“Spikester, you’re sure about this? It isn’t too late for me to put a bag over my head. Cover me up in burlap; Mama won’t know what lies beneath this burgundy Calvin Klein suit.”

“Just act normal, mate,” Spike replied, speaking softly. “She wants to take part in this. Try not to scare her.”

“I may be green-skinned, but that doesn’t automatically make me a monster. Did you try explaining to her that I’m just your regular-old, karaoke-singing empath demon?”

“We try not to use words like ‘demon’ around Mrs. Pratt,” Buffy whispered from where she stood next to Spike.

“Now, there’s our blushing bride-to-be,” Lorne said, touching Buffy’s shoulders as he air-kissed her cheeks. “You’re in good hands, blondie. I know you just left Vegas, but I’m here to give you Vegas back. Say the word, and we’ll reconstruct the entire Little White Wedding Chapel in Wolfram and Hart’s ballroom.”

“I…” Buffy trailed off, staring at him blankly.

“But if that isn’t your style, we’ll do something else.” Forcing a laugh, Lorne pushed a heavy tote bag toward Spike. “Hold this for me, will ya? I have color palette samples, menus galore, and every bridal magazine I could find within a five-mile radius. We’ll have your dream wedding planned out in no time. Which is a good thing because we only have twenty-four hours and counting—did anyone else just feel a spike in their blood pressure?”

“Yes, but probably not for the same reason,” Buffy mumbled.

“Lorne, how much coffee have you downed this morning? Simmer, man. We’ve given my mum the best pep talk we can manage, but she’s still fragile. Take it down a notch. And before we start with the wedding planning, we need to speak about my mother’s clothes.”

Lorne peeked over Spike’s shoulder to where Anne was sitting in the living room and he grimaced. “Yes, I see that we do. What exactly is she wearing?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” Buffy answered. “A dress, a hospital gown and a lab coat.”

“And no one else finds that just a tad kooky?”

“She needs clothes for today, tomorrow, and probably the next day. Not to mention her special party dress. She wrote down her measurements. She needs dresses. Modest dresses, underwear, nightclothes; you get the picture.”

“We wanted to take Anne out, but—well, you see her,” Buffy explained. “She isn’t ready for the mean streets of LA.”

“Leave it to me,” Lorne said, his red eyes dazzling. “Heck, I’ll do all the shopping. I’ve got Angel’s company card. I can get the decorations, your gown, the rings--.”

“Wait, I’d like to get my dress,” Buffy interrupted. “That’s something I want—I need to pick out my own dress. And I want me and Spike to chose our rings. But everything else? It’s fair game as far as I’m concerned. Spike, what about you?”

“It’s fine by me.”

“That’s music to my ears,” Lorne said. “Let’s get started.”
***

Buffy sat on the couch with her legs tucked under her. Sandwiched between her and Spike was his mother. Dawn was sitting in front of Mrs. Pratt on the carpet. As a group, they watched as Lorne paced the length of the living room.

“First thing’s first: location. Do you want to stay in this building? Is a nighttime ceremony a given? The sun-proof windows here open up a lot of opportunities. You could say, “I do” at noon in sparkling daylight. What about a rooftop wedding?”

“Rooftop?” Buffy repeated, instantly interested. “Is it, like, enclosed? If Spike’ll be safe… I like the idea of a ceremony at sunset or dusk. The reception could go into the night, and I know the city lights from thirty-stories high would be to die for.”

“You trying to make this easy for us, Slayer?” Spike asked. He leaned forward to smirk at her from across the couch.

“You told you; you won’t find any bridezillas here. No, sir. I have enough drama in my everyday life; I want my wedding to be a breeze. Just call me, Miss Agreeable.”

“Well, Miss Agreeable, how about we clear out the rooftop greenhouse for the ceremony?” Lorne continued. “I can have the Spells and Incantations Department remove all their poisonous and oozy plants. We can get white folding chairs and some accent lighting—have you thought about your wedding’s colors?”

“I’m partial to red and black.”

“William, you can’t be serious,” Mrs. Pratt spoke up. “Black is the color of mourning and other unpleasantries. Using such a gloomy color for a wedding? It simply isn’t done.”

“It is, actually, and it can be quite chic, if used correctly,” Lorne began, but a glare from Spike stopped him. “But let’s keep the colors more…perky?”

