyes, his mouth open. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pulled out a bag of popcorn and started munching on it. Sparing a single glower for my coworker, I gently wrapped my hand around Kat’s elbow and guided her to the door at the other side of the room.

Once there, I began with—I swear—the patience of Job. “You said, in Vegas, that you didn’t believe in monogamy.”

Her eyes darted to the officiant, who—God love this guy—looked like he was taking our drama in stride. “I didn’t say that. I said, and I quote, ‘I’ve never been good at monogamy.’”

“Exactly.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m polyamorous.” A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows and she sounded equal parts confused and annoyed.

My eyes narrowed, moving between hers. Now I was confused.

“Then what the fuck does it mean?”

“It means,”—she stepped closer and lowered her voice—“I was a kid who slept with a bunch of guys while I was drunk and strung out. I thought what I was doing was living life to the fullest before I lost the ability to do so.” Then, she muttered like she was arguing with herself, “And maybe I was. It was fun at the time. Or maybe it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t fun after. I don’t know. Does it matter? I just don’t want to feel like crap about this anymore.”