Lovestruck Forever (7 page)

“I
hope you like Mexican food,” I said, laughing a little
self-deprecatingly. “I doubt there will be much else on the
menu.”

“Mexican
food sounds wonderful,” Anne said, and I immediately felt
ashamed of myself. Was I really already putting myself and my family
down, without even giving the Harpers the chance to make up their own
minds? I straightened my shoulders, determined to stop apologizing
for my family.

Still,
I didn’t manage to relax until we reached the back yard and my
parents immediately came to embrace the Harpers, including Bryony,
kissing Thomas and me briefly before sweeping his family off to meet
my siblings and aunts and uncles.

“See?”
Thomas whispered in my ear. “Everything is fine.”

“Lizzie?”
A familiar voice called, and I squealed a little, turning to see
Callie dodging tables to make her way to us, a huge smile on her
face.

“Callie!”
I’d known she was coming; she and Charlie had been two of the
first people to respond to our invitation, but it was still a thrill
to see her. She hadn’t been able to make it home after my mom’s
aneurysm, and it felt like years since I had seen her back in London,
before Thomas and I went to L.A.

“You
cut your hair!” I yelled, grabbing her shoulders and making her
spin before I hugged her.

“Do
you like it?” she asked, squeezing me back.

“I
love it.” I pulled away to examine her hair again. For as long
as I’ve known her Callie, has kept her thick blonde hair in a
shining, long curtain down her back. Her new cut was layered and
shoulder length, her highlights much darker than I was used to.

She
sighed a little. “I don’t think Charlie likes it much.”

Her
boyfriend sighed coming up behind her. “Don’t listen to a
word she says. I’m the one who suggested it.”

“Yeah,
right,” I laughed. “That sounds like Charlie, hair style
expert.”

“Are
you going to hug me hello, or not?” he asked, his voice heavy
with offense. I giggled again, reaching for him, and he pulled me up
into his arms. “Congratulations, love. He couldn’t have
done any better.”

Touched,
I patted his face. “Thanks, Charlie.”

He
released me to hug his best friend, and I returned my attention to
Callie, who pulled my left hand up close to her face to inspect my
new jewelry. She whistled. “Not bad, Thomas. It’s even
better than the picture you sent.”

“It’s
the most gorgeous ring in the whole world,” I said loyally.

“Holy
crap,” Callie said suddenly, releasing my hand and staring up
into my face, her eyes wide. “You’re getting married.”

I
laugh. “I know.”

“We
haven’t even had a chance to squeal and jump and down,”
she said sadly, and Thomas snorted next to me.

“Whatever,
Cal. I heard you through the phone when she called you with the news.
If that wasn’t squealing, then I don’t know what is.”

“Shut
up,” she said, pushing him. “You’re a boy; you
don’t understand.” Then she turned back to me, taking
both my hands, a huge grin on her face. “Lizzie, you’re
engaged!”

“I
totally am!”

Of
course, she started to jump up and down, probably just to spite
Thomas; but soon, we were both caught up in the moment, laughing and
hugging and squealing. We only stopped when Charlie joined us, doing
a scarily good impression of a shrieking, excited girl.

“Be
dignified, brother,” a familiar voice said, and Charlie’s
sister, Sarra, joined us, along with Meghan and Carter. I felt like
squealing all over again at the sight of them, our London family here
at my home in Detroit. Luckily, Meghan was every bit as much of a
believer in the importance of jumping up and down and screaming to
celebrate an engagement. She joined Callie and me in admiring the
ring, and we all giggled and yelled and hugged each other. Even Sarra
grinned as she pulled me into a hug. “I’m so happy for
you, Lizzie. He doesn’t deserve you.”

I
couldn’t help but remember my first meeting with her, the way
she had basically warned me I better not hurt Thomas and effectively
scared the crap out of me. Grinning at the way things had turned out,
I reached for Thomas’s hand. “No way.”

“Thanks,
Sar,” he said dryly, but he accepted her hug before he moved to
shake Carter’s hand.

“Congratulations,
mate,” Carter said, slapping Thomas on the back and leaning in
to kiss my cheek. “You, too, Lizzie.”

