“Okay, perfect. Why don’t we do a destination wedding in eight weeks? Plus a two-week honeymoon after that? Then we’ll come home and hunker down and get ready for the arrival of Mademoiselle Terrorist.”
My heart skips a beat. “A destination wedding? Where?”
“I dunno. A medieval castle in France? A vineyard in Tuscany? The beach in Bora Bora? Bali? Fiji? You pick.”
“Oh my God, Josh. Slow down.”
“Why? Any of those would be a blast.”
I place my hand on my racing heart. “I’m overwhelmed. Gimme a minute.”
“Please don’t barf, Kat. I love you, I really do, but I’m not sure my love can withstand watching you barf more than once a day.”
I squint at him. “Don’t tempt me.”
He laughs.
“But, seriously, I might hurl if you keep talking about flying a hundred-fifty people to France or Bora Bora in eight weeks. I’m sorry to be Debbie Downer here, but some of my peeps probably don’t even have passports. Not everyone is used to gallivanting all over the world on a moment’s notice to party with Gabrielle LeMonde’s daughter.”
He rolls his eyes.
“And, even if my peeps have passports, they wouldn’t be able to afford taking off work and getting themselves to France or Bora Bora just to watch me get married.”
Josh waves his hand dismissively. “Babe,duh. Whatever we do, I’ll pick up the tab for everyone, all expenses paid. We’ll fly them to wherever and show ’em a great time. We’ll take over some resort for an entire week.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“Holy shitballs, I’m crapping my pants,” I say. I put my hand on my heart again. “You would do that?”
“Kat, it’s ourwedding.I’m only doing this once. YOLO, baby. Go big or go home. Work hard, play hard. We can sleep when we’redead.” He grins. “I’m sure there’s another spiffy little catch-phrase that would be even moreaproposthan all those, but you get the gist.”
“My family’s gonna lose their freaking minds.”
“Good. Shit-stained pants and psychotic breaks are what we’re going for here.”
“But I still think something international is too ambitious,” I say. “Just too many logistics. Plus, from here on out, I wanna stay in the U.S. ’til after Gracie’s born—just in case she decides to make an early appearance.”
“Yeah, probably a good idea. I didn’t think about that. Hmm. Well, that really limits our choices for the ‘destination’ part of our ‘destination wedding,’ doesn’t it?” He pouts.
“Sorry to rain on your parade, Groomzilla.” I assess Josh’s beautiful, pouting face for a moment. “You know what? Let’s just do it in Seattle, babe. It’d be so much easier for everyone.”
Josh looks aghast. “Seattle? Fuck no. Jonas just did that. I’mJosh. I gotta show that bastard up. Plus, it’s my duty to show everyone the Playboy Razzle-Dazzle.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, so how about here in Del Mar, then?” I say. “This resort’s spectacular.”
“Yeah, we could do that.” He shrugs. “Or maybe Hawaii?”
My eyes light up.
“Oh, I see that little gleam in your eye, PG. The idea of Hawaii floats your boat, huh?” He snickers. “You dreaming of doing a little wedding-night hula-dance on my face?”
“Yes, Josh. That’s precisely what I was thinking just now.”
He laughs.
“Really, we should just do Seattle, babe,” I say. “It’ll be easier. I have a huge extended family—lots and lots of batshit-crazy aunts and uncles and cousins. Plus, my mom and dad have longtime friends who are like family to me, and I really want them there—”
