Mine To Honor (Southern Wedding Series Book 7) (Southern Weddings)
Mine To Honor: Chapter 4

As soon as I open the door, my body does a sigh of relief. I toss my keys and wallet onto the glass table by the door before I kick off my running shoes. I dump my gym bag at the door before turning to walk into the kitchen. After tossing and turning all night, I got up. It’s Saturday and I still went in to work today. I’ve been gone a couple of weeks, so it was easier to get in there when no one else was there and do some paperwork. After I spent five hours in the office, I decided I would hit up the gym. Big mistake there since it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve stepped in the gym, every single part of my body is now screaming at me. Even though I took a shower at the gym, I know I’m going to take another hot one before going to bed.

I go straight for the fridge, expecting by some miracle there is something in there I can eat. Opening it, I let out a huge breath seeing that there is, in fact, nothing for me to eat in there. Instead, I grab a bottle of beer from the door before reaching for the freezer door to see if maybe there is something in there I can put in the oven and doesn’t take a million years. It isn’t much better in there.

Pulling a box of frozen pizza from the shelf, I make my way over to start the oven. I tear open the paper box before grabbing a knife to slide through the plastic wrapper and placing it on a rack. Shutting the door, I then set the timer to twenty-three minutes.

Twisting off the cap to the beer and taking a pull of it, I grab the phone out of my pocket. I go immediately to my text thread with Eva, pulling it up.

Me: How are you holding up?

I send the text and decide I am going to give her thirty minutes before I call her. I had tried to call her earlier today but all I got back was a text that said:

Eva: Sorry, on the phone, call you in five minutes.

That was this morning at seven and nothing all day. I put the phone to the side as I grab the bottle of beer, taking another pull when I hear the soft knock of the door. Putting the beer back down on the counter, I look over at the hallway to see if maybe I made a mistake when the knock comes even harder this time. I round the corner and unlock the door, pulling it open without looking into the peephole. My mouth hangs open when I see her standing there. She’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. Her hair is piled on top of her head, not a stitch of makeup on her face. Her eyes are red from crying, no doubt, and she looks like she hasn’t slept all night, but she still looks beautiful as she holds two brown takeout bags in her hands.

“Hey,” Eva greets softly as she walks into the house.

“Hey.” I open my arms for her and she walks into them as I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I was worried about you.”

“Sorry.” She steps out of my arms. “I was going to text you, but one thing led to another and another, and well, here I am.” I watch her eyes as she blinks them really, really fast, right before I know she’s going to cry. I put my arm around her as I walk her toward the kitchen. “I brought you dinner.”

“You are a godsend,” I tell her as my hand drops from her shoulders as she walks to the island, putting the bags on top of it. “What did you get?”

She looks over her shoulder, smirking. “You really think you need to be picky right now?” she asks with a chuckle, and I can’t help but put my hands on my hips.

“I’m not being picky.” I tilt my head. “I was being excited.” I clap my hands together. “What did you get?” My chipper voice sounds fake.

“Ass,” she mumbles, turning her attention back to the bags. “I’m going to just eat all this food myself.”

She looks over her shoulder at me. “You can have that frozen pizza in the oven. That probably has been in your freezer for the past six months.”

I pfft out at her. “No, it hasn’t,” I retort, not even sure I believe myself since I don’t think I’ve been home more than twenty days in the past four months.

She takes the brown containers out. “That’s a lie and even you know it.” She looks down at the four containers she has taken out of the bags. “Now because I’m the best friend and bessst person you’ve ever met.” She drags out the word best as she smiles sweetly, before turning and walking over to the drawers to grab a couple of forks and knives. She pushes the drawer closed with her hip. “I will share with you the food I bought for you.” She moves over to the oven and turns it off. “Don’t forget to throw that out later or else it’ll still be in there at Thanksgiving.”

“I’m not that bad.” I roll my eyes at her and she just raises her eyebrows as she comes closer to me. I pull out one of the two stools for her to sit on before pulling out the second one for me. We sit down at the same time and I reach out to grab the first closed container. “This one is light,” I note, opening it and seeing that it’s a salad. “Eww.” I toss it to her. “That’s yours for sure.”

“There is nothing wrong with a salad, Levi,” she declares as she takes the container from me and I grab the other one.

“Now this one must be mine,” I decide, feeling how heavy it is as I open it and see it’s chicken parm with a side of pasta. “Yup, mine.”

“You didn’t even see what is in the other ones.” She points at the other two that are on the counter. “What if that was mine?”