“Congratulations
are for the groom,” Sarra corrected. “Best wishes for the
bride.”

The
bride. I couldn’t help the little shiver of excitement that
coursed through me at the word. I was going to be Thomas’s
bride.

It
was strange—the way the realization hit me all over again. I’d
been insanely happy since Thomas popped the question, but there was
always a bit of me that was holding back, afraid of getting too
excited. Things had been just too shaky with my mom, and all of my
focus had been on helping her with her recovery. Now that she was
getting better, though, we could really start to plan for this
wedding. It was going to happen, for real. Thomas and I were going to
get married.

I
smiled around at my gathered friends and family as twilight started
to set in. Bryony was eating with my cousin Juan, batting her
eyelashes in a way I was sure would make Thomas shake his head in
annoyance. Gilbert could be heard arguing with my dad and Uncle Rick
about some World Cup soccer game that had occurred decades ago. Sofie
was chatting with the London friends, introducing them to Laura and
Maria. And then Carla, Sofie’s older sister and total celebrity
enthusiast, was grabbing my arm and demanding to know if that really
was Jenner Collins and Annie Duncan in my parents’ back yard.

I
laughed at her star-struck expression. “Yup. And if you’re
a very sweet cousin, I might just introduce you later.”

She
immediately kissed my cheek, patting my hair. “Lizzie, have I
ever told you that I love your hair up like this? And where did you
get that dress? It’s so flattering on you.”

I
pointed at her, grinning. “Good start.” Then I reached
for Thomas’s shirtsleeve to alert him that his work colleagues
had arrived. It wasn’t just Carla that had noticed—the
movie stars were causing quite a stir with several of my cousins. “We
should go rescue them,” I whispered. “Before people start
begging for autographs.”

Jenner
Collins and Annie Duncan were local actors who had gone on to star in
movies. Jenner has been a major star for more than a decade, but
Annie, much like Thomas, was still relatively new to the business,
though her reception from critics and fans alike had been
overwhelmingly good. She was still green enough that she wasn’t
jaded—she was quite open about feeling weirded out by the
stranger aspects of being a movie star. She was a great help to both
Thomas and me when they shot the sci-fi flick
Earth’s
End
together in Los
Angeles a few months ago. And when Thomas decided to turn down his
next movie role to stay here with me while I took care of my mom,
Annie and Jenner immediately stepped up, offering him a role in their
local production of
Death
of a Salesman
at
Jenner’s theater.

“You
made it,” Thomas said as we approached the actors.

“Of
course we did,” Jenner said, shaking Thomas’s hand.

Annie
hugged us both. “Holy crap, Lizzie, the food at this party is
incredible.”

I
laughed. “My family is pretty serious about food.”

“Sounds
like my kind of group.”

“What
can I get you to drink?” Thomas asked, but Annie made shooing
motions with her hands. “We’re fine. Go mingle, this is
your party.”

Warily,
I eyed one of my younger cousins, who seemed to be inching closer
with an overly casual look on her face.

“I’m
afraid members of my family might mob you if we leave you alone,”
I told them.

Annie
just laughed. “I think Jenner is probably an old pro at this
kind of thing by now.”

“They
never mob me,” Thomas said, almost sounding offended. “Not
one of them has ever asked for my autograph.”

“I
guess they don’t really see you as a celebrity. You’re
just
Thomas
,”
I told him, laughing at the indignant look on his face.

More
people had arrived, so we grudgingly left them to their fate of
autograph signing and headed off to greet our guests, who arrived in
a steady stream for the next half hour or so as darkness settled over
the back yard.

“I
can’t believe all these people can fit in your parents’
garden,” Thomas told me, shaking his head as we looked out over
the scene.

I
sighed, content, snuggling into his side. “We always manage to
make room for a party.”

I
felt happier than I had in months. There had been a weight of worry
on my chest for so long now. First over my decision to leave home for
London in the first place, then over my family’s reaction to my
decision to return and live with Thomas. Then there was all the
stress of living in L.A. last year, all the pressure Thomas was
under. And my mom’s aneurysm and subsequent recovery. Sometimes
it felt like I’d done nothing but worry for the past year and a
half. But now those worries felt like they were lifting off my chest,
dissipating in the warm breeze that skittered through the back yard.
My people were here—all of them. My friends from London.
Thomas’s family. My family. Callie. Just about everyone that I
loved, all of them here for Thomas and me. And the struggles of the
past year had resolved themselves, for the most part. I felt almost
giddy as I surveyed our party, Thomas at my side.

