Page 87 of My Big Fat Shifter Wedding

Come on, you know this, I thought to myself, trying to remember the phrase that Amanda had used a couple of times. An ultimate skirt? Wait! No! A maximum skirt!

That was definitely it. Later, whenever Olivia and I finally got some time to ourselves, I was going to have to tell her that all of Amanda’s fashion talk was starting to rub off on me.

“I do, don’t I?” she asked, giving me a bit of a twirl. It was slow, and she needed her cane to do it, but it still made me so happy to see her out and about and on her feet. “I got it when Olivia and I went shopping with that pretty friend of hers. Amanda, right?”

“Yep. You remembered right.”

“Lovely girl, really. Sharp as a tack too! You know, if you had a brother, I would be gunning for having two of the best daughters-in-law in the world.”

I chuckled, trying to picture that. But it was hard to, because even with all that I had observed and learned from watching Olivia’s family, the practical part of my mind said we wouldn’t have been able to afford to survive, so I wouldn’t be here now.

“He’d have to be a younger brother,” I said instead of trying to re-budget my past to include someone who didn’t exist. “Or I suppose a little sister.”

“Oh? Is Amanda one of those people who can go both ways?”

“Bisexual is the word, and I don’t know.” Come to think of it, I’d never heard the woman utter a single comment about being attracted to anyone. She was highly complimentary and had no problem telling people their best features to emphasize, but I didn’t even know if she had a partner.

Huh. If she was going to continue to be my future wife’s best friend, I’d have to get to know her a little better, so I could be a good future husband.

“Well, either way, moot point. Even if we had a time machine, I’m not really keen on pushing out another child. I’m quite content with the life we built together.”

My heart filled with warmth, and I squeezed her arm lightly. “Me too. Of all the moms in the world, I’m really glad I got to be with you.”

“Oh, Keith!” She let out a strangled sound that shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did. “Don’t you dare make me cry before going into this party. Not when this old lady actually put on eyeliner and mascara today.”

“Even without them, you’d look just as beautiful.”

“Keith! I’m serious!”

“I’m aware. But it’s not my fault you’re one of the most breathtaking women I know.” There was that strangled noise again, accompanied by her playfully slapping at my arm. “Besides, if you got the makeup while out shopping with Amanda, I know she made sure you got both the waterproof and cruelty-free version.”

“Cruelty-free?”

It really was amazing the things one could learn from making a new friend, because a year ago, all makeup was makeup and the most I knew about it was that it was expensive and basically its own art form. “Not tested on animals.”

My mother stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at me like I was the one in a “full beat” as Amanda had called it. “We still test makeup on animals? I thought that was like... a Captain Planet thing from when you were a kid. Don’t we have the technology not to need that anymore?”

“I’m not really an expert on it, but from what I know, China requires animal testing on all cosmetic products sold there, so any of the major brands who want to sell to their massive market have to do it. I don’t really get why, but if you’re curious, Amanda would love to info dump for you.”

“Please! Like she wants to hang out with an old lady.”

“Mom, I’m sure you noticed when you went shopping with her, but Amanda genuinely enjoys hanging out with anyone as long as they’re good at conversation and not a dick.”

“Huh. I guess I should be thankful my name isn’t Richard.”

“Yeah, I don’t really think that suits you.”

We reached the front door, and my mother finally noticed the buzzing mansion we were about to enter.

“My God...” she murmured, and I understood exactly why.

“Olivia was being a bit demure when she said her family did okay for themselves,” I said softly despite the thumping of the music beyond the door.

“You aren’t kidding!” We took a single step forward, but then she stopped again, gripping my arm with an impressive amount of strength. Nothing on Nonna Rizoli, but still enough to tell me that all the fun new activities my mother was doing were definitely improving her grip strength. “Does this mean you’re the trophy wife?” she asked, and I couldn’t stop the laugh that punched its way out of my throat. Like mother, like son.

“Mom, it’s the twenty-first century. I’m the trophy husband.”

With that, she patted my cheek while she shook her head. “Yes, you are, sweetie. And don’t you forget it.”