“Then I would say I really hope there’s another one of those that has this in it.” I point down to the container in front of me.

“You’re the worst,” she says, leaning forward to grab the other one and when she opens it my mouth waters. “This is not for you.” She side-eyes me, putting the shrimp scampi on pasta to the side of her salad. Grabbing the other one, I watch to see what was behind door number three that, apparently, I lost. My mouth waters even more when I see that it’s a huge meatball smothered in sauce with a side of ricotta.

“That’s to share.” I grab a fork and knife from beside her. “No way can you eat all that meat.”

“I can eat plenty of meat,” she retorts, snickering as I stay still when I look over at her. “I might not like balls in my face, but I’m very okay with meat.”

“Eeew.” I fake vomiting while I cut a piece of chicken. “I never want to have a picture of you with balls in your face and meat.”

“The balls are not in my face,” she reminds me, grabbing the shrimp plate, “they are usually on my chin.” She twirls the spaghetti on her spoon. “Unless it’s like upside down and the balls are in my face.”

“Are you trying to make me give up this chicken parm?” I ask as I put a piece in my mouth. “Because it’s not working.” I grab another piece of chicken, looking over at her. “How are you doing, for real?”

“I think I’m still in shock.” She avoids looking at me. “It’s strange, I know. It’s not like we grew up together or anything like that.” She shrugs.

“She was still your sister,” I say softly.

“I know,” she murmurs and I see her pushing her food around in front of her, “and she was really an amazing person, even with all the shit that was thrown at her.” Her fork drops from her hands, and she wipes a tear away from her cheek. “My heart is broken for Cici because she’ll never know.”

I drop my own fork and put my arm around her shoulders, bringing her to me as I kiss her temple. “I have no doubt you are going to make sure she doesn’t forget her.” I put my head on top of hers.

She takes a deep inhale and I let her go, picking up my fork again. “I met with my lawyer today.”

I stare at her. “Why didn’t you call me?” She just shrugs and I know this shouldn’t surprise me since she is always used to doing things on her own, but I’m pissed I couldn’t be there for her. “You should have called me.”

‘It’s okay.” She avoids looking at me. “She’s a lawyer who is also my client.”

“That’s good.” I twirl some spaghetti on my fork. “What did she say?” I ask before I put the forkful in my mouth.

“Well,” she says, smiling when she turns to me, “she has a will, so that is a good thing. She had everything taken care of.” Her voice gets thick. “And I mean everything. Her lawyer already contacted the funeral home where she will be cremated tomorrow. She doesn’t even want a service. She just wanted to be cremated and put in the urn she picked out herself.” I know that she is babbling in an effort not to cry or freak out. “And she is to be placed in her final resting place that is in a mausoleum.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “She left me Cici, so that should be easy, but…” Her voice is happy as she trails off.

“But what?” I ask, not sure what she is going to say. “It’s in her will. She is giving you Cici. There is no but, right?”

“Funny you should ask.” Her voice sounds really weird, making me stop chewing. “I need a favor.”

I don’t even hesitate, never, not with her. “Anything,” I say, grabbing my beer and taking a pull.

“Good, glad you said that.” She puts her hand on mine. “Makes this easier,” she mumbles. “Even though she has a will and I get Cici without anyone contesting it. There is still just a little bit of a hiccup.” She closes her finger and thumb together. “A little bit of an issue.” She turns to me and all I can do is stare at her and hold my breath. She puts on the fakest, biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. I have no idea what the favor is, and not going to lie, I’m a little scared right now. I don’t know what I was expecting her to ask me, but I will say I was definitely not expecting the words that came out of her mouth. “Will you marry me?”

My hand is in the process of putting the bottle of beer back down on the counter when it stops mid-action. I shake my head. “Excuse me?” I say, not sure I heard what she said. I laugh nervously. “I could have sworn you said.” I put the bottle of beer down or maybe it just falls out of my hand, landing with a thud. “You said marry you.” I shake my head again and laugh, thinking how ridiculous that sounds. When I don’t hear her laughing, I turn back to look at her. “You have got to be kidding me.” My voice goes higher than I want it to go, almost shriek-like. “What the fuck?” my mouth spits out, and my heart beats so fast in my chest I think it’s going to come out. I push my stool away from the counter, jumping off it. “Are you insane?” I walk around the counter, the nerves filling my body. I open the oven and take the pizza out. “Are you joking?” I ask as I toss the soggy, half-cooked, half-defrosted pizza in the trash. “Are you going to jump up and say gotcha anytime soon?” I stand here waiting for her to say it, waiting for her to tell me I didn’t hear what I think I did. Waiting for her to tell me anything.

