(THIRD BOOK in the Golden Girl Series)
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"Till death do you part?" The priest finishes off with.
"I do," I answer - knowing how ready I am to die with this man.
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You've been on Amber Marigold's journey since she arrived at Tygerwell. Now join...
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A/N: Y'all I was kind of missing Daniel.
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If ye mess up the food for tomorrow, we'll be serving deep-fried balls. Courtesy of whatever's between yer legs.
Nessa's words have been haunting me all day. I've already come up with a selected course for the wedding and with the assistance from Paul and Pollock, Amber couldn't foil my plans with her problematic appetite. Now it was just a case of precooking what could be precooked and going over the menu with the kitchen staff. They'll be cooking for tomorrow, but Nessa still insists that the weight should be on my shoulders. Al l because I once tasted her cooking and said that even I could cook better. Over the years she's run with it and I've had to upgrade my cooking from 2-minute noodles on toast to dishes with names I can't pronounce.
"That Bagpipes will be the death of me," I mumble under my breath just as I finish up in the kitchen.
It's only eight 0' clock but Nessa has gotten everyone in bed to get their beauty rest. Everyone except me because there's apparently no cure for my distorted face. That woman.
Too nervous for tomorrow to sleep, I walk to the front door, open it and stand next to the two guards stationed there.
"Hello Hotchkiss, Browning," I greet the two gang members.
"Hey Daniel," Hotchkiss greets back with a wide grin. Even with a broken nose, the kid always looks happy to see his superiors.
"You want a smoke, Landsford?" Browning offers - taking a pack of cheap cigarettes out of his worn coat pocket.
I stopped smoking a while ago. Nessa would hang me by my innards if she found out. But, I guess we all might end up dead tomorrow in any way if the plan doesn't work out. "Sure, why not?" I reply and take the cigarette from him. Browning lights his own smoke before handing the lighter to me.
"Hey, don't be stingy!" Hotchkiss complains to Browning.
"You're too young," Browning says in deadpan as he takes a drag and blows the smoke in Hotchkiss' face.
"No fair! I'm twenty-three! Just like Daniel!" Hotchkiss protests.
"Yeah but you're short and you have a babyface. I don't feel comfortable giving a cigarette to a kid," Browning says simply. He's not lying. Hotchkiss has light blond hair and pouty lips that make him look like he could be on a diaper ad. It doesn't help that he only reaches my shoulder.
