Baby on Board

Sacrifice

"June 16th," I answer Lottie. 

"Where?" Comes her next question. 

I shrug my shoulder. "Lambesc?"

Lottie leans back in her seat and stares at me, unblinking. When her lips purse and she turns away from me, I'm not sure whether I should be scared or not. That is until one of her eyebrows quirks upwards and she smiles. Putting the nib of her pen back onto the paper, she makes a note of my answer. "Best man?" She continues with her Spanish Inquisition. I gawp at her, thinking that it was a stupid thing to ask. She must have agreed. "I'm going to go ahead and put Mick's name down for that. Well, my maid of honour will be Martha."

"Seriously?" I can't help but scoff. When I'm levelled with a blank stare from Lottie, I try to explain why I think my daughter would make the worst maid of honour in the whole history of weddings but nothing comes to mind. In fact, I think when Martha is given responsibility like that, she excels. "I take back what I said. What else do we need to agree on?"

Lottie and I were taking full advantage of having her parent's house to ourselves. Camille and Jimmy had insisted that they take the grandkids- Martha included- out for the day, meaning Dan and Sophie rushed off in the opposite direction and decided to go to the nearest pub. I think Emma and Adam were walking the ground, sorting out their differences. I'm not sure what's bugged Adam but he's been glaring at his wife like he either wants to kill her or fuck her brains out. A fine line, although Emma is still alive and was more bouncy this morning before leaving. 

Still, now that we're alone, Lottie has decided that we should probably plan our wedding. Unconventionally, she was doing this through asking me a million and one things, noting down my answers to each one. So far, we've agreed on a colour scheme, the number of guests, the guest list, a seating plan, whether it was going to be a religious or civil ceremony, the date, the best mand and now the maid of honour. I wasn't quite sure what else we really had left to discuss. The menu, maybe, but I was trusting Lottie to deal with that.

"Can I ask you something?" Lottie turns to look at me, setting the pen and notebook down on the coffee table. "Why Lambesc? I was thinking more of Scotland in the summer."

"Don't know," I confess. "It's attached to a happier memory for me than our disaster of a trip to Scotland. It seems more chilled and the weather is better, the food is better, and when we next go there, you won't be pregnant and we can finally over-indulge on French wine and champagne. What's not to love about that?"

My words are met with a stony stare. "You're not suggesting it because you think that's where I want to get married, are you? Isaac, I would marry you tomorrow in a London registry office, wearing a dress that I bought in the Debenhams sale. I don't need anything fancy, just you, a ring and a wedding certificate. Even then, the ring isn't all that important."

"I chose Lambesc because when we were there, it was the happiest few days I'd had in a long time," I begin to explain as I lean towards her and force her back to lie on the sofa. With my knees on either side of her hips and hands, palm down, on either side of her head, I whisper, "Plus, it's where I decided that one day, I would make you my wife. Seems apt to go back there to actually make you my wife."

A soft noise came from Lottie's lips, making me fixate on them. They moved, as if she was commenting on what I had just said but nothing registered with me; all I could think of was kissing her, throwing her over my shoulder and taking her up to the bedroom. I was formulating a plan of action when I felt a sting on my cheeks. Snapping my gaze from her lips, I see Lottie's hand hovering over the cheek that she had just slapped. 

"You weren't listening," she grumbles. With a heavy sigh, her hands move to my chest and push me away from her until I'm sat back on my side of the sofa. With one quick move, Lottie straddles me, her face just centimetres from mine. "I said,  if you don't kiss me and ravage me soon, I'll castrate you."