Queen of hearts seven br.., p.26
Queen of Hearts (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 7),
p.26
Will Sophie find her happy ending at last? Or will she be disappointed once again by a royal-chasing ne’re-do-well?
Find out in the final installment of Dineen’s bestselling and deliciously romantic Seven Brides for Seven Mothers series.
Pre-order now!
Available Now: Relatively Normal
While you’re waiting for At Last to come out, check out Whitney’s bestselling and award-winning Relatively Normal.
First Place, Top Shelf Book Awards
Award Winner at the 2019 International Readers Favorite Awards
“I laughed, I cried, and I laughed some more—this is one you don’t want to miss!” -Loretta Nyhan, bestselling author of Digging In
“The perfect blend of laugh-out-loud humor and sweet sexiness!” - Amazon Reader
Catriona Masterton’s fiancé, Ethan, is Normal.
He plans trips six months in advance and arrives at the airport a minimum of three hours early. He purchases life insurance, luggage insurance, and always opts for the extended warranty. He’s responsible, reliable, and would make any woman a wonderful life partner.
In other words, he’s the exact opposite of the Masterton clan.
Cat’s mother has a kitchen gadget fetish, a father whose best friends are taxidermied field mice, and a super stoner man-child brother who lives—where else?—in the basement. Then there’s Nan, her proud Scottish grandmother with a proclivity for profanity and mischief.
What on earth will Catriona’s Normal fiancé think when he comes home with her to meet her parents? What will he think when he discovers his soon-to-be in-laws invited Cat’s ex to join them for a holiday dinner?
Find out in a laugh-out-loud journey of self-discovery, familial pandemonium, and love. A must read for fans of a true romantic comedy.
Continue for an excerpt, then grab your copy today.
In the Light of a New Day
Traveling is stressful. Meeting new people who will soon be related to you by marriage is stressful. My certifiable family is stressful. Given last night’s traumas, when I wake-up I decide to cut Ethan some slack and start the day fresh. After all, it’s on me that I didn’t do more to prepare him for what to expect. I peek over my covers at him and see him lying perfectly still on his twin bed like a soldier lined up for inspection.
I creep across the room, pull the covers back and crawl in next to him. He unconsciously makes room for me, as he’s been doing since I moved in with him a year ago. When I playfully run my foot up and down his leg, he groans in his sleep and turns toward me. But before anything can come of it, his eyes pop open and he declares, “Catriona!”
I smile coyly. “Yes, Ethan?”
Shimmying as far as he can toward the wall, he replies, “We can’t do this in your parents’ house.”
“Why not?”
“W-w-w-well . . .” he stammers, “it wouldn’t be appropriate.”
I make a “psh” sound and respond, “We’ve shared a one- bedroom apartment for a full year and we’re engaged to be married. I’m guessing my parents know the score.”
He shakes his head and pushes me away. “I wouldn’t be comfortable.”
So much for reconnecting. But at least we’re talking to each other. “Ethan, I told you my family was different. Now that we’re here, you’re going to see that for yourself. Please try to remember you’re marrying me, not them.”
The memory of the night before seems to rush in all at once and smack him in the head like a low flying bird of prey. He recoils. “Please tell me you don’t actually enjoy that nut game.” “Obviously not,” I laugh. “As you’ve never seen me perform the shuck and chuck before, you can be comforted in knowing it’s not a tradition I plan on keeping alive.”
“Thank God.” He sighs audibly, crinkling his nose at the memory.
“But you should also know my parents do things differently”— which is an understatement of epic proportion— “and I’m not going to tell them how to act in their own home.” I hope he understands this means he can’t control them either and shouldn’t bother trying. God knows it’s a losing battle.
Ethan doesn’t bother acknowledging my warning, he just throws the covers off, and we get up and make the bed. The fact that he’s whistling under his breath while he does so, tips me off that he’s no longer holding a grudge about yesterday and is back to his old self.
“Come on, let me show you the bathroom. There are a few things you should know about our old plumbing.” The look on his face is priceless while I impart, “Let the water run for thirty seconds, so any rust in the pipes can clear out, and never flush the toilet without yelling out ‘FLUSH!’ first.”
“Why in the world would I have to yell flush?” He looks like he’s about to be sick.
“To alert the household you’re about to flush the toilet,” I answer. Lest he think this is another wacky kind of game my family plays for kicks, I explain, “When a toilet is flushed anywhere in the house, scalding hot water pours out of any faucet that happens to be turned on at the time.”
Shaking his head, he responds, “That can’t be safe. Your parents need to have their pipes fixed.”
“What they need is brand new plumbing, but that’s costly. In the meantime, this method works just fine.”
“Catriona,” my fiancé begins, “I cannot announce to the whole house when I’ve just, you know, used the facilities.”
Now seems the appropriate time to warn him that my dad jumped on the whole low-flow toilet craze a few years back, and that sometimes, depending on what’s left in the toilet, it needs to be flushed multiple times. But I can’t bring myself to share that news quite yet. Instead, I shoo him out the door, relieve my bladder and show him how it’s done.
“FLUSH!”
Yes, It’s Edible
I walk into the kitchen and hear my mom tell our guests, “Nan is from Scotland. Her family immigrated to the US when she was only three.” While, she doesn’t have any trace of a brogue or anything, my grandmother’s pride in her roots is fierce. She connects to her ancestry as often as possible, normally through cooking and dance. My mother was raised accordingly.
Mom scurries around the kitchen preparing her standard show-off breakfast, which she only does when she’s trying to impress. By the looks of it, she’s intent on making a good impression on my future in-laws.
Jason appears to have put last night’s awkward introduction behind him and announces, “Everything smells so delicious, I can’t wait to dig in.”
