Elle paced her apartment, stopping to fold and unfold a blanket over her couch. I followed, keeping my back to a wall in case she launched any or all of her hundreds of knick-knacks at my head.
Did she live in an apartment, a museum, or a tourist trap?
Her home was like a pack-rat with meticulous OCD set-up camp in an artist’s loft. She had about fifty percent windows, but every available space on the wall was lined with framed photographs—forests and beaches, cities and parks, stadiums and particularly photogenic Ironfield plays from the last championship game. The photos bordered the room, but the shelves took up most of the space.
This girl had a collection of everything tacky and bizarre from cities around the country. One curio stashed city-sponsored snow globes, most purchased from places with a football team. Another cabinet housed music boxes. A third cabinet kept more delicate knick-knacks of carved figurines and pretty pottery.
She had…everything. All organized, dusted, and spread throughout her apartment. No copies of Catcher in the Rye. That was a relief. And Elle didn’t seem the crazy cat lady. Her only pets were contained within a salt-water tank. A handful of brightly colored fish swept across a beautiful hundred-gallon aquarium.
Well…the cute girls were always a little weird. At least Elle hadn’t hosted a TLC special from her living room yet.
Elle swept her hair into a pony tail, but a lock of red-streaked curls caressed her dark cheek. I got lucky. Not many men could say they had such a beautiful wife.
And angry.
She was very angry.
“Until this very moment, I thought I had already attended the worst wedding of my life,” Elle said. “My sister, Edda, got married six months ago, and I went home for the first time in years.”
She pointed me to the couch before I could poke through a china cabinet.
“I only agreed to go because my sister, Emily, begged me.”
“You didn’t want to go to your sister’s wedding?” I asked.
“My family isn’t like most families. No dancing. No alcohol. No dresses that reveal too much shoulder. No lesbians.”
“What?”
Elle sighed. “My father disapproved of the woman Edda wanted to marry—”
“Oh.”
“And so he picked a man he thought would be a smart match for her.”
“Can he…do that?”
“That wasn’t the worst part of the wedding. The salad dressing went rancid, and half of the wedding guests got violently sick. My sisters, Estée and Evie, had to keep Edda’s girlfriend from crashing the party. My sister, Erica, snuck in alcohol, accidentally got drunk, and nearly set fire to the bridal table with a prayer candle. And then my sister, Erin, my father’s favorite, announced her pregnancy during her toast as maid of honor.”
“God damn. How many sisters do you have?”
“That is not something a husband should ask his wife.”
“I didn’t ask if they were single.”
“I have six sisters—Edda, Emily, Estée, Evie, Erica, and Erin.”
“Wow.”
“The last time we were all together was during Edda’s wedding, and everyone agreed it was a disaster. But now, that seems like a fairy tale in comparison to the worst wedding I’ve been a part of. Wanna take a guess at which magical night it was?”
I had a good idea.
“My wedding was the worst—and I don’t remember any of it!”
“I remember some of it.” I examined a tiny swan figurine carved from quartz on her end table. Elle slapped it out of my reach. “If it helps, you looked beautiful.”
She groaned. “Was I even dressed?”
“You might have vowed never to wear panties again.”
“Oh God.”
Elle brushed her hand through her hair, lovely waves of dark, teased with a bright, playful red. She licked her full lips, but the frown lingered. No scowl should have marred that beauty. Too bad my wife wasn’t the type to let her husband kiss away those worries.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were married?” Elle asked.
“You had no idea we’d eloped?”
“Not until you spouted it off to the entire locker room.”
“Yeah, you earned me a lot of points with the guys.”
“I’m so glad you scored.”
“I’d love to score twice—”
Elle pointed a finger at me. “Forget it, Charming. I’m not going deep with you anymore.”
I leaned into the couch, winced, and tossed aside a—what the hell was it? An unsmoked, ivory pipe? This girl had too many treasures.
“You’re not looking at the big picture, Elle,” I said. “This is a marriage, not a curse.”