Chloe felt a headache pounding and with it, a bout of queasiness. If she had to repeat one more time that no, she was not getting married in a barn, she was going to kill someone. Lois, more precisely, since she'd been the one to suggest it again and again. And then Oliver, for not waiting until it was just the two of them to propose. Then she would find a way to resuscitate both of them so one could stand by her, and the other say "I do".

The elegant display of diamonds and green garnet on her finger stopped her from groaning. Barely. Even since Lois had caught sight of it, she'd gone mad.

Oliver had fled the scene after her fourth attempt to rein in her cousin. She didn't blame him. Lois was her cousin and next to impossible to calm down on a normal day. Clark though, she totally blamed. He knew Lois and her… enthusiasm. Unlike Oliver, he didn't need to workout every day to stay in fighting shape. He certainly didn't need to run, he could fly. Clark was a coward