“The Slayer likes hot pink. Pink and gold remind me of her. Not bubblegum, but something deeper, richer. Like a coral or peach or something.”

“And what do you think, Buffy?” Lorne asked, leaning against the recliner.

“I wish I had my crayon box with me right about now,” she responded with a little laugh. “I would like to see brighter colors. And I do like pink, and maybe blue? Spike’s eyes are an amazing shade of blue.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Pratt agreed. “I’d say they are cerulean in hue, however they change with the lighting he’s under. I’ve noticed they’ve become more remarkable since I’ve come to this place.”

“Pink and blue? Okay, there’s my first challenge: how to make this soiree not look like a baby shower.” Lorne said the words quickly and under his breath. “What about flowers? We’ll fill the greenhouse, but now we’re talking bouquets, the groom’s boutonniere, the mother’s corsage, a headdress for the flower girl--.”

“Flower girl? Does he mean me?” Dawn asked, looking Buffy. “I want to be the maid of honor or at least a bridesmaid. Come on, I’m not twelve anymore.”

“No one said you have to be a flower girl, Dawn.”

“Oh, okay. Good. But…but I can still have a flower headdress, right?”

“Sure, why not? Heck, I don’t know anything about flowers, you guys,” Buffy admitted. “I mean, I like them, I think all girls do, but I’ve rarely received them. Aren’t there like millions to choose from? I won’t know where to begin. I don’t have a favorite flower. I don’t even have a top five.”

“You know, pet, Mum’s expertise could come in handy here. Her tussie mussies were treasured throughout London. She’d gift people tiny bouquets wrapped in a hanky. Every flower held some meaning. Maybe, if she’s willing to work with Lorne, she could put together some samples for you to choose from? I hope you’ll consider it, Mother. It’d give you something to do when we’re out and about and tending to Angel.”

“And it’s not like you’ll be alone with him,” Dawn added. “I’ll be with you. I’ve been trained by both Buffy and Spike, if he tries something, I’ll just kick his funny green butt.”

“Isn’t that heartwarming?” Lorne remarked, looking uncomfortable. “Mrs., um, Mother of Spike--.”

“You may call me Mrs. Pratt, young man.”

“I’m not as bad as I look, honest. We have a common goal here, right? We want to give these crazy kids the best shotgun wedding that Angel’s money can buy.”

“Lorne.”

“Okay, forget the shotgun part,” he said, shrugging off Spike’s warning. “Let’s forget about weapons, butt-kicking and skin color in general. I need all the extra hands I can get, and I could really use your help, Mrs. Pratt. What do you say?”

Their eyes met, but this time, Anne didn’t look away. “I will do it,” she said with a single determined nod. “I will offer my guidance. I will do it for my family.”

“Mrs. Pratt, that’s great news,” Buffy said warmly.

“I’d like clarification on some things though, what is a rooftop wedding exactly? And it will take place as the sun sets? Why, I’ve never heard of a ceremony taking place past three o’clock! How will the ceremony take place in a greenhouse?”

“Mum, surely you remember hothouses?”

“Yes, but do they hold church services among the flowers in the future? Where will the clergyman stand?”

“It won’t be a traditional religious ceremony, per say,” Spike began carefully. “But we’ll have the greenhouse mimic a church, just, we’ll go easy on the crosses and such. I know couples usually wed in church or at home in England, but we’ll make do with what we have.”

“It already sounds beautiful,” Buffy said, smiling at Mrs. Pratt. “I can’t wait to see what you and Lorne come up with.”

“It’s gonna be awesome, I can feel it,” Dawn added. She crawled over to the tote bag Spike had dropped by the coffee table and pulled out a magazine. She flipped through it as she spoke. “Instead of having a wedding planner, you’re getting an entire wedding team. Lorne will make things flashy, Mrs. Pratt will keep things traditional, and I’ll oversee so everything is still hip and trendy. Boy, this’ll be fun!”

“I bet,” Spike laughed. “Just remember to have Buffy’s okay on everything, alright? In the end, it’s all about her. This is Buffy’s special day.”

“William, will you really have no opinion?” Anne asked.

“If Buffy likes it, I’ll like it.”

“And you all thought I was easy to please,” Buffy snickered.

