“Thanks, Dad.” Rhett was touched.
His father smiled at him and held his hand out. They shook. “Congrats. I hope you and Shawn will be as happy as your mother and I have been.”
Yeah, that was a lump the size of a baby’s fist in his throat. “Me, too,” he said. He meant it with every bone in his body.
“My youngest married.” Nolan Senior shook his head. “Damn, I must be old.”
“Nah.” Rhett clamped him on the shoulder. “You still have a lot of Saturday afternoon delights with Mom ahead of you.”
“Don’t be smart, boy.” But his father did laugh, even if the tips of his ears were a little pink.
Rhett grinned and raised his glass. “Cheers.” He drank the shot of whiskey and felt the slow burn down his throat, knocking through that lump in there like Drano. That was better.
Somehow as various brothers-in-law and uncles and cousins came up for a drink, Rhett found himself trapped at the bar for over an hour. During which he might have done another three shots. Feeling pleasantly buzzed, he finally made his way over to the buffet of food and attempted to load himself up a plate. After he dropped the slotted spoon in the green beans three times, his Aunt Trudy took his plate from him and not only spooned up his beans for him, but went down the whole line, loading him up with eats.
“Don’t trip on your way to your table,” she told him with a wink. “And lay off the whiskey if you want to make your bride happy tonight.”
Ha. As if that was ever an issue. His chest inflated with more than a little manly pride. “How do you know I’ve been drinking?”
“I married your Uncle Georgie, didn’t I? That man has pickled his liver.”
Rhett couldn’t really argue with that. Georgie was a pretty hard-core drinker. He’d been known to fall asleep with his forehead on the bar top in his local watering hole, then rousing long enough to order another one before passing out again.
“I smell it on you.”
“Oh.” That was his stellar whiskey-stunted brainiac reply. “Good party, huh?” he asked, feeling satisfied with the way it was turning out. Sure, there was an excess of pink and Ford relatives, but everyone was happy and having a good time. Mark was spinning tunes, or more accurately, had hit play on the playlist, and there was some early dancing starting up, still a little timid and demure at this point. Another hour, the jackets and the ladies’ shoes would come off, and the hip shaking would begin in earnest. Just like a real wedding. It felt like a real wedding.
Which reminded him. He hadn’t seen Shawn in quite a while.
“Excuse me, Aunt Trudy. I need to find my beautiful wife.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Shawn snapped at him when he returned to the table, balancing his plate with one hand while swiping a deviled egg off the pile with the other.
“I went for a drink.” He pointed to his plate. “And food. Do you want me to get you some?”
“I want you to not abandon me again like that. God, I just met a thousand relatives all on my own. Eve brought me a plate.” Shawn was sitting down, and her dinner was really just a pile of shredded biscuits with some uneaten ham next to it.
“Do you want something else?” he asked. “I can go back up for you.” He sat next to her and kissed the side of her head. “Sorry. I got waylaid by congratulations.”
“Are you drunk?” she asked him, sounding very suspicious.
“No. I am buzzed. There is a big difference.” He shoveled pasta into his mouth. He was suddenly very hungry now that his nerves had worn off.
“Oh, Lord,” was her opinion.
“Aren’t you drinking?” he asked her. “You didn’t drink much last night either. Just a couple of beers.”
“I have a headache and my stomach is queasy. Plus I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of your family, so no, I’m not drinking.”
“I doubt you would do that. You’re the king of the car bomb, remember? You can hold your liquor. Have a drink if you want one.” It might do her some good.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.” See how good he was at being a husband? He was already agreeing to everything she said.
There was a violent clanking of forks on glasses throughout, and Rhett grinned at Shawn. “They want us to kiss.”
She leaned forward and gave him the most chaste kiss they had ever shared, then waved in acknowledgment to the crowd.
“What kind of a kiss was that?” he complained. “Next time, I think you should slip me some tongue. Show me you mean it.”
“Rhett, don’t piss me off right now, seriously.”
“What?” he asked in bewilderment. “I’m sorry, babe, are you really feeling that awful?”
She nodded, her eyes suddenly welling up with tears.
Seeing her expression, he felt horrible, and he reached over and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Did you take any aspirin?”
“No. I didn’t bring my purse.”
“Honey, there are thirty females in this room. We could medicate a small hospital once they open their purses. I’ll get you something.”
“Thanks.”
“And as pretty as your hair looks, maybe you should loosen that knot thing it’s in. That can’t be helping.”
She nodded, and he went off in search of pain relievers. Within five minutes he had them and had brought them to Shawn. But then he was called over to the bar by his father, who was telling a story to a group of cousins involving Rhett’s first dirt bike and a certain accident involving his jeans.
“Dad, this is not a roast. It’s my wedding. You can’t be telling about every stupid thing I did as a kid.”
“The hell I can’t. It’s a father’s privilege once his son is grown. Someday you’ll understand that yourself. Let’s do a shot.”
It was that suggestion, paired with the idea of fatherhood, that had Rhett willingly reaching out his hand.
Which might explain how by the time he got back to Shawn, he was well and truly on his way to being drunk.
SHAWN could not believe that Rhett was wasted. In all the time she’d known him, which admittedly was not that long, she’d never seen him drunk. She’d seen him drink wine, beer, whiskey, and never even get a buzz. But here, at their wedding party on freaking Valentine’s Day, where she had a headache and was paralyzed by fear that she might be carrying his child, he chose to get bombed.
So annoying.
Another night she might have found his whistling, his wolfish drunken smile, his loosened tie, and his uninhibited dancing quite entertaining. But while her nausea had disappeared, she was still not in any position to enjoy the ridiculousness.
It seemed everyone but her was freely imbibing. The dance floor was packed with the young and the old and one brother-in-law was swinging his jacket around over his head. The kids were drunk on sugar and excitement, which was in evidence when Danny’s son Simon stuck his entire face in the chocolate fountain, earning hoots of laughter from the adults. When he pulled back and shook like a dog, chocolate flew in all directions, scattering on the floor, the table, and three girls in front of him. Still no one yelled at him, which spoke volumes at the amount of alcohol consumed, in Shawn’s opinion.
She had floated from table to table, always seeking a chair. She was tired. Clinton, her grandfather’s attorney, sank into the seat beside her, and all it took was a very slurred greeting and a glimpse of his glassy eyes to realize he was just as drunk as the rest of the room.
“Hey, Clinton,” she answered, giving him a wan smile.
He leaned forward and clasped her hand in his large, warm one. “You look beautiful, my girl, just beautiful. Jameson would have been so proud to see you as a bride.”