Eventually,
a few of my cousins pulled out their guitars, congas, and a
microphone, attaching it to the small sound system set up in the
corner of the yard. It didn’t take the guests long to get into
the spirit—the salsa music had half my family up and dancing
within minutes.

“Come
on,” I said, tugging on Thomas’s hand. “We’re
dancing.”

“I
don’t think I know how to dance like this,” he said
uncertainly, stealing a glance at Maria and her husband José,
who were twirling around the patio like a pair of professional
ballroom dancers. I smiled, loving when Maria let her hair down like
this. She looked younger when she was dancing, as if all the stress
of work, mothering, and being in charge of everyone simply melted
away. She’d always been the best dancer in our family, and no
matter how busy her grown up life was, she always made sure to get a
few songs in whenever we had a family party.

“It’s
easy,” I told him. “Just put your hands on my hips and
follow me.”

Thomas
did as instructed, his movements stiff for the first song or two
before he started to relax. “See?” I called over the
shouts of laughter and music. “Easy peasey.”

“Yeah,
right.” He looked around at my family and friends, many of whom
were dancing with us. Sofie had enlisted Samuel to dance with her,
and her feet and hips were moving so quickly it was hard to keep up.
“I have a feeling I’m holding you back,” Thomas
called out to me.

I
winked at him, pulling away to twirl once, shaking my hips as I went.
Sof whistled next to me, grabbing my hand. I happily complied,
laughing as she swung me away from Thomas. “Be right back!”

I
could feel his eyes on me as I danced with my cousin and my brothers.
Callie had taken me dancing in London the night I met Thomas, and I
had spent most of the evening feeling awkward and out of place—the
complete opposite of how I felt now. Many of our family gatherings,
from formal parties to generic weekend dinners, ended up with
everyone on whatever makeshift dance floor we had room for. I could
do this kind of dancing in my sleep. The exhilarating feeling of the
quick foot movement, the hip shaking, the twirling, the laughing and
shouting as my family relaxed and let loose around me. I danced three
songs with Sofie and my brothers before I realized that I wasn’t
being the best host to Thomas. I kissed Sofie on her sweaty cheek
before I set off to find him—or a cold drink, whichever came
first.

I
was red-faced and breathing hard when I collapsed into a seat next to
my mother. “You look good out there,” she said in her now
familiar slower drawl. I leaned over to pat her arm.

“Thanks,
Mama. You’ll be up and dancing by the wedding.”

Thomas
appeared at my side, two glasses in his hand. “I’m not
sure what this is,” he told me, setting one in front of me and
sitting down on my other side. “But your uncle told me I had to
try it.”

I
peered into the cup at the cream-colored liquid. “Mmm,
horchata. This is amazing, Thomas, you’ll love it.”

I
took a sip, whimpering a little with pleasure when I realized the
horchata had been spiked, adding a warmth to the creamy, cinnamon
goodness.

“I
could drink this all day,” I moaned, setting the glass down.

“Why
don’t we?” Thomas asked, licking a drop from his lip.
“That’s delicious.”

“We
don’t because we would both gain a hundred pounds, and your
days of being a heart throb and chasing bad guys on screen would be
over.”

He
looked down at the drink, nodding. “It is pretty rich.”
He set the cup down, leaning over the table so he could see my mom.
“May I get you something to drink, Mrs. Medina?”

She
pointed at her still full glass of sangria. “No thank you,
dear.”

“Did
I hear you two talking about the wedding?”

I
smiled at my mom. “Just reminding her that we fully expect her
to dance at our wedding, so she better not be slacking on her
physical therapy.”

“Oh,
absolutely,” he said, his voice very serious. “Dancing
will be a requirement, Mrs. Medina.”

She
laughed. “Look at you both, bullying an old woman.”

“Whatever,”
I argued. “You should see her dance, Thomas. She puts every one
of us to shame.”