“All I ask is that the Slayer and I look over this greenhouse before you get carried away. I’ve never seen it, and if it really holds poisonous oozy plants—whatever the hell those may be—we might need hazmat up there before we can throw our party for all we know. It’s best to be safe rather than sorry.”

Spike stood and he motioned for Buffy to do the same. “We’ll check it out before we see Angel and we’ll report back.”

“What? You’re leaving already?” Lorne followed them to the door. “I still have a million questions! What about food? Are we providing a meal? We haven’t discussed the cake! Cake flavors, icing types, designs, colors, wedding toppers!”

“Buffy likes chocolate.”

“Yes, she does,” Buffy confirmed with a grin.

Spike hooked their arms together, hurrying her through the door. “Mrs. Pratt, Dawn—I gotta go!” she called out with a laugh. “Text me with questions, okay?!”
***

“That wasn’t very nice,” Buffy said, still arm-in-arm with Spike as they entered the elevator a second later. “Did your ADD kick in, honey?”

“All that bloody fussing,” Spike grumbled as he pushed the button for the elevator’s highest floor. “I couldn’t take anymore.”

“That’s how you plan a wedding though. You fuss and nitpick over every teeny tiny detail--.”

“It’s insufferable.”

“I thought it was exciting,” Buffy shrugged.

“Did you really?” He turned to face her. “You enjoyed all that prattling?”

She nodded, a close-lipped smile on her face. “It’s overwhelming, but in a good way. It’s another girl thing, I think.”

“I see, so you were one of those types…” Trailing off, he moved in front of her. He smiled and played with a strand of her hair. “Let me guess, bitty Buffy imagined herself in a big fluffy ball gown, doing a victory lap in her pumpkin carriage after joining the one and only Captain Forehead in heavenly matrimony?”

“That was the dream once, but it’s changed. Captain Forehead morphed into his devilishly handsome enemy Captain Peroxide and I outgrew the princess motif.”

“Sounds like an upgrade if you ask me.”

“I agree. It is better. Much better,” she said as Spike leaned in to brush their lips together again and again. His kisses were so light, each one felt like a separate tease. “I think we’re a better fit. You…fit me.”

When the elevator paused, its doors opened and closed. They didn’t look up or away from each other until they heard someone clear their throat.

“What do you want?” Spike asked with a heavy sigh. “Come on, speak up.”

“Are you on your way to see Angel?”

“Not at this very moment. We’re going to the roof.”

“The roof?” Wesley repeated. “Whatever for?”

“It’ll more than likely be the spot for our wedding if you must know.”

“Oh, I see.” Wesley said nothing for a second then he cleared his throat again. “Perhaps I could convince you to make a brief detour before you reach the roof? As thrilling as the roof may be--.”

“What is it, Wesley?” Buffy asked, taking a step away from Spike’s arms.

“What has Angel done now?” Spike added.

“It’s what he isn’t doing that I’m afraid of.”

“We know he missed a meeting, but can’t he have a sick day or take personal leave?” Buffy wondered out loud.

“Wolfram and Hart’s shareholders can be very…strict, if not demanding. I will beg you if that’s what’ll take for you to help get him out of that bloody room.”

Buffy looked at Spike briefly then she shrugged at Wesley. “What if he won’t see me?”

“If you could try—sooner rather than later—I’d ask no more of you.”

“Guess that isn’t a deal to pass up,” Spike remarked. “Silly us, for thinking we could put off Mr. High-and-Mighty for an hour or two for our own business. But you should do a favor for us as well. Can you look into the greenhouse that’s on the roof? Do you think it’d be safe enough to have people in there?”

“I don’t see why it’d be a problem. If the flesh-eating plants are moved out, of course it’d be safe.”

“Flesh-eating? Like the flesh of people? You’re joking, right? Spike, is he joking?”

“I don’t believe Percy’s capable of cracking a proper joke… We need that place cleared out, mate. Preferably before Lorne leads his flock of tasty sacrificial lambs up there, alright?”

“I’ll have a team sent up at once,” Wesley said with a serious nod.

“And when this team is up there, they’ll help with whatever else is needed, right? My mum and her sister can only do so much.”

“As long as you’ll hold up your end of the bargain, yes.”

“Okay,” Buffy replied, taking Spike’s hand. “We’ll do it. Right now. Or at least we’ll give it a try.”
***





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