Natalie follows suit, “I’m positively famished.” I bet she’s wishing she had a few of those pistachio nuts last night after all. The first thing my mom puts on the table is a plate of shortbread. I look closely and realize she’s purchased a new mold.
Ethan reaches out to take one and asks, “Is that ET stamped on your cookies?”
Mom, or Maggie, or Mags as her friends call her, beams with pride. “It is! I’ve never seen a shortbread pan quite like it. I came upon it on eBay one day and I just had to add it to my collection.” Then she confides, “I paid fifty dollars for it, if you can believe it.” Which obviously, Ethan can’t.
Natalie finishes up a bite in her mouth and declares, “That’s the best shortbread I’ve ever eaten. What’s your secret?”
I challenge my mother with my eyes that she is not to share her secret. She’s positively chomping at the bit to do it, though. I shake my head in her direction. There are somethings better left a mystery; one of those things is pig lard.
Her mouth forms a half grimace, half smile as she answers, “Alas, I’ve vowed to never divulge it.” Then with a twinkle in her eye, she adds, “But if you figure it out on your own, I promise to confirm your suspicions if they prove correct.”
I exhale in relief. My family is not capable of duplicity as a rule, but this one is truly best kept under lock and key. She pulls her Scotch eggs out of the oven and puts them on the table, before retrieving another pan.
“Is that a loaf of rye bread?” Ethan’s mom claps her hands and asks in delight.
I answer for my mom, “No, Natalie, that’s a traditional Scottish meat dish.” I know I should tell them more, but I’m hoping they’ll just eat it without ever needing to know its name.
Jason’s eyes brighten as he inhales mightily. “It smells wonderful. I can’t wait to try it.”
“Serve yourselves while the food is hot.” My mom instructs. “The rest of the family ate earlier.” I’m guessing that’s probably true. She most likely fed them cold cereal before hiding them away. My parents are aware they’re different. They know I’ve kept Ethan from meeting them because I don’t know how to explain them. I’m not proud of that and I never wanted to hurt their feelings, but honestly, it’s like they’re from another planet. A planet where normal, well- thought-out behavior is not tolerated.
My mom cuts into the meat and scoops it on to everyone’s plate for them. She announces, “We only serve this on special occasions.”
Jason digs in, excitedly. He eats with gusto and praises, “My word, this is something special. My mom basks in his approval. Ethan also seems to be enjoying himself, so I make my excuses and head downstairs to check on Nan. I haven’t seen her in months, and I want a few private moments alone with her to find out how she’s doing.
As I descend the stairs, my nostrils are assailed by the skunky stench any high school student would recognize—marijuana. When I reach the bottom of the staircase, I look across the finished basement and discover Travis and Nan sitting on a sofa sparking up a doobie.
I cross over to them concerned. “Nan, tell me you’re not letting my idiot brother corrupt you.”
Travis rolls his eyes. “Dude, chill out. They’ve done some great research that shows pot reduces the symptoms of Tourette syndrome.”
I smack the back of his head. “Travis, Nan doesn’t have Tourette’s. She has damage from strokes which apparently crossed a couple wires in her brain.”
My brother blows a plume of smoke in my direction. “Neurological is neurological. If it helps with one, it’ll probably help with the other.”
I look around at the complete disarray of his living space—piles of clothes scattered about higgledy-piggledy, a garbage can overflowing with beer bottles, and dirty plates strewn about like the fraternity in Animal House. I sarcastically snap, “I’m sorry, all this time I thought you were sucking off our parents like a parasitic tick, but you’ve been going to medical school the whole time.”
Nan exhales a cloud of MaryJane and yells, “Whore!” At my shocked expression, she clarifies, “Not you, dear. I was just thinking about that Dorcas Abernathy.”
Nan regularly comments on thoughts running through her head that seem entirely random to anyone she’s with. Also, Gramps dated Dorcas in high school and asked her to marry him at graduation. Dorcas declined his offer and Nan has never gotten over being his second choice. Hence, Mrs. Abernathy is at the heart of a lot of my grandmother’s complaints.
“Is the pot helping any, Nan?” I ask. I mean, heck, if it is, it’s probably better to have a stoned grandmother than one who talks like sailor on shore leave.
Nan smiles as she inhales and holds the smoke in her lungs to work its magic before blowing it out and answering, “I would say it takes away about half of my outbursts. So, that’s pretty good, right?”
“That is good,” I reply. And if my brother weren’t such a cretin, I’d probably apologize to him for doubting his mad skills in prescribing help for our grandmother. Just as I’m about to suggest Nan come upstairs and properly meet my future husband, I hear the afore mentioned yell out, “OH, MY GOD! Why didn’t you tell me it was haggis?!”
And while ground sheep’s innards are not for everyone, they truly are edible.
Relatively Normal is available NOW
About the Author
USA Today Bestseller Whitney Dineen is a rock star in her own head. While delusional about her singing abilities, there’s been a plethora of validation that she’s a fairly decent author (AMAZING!!!).
After winning many writing awards and selling nearly a kabillion books (math may not be her forte, either), she’s decided to let the voices in her head say whatever they want (sorry, Mom). She also won a fourth-place ribbon in a fifth-grade swim meet in backstroke. So, there’s that.
Whitney loves to play with her kids (a.k.a. dazzle them with her amazing flossing abilities), bake stuff, eat stuff, and write books for people who “get” her. She thinks french fries are the perfect food and Mrs. Roper is her spirit animal.
Join her newsletter for news of her latest releases, sales, and recommendations. If you consider yourself a superfan, join her private reader group, where you will be offered the chance to read her books before they’re released.
Whitney Dineen, Queen of Hearts (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 7)