She pushes the container in front of her away and I put my hands on my hips, the buzzing starting in my ears. “Come on, Levi,” she urges, “I would do it for you.” She throws her hands in the air as if she is asking me to take her laundry to the cleaners or borrow my car for a month.

“You would do it for me?” I say sarcastically. “You would marry me?” I put my hand to my chest. “I’m honored.” I’m hoping like fuck she gets that this is me in the middle of having a mental freak-out.

She smiles at me. “You’re welcome.”

I stare at her, waiting to see when the joke will be up. I count to five in my head, even with Mississippi. After five I scream, and this time I know it’s a scream because she grimaces. “I was joking with you.”

“Oh.” She laughs nervously. “Well, I guess we know who the better friend is.” She puts her hands on her hips and my hands immediately go up to hold my head, expecting it to feel like it’s going to explode like a ticking time bomb.

“Are you insane?” I ask again, because all the other words feel like they are jumbled in my head. She has to be insane. This is probably shock, she’s in shock and becoming delirious.

“I’m not insane.” She holds up her hand before I yell. “Hear me out.” She walks around the counter and comes to stand next to me. “It’ll just be for a year.” My hands are still on my head. “Then we can annul it.” She tilts her head to the side and smiles. “You know, since we actually won’t be.” She picks up her hand, puts her thumb and index finger in a circle, then takes the other hand and inserts her forefinger into the circle’s center. “You know.” She moves her finger in and out. “Going to Pound Town.” All I can do is stare at her, and all she can do is continue moving her fucking finger.

“Stop that.” I finally knock her hands away from each other. “What are you… twelve?”

“We get married.” She ignores my question. “Then the judge sees that I’m married on paper.” She smiles at me. “To a good guy.” I glare at her. “To a great guy. The best guy.”

I really hope my glare is like the look that kills. “Don’t try to fluff my ego,” I bark out and put my hand on the counter next to me, not sure if I’m putting it there to help hold me up if my knees give out as she tells me about this ridiculous plan.

She rolls her eyes at me. “Fine, he sees I’m married to just an okay guy, then.” I shake my head. “I get my niece.” She points at herself, then to me. “And you get a cool story to tell the boys.”

“Tell the boys?” I repeat what she just said.

“I don’t know what to call men who are friends. Are they not called boys? Is that not the term? Or is it bros now?” she rambles on. “I could never keep up with the cool kids or their sayings.”

“They are just called friends,” I inform her.

“Okay, fine.” She folds her arms over her chest. “You get to tell your ‘friends’”—she uses her fingers in quotation marks when she uses the word friends—“what a cool guy you are. Is that better?”

“We don’t do that,” I refute between clenched teeth. I’m irritated about this whole thing and that she is really not backing down on it. She’s actually serious.

“Okay, fine. I’ll tell your friends what a cool guy you are.” She stares at me. “Is that better?

I’ll hold meetings monthly just to tell them how cool you are, if that is going to help.”

I close my eyes. “You can’t really be asking me this?” I say softly, looking at her and seeing her eyes are now filled with tears.

“You said anything.” Her voice is low, and I hear it trail off.

“I said anything, like lend me money?” I reply to her. “Or, can I borrow your couch?” I watch her. “Can you drive me to wherever? I did not mean get married to me.”

“Oh, please.” She throws up her hands. “It’s not like you have anything going on.” Her voice gets louder. “And I’d be the best fake wife you’ve ever had. I would even turn a blind eye and you can keep doing what you’re doing.”

I roll my eyes at her. “And what is that?” Now, I’m the one folding their hands over my chest.

“I’ve been here ten minutes.” She looks from the kitchen that leads into the living room, where all my furniture is black and leather. “And I feel like I’ve stepped into a sex dungeon.”

I’m shocked at this, turning toward what she was looking at. Okay, maybe the leather couches and the dark-brown dining room table, that to be honest, I’ve never eaten food on but I have done other things on there. Even the tray in the middle of the black coffee table hides condoms, just in case. “I’m a bachelor,” I mumble to myself, thinking that this is how we live, isn’t it? “Seriously?”

I turn back to her and this time she drops on her knee in front of me. “Levi Mathison,” she states my full name, grabbing my hand. Her blue eyes fill with tears and fear. The smile on her face is fake as can be. But it’s her hands that are shaking under mine that I look at while she says, “Will you marry me?”