He chuckled and held me tight. "I'll get you to admit it yet."

Chapter Twenty

Beware of the scrumptious treat lying in the open, waiting to be eaten. A Tigress knows that traps can abound, sometimes invisible, but there all the same.

August 22

Dear Wedding Journal,

Jonathan surprised me with you today. I hate you, and I'm never writing in you again. Just wanted you to know that.

August 23

Dear Wedding Journal,

Fine, I'll give you a try. But don't expect me to gush on and on about my feelings. I do that enough in my own head, and I'm already sick of myself. This morning I reserved the church, paid for the flowers and all that crap. The Tattler reporters followed me around, snapping pictures of me. Out in the open this time. They didn't try to hide. One of them, a balding guy with yellow teeth, called me the future Mrs. Royce Powell and I kicked him in the balls. Not my fault, I promise you. I heard the name and just freaked out. Thankfully Royce is out of town, so he hasn't witnessed my behavior.

August 24

Dear Wedding Journal,

I bought a dress today. It's pretty. Very plain, very simple. No ugly bows or itchy lace. It's formfitting, ankle-length, with thin straps that crisscross in back. Oh, and it's a gorgeous ivory. Let's face it. Royce returned from his trip (early!) and rocked me like a porn star, so I can hardly wear white. I just hope I don't throw up in it. My stomach is hurting all the time now, and I can barely eat. Nerves or baby?

August 27

Dear Wedding Journal,

I had nightmares all night about Royce seeing me walk down the aisle and realizing he's making a terrible mistake. In the dream, he flips me off and runs screaming from the church. And when I woke up, I started hearing voices in my head. Not schizophrenic voices, mind you- I'm crazy but not that whacked-out. All of my fears about marriage and infidelity and abandonment are clamoring to be heard and they won't shut up.

September 1

Dear Wedding Journal,

It's been a few days since we last spoke. Or wrote. Or whatever. I haven't been able to concentrate. Those voices… They're saying to leave Royce and get away now, before it's too late. Linda's party is only a few days away. That means my wedding is only a few days away. What the hell am I going to do? Women are still sending Royce wife applications. They are still showing up at the Powell building. What if one of them entices him?

September 12

Dear Wedding Journal,

I think Royce realized there's something wrong with me because he's been telling me he loves me a thousand times a day. I was even starting to relax-a little-until he took me to his parents' house for dinner. I've never met two people more in need of a divorce. They bickered and fought all evening. Royce said that's how they express their love. I don't believe him. I mean, please. You tell me if you feel the love from this conversation (written word for word as I remember it):

Linda: Elliot, be a dear and get me another drink.

Elliot: Get it yourself.

Linda: Get up and fix me a drink, you lazy man.

Elliot: Woman, don't push me on this. I've finally gotten comfortable.

Linda: (sugary sweet smile) I'll push you only when you're standing on a bridge.

Elliot: If I were standing on a bridge and saw you coming, you wouldn't have to push me. I'd jump. See? Does that sound "loving" to you? Really, the man had worn a shirt with If You See My Wife Coming, Shoot Me printed on the front. What if Royce and I end up- Wait. Royce is coming down the hall. I hear him whistling. I better go.

September 12 (two hours later)

Dear Wedding Journal,

I just had two amazing orgasms so I have nothing more to complain about tonight. Thankfully my fears have been quiet. I just might be okay with this wedding thing. In fact, I'm not talking to you for a while. I think you're screwing with my head.

September 16

Dear Wedding Journal,

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. I'm totally freaking out. Tomorrow is Linda Powell's birthday party. I spent today decorating the hotel and finishing up the last-minute details, so my worries have nothing to do with that. It's just, well… the day after her party is my wedding. My. Wedding. Do you hear me? Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. My fears have come back full force and won't shut up. What the hell was I thinking, saying yes to marriage? Ohmygod, I'm going to be sick.

Chapter Twenty-one

A true Tigress-ah, hell. If you don't know by this point, you're not a real Tigress. Take up gardening or something and call it a day.

The day of the party, I managed to pull myself together. Well, on the outside it appeared as if I'd pulled myself together. After hours of trying to find my happy meadow, and failing, I slapped myself across the face and joined Royce here at the hotel. Now I stood beside him, waiting at the door of the ballroom and waving guests inside. FYI, I wasn't dressed like a harem girl, but in a bright red sundress.

I must say, I did a wonderful job on the decorations. The area truly did resemble something out of Arabian Nights. There were belly dancers and magicians and multihued satin floor pillows. Jewels dripped from the tables and walls. Flowers abounded. There was a pink punch waterfall, and I'd even arranged for chocolate fondue. Soft, romantic music played in the background.

Six half-naked men were waiting outside the ballroom by a velvet lounge chair. When Linda arrived, they would place her on the lounge and carry her inside.

Kera and Mel were in their costumes, veils and barely there scarves, and were serving guests drinks and hors d'oeuvres as they meandered through the ballroom. Colin stayed by Mel's side, and neither of them could stop grinning. George Wilben stayed by Kera's, and they couldn't stop grinning.

Love was in the air.

Stomach cramp, stomach cramp.

Royce introduced me as his fiancee instead of the party planner. Everyone smiled at me and I swear to God they looked me up and down, trying to figure out what Royce saw in me, why he'd picked me. Honestly, I couldn't remember myself at the moment.

Stomach cramp, stomach cramp.

When all hundred and something guests had arrived-I'd made Royce narrow the list down-I helped them all find hiding places. Linda would arrive any moment, and this was a surprise party, after all.

"She's here," Royce said, a text message on his cell phone alerting him.

"Quiet everyone," I said.

The murmur of the crowd tapered to silence.

We dimmed the lights, letting the candles flicker and illuminate. A hush went over the crowd, and we even heard Linda giggle outside. Giggle! Royce closed in beside me and chose that moment to kiss me. I was helpless to resist him-I was always helpless to resist him. When his lips were pressed to mine, nothing else mattered but the two of us. Not the past. Not the future. Not the surge of fears that refused to leave me alone.

Gong. Gooong.

The doors were thrown and staunch, sophisticated Linda Powell was carried in by her half-naked slave boys. Royce and I laughingly pulled apart. Linda wore a conservative brown pantsuit, I saw, her silver bob perfectly in place. Her husband trailed behind her, and he was grinning ear to ear.

I watched the byplay, but Royce hadn't taken his eyes off me. "I can't wait to make you my wife tomorrow," he said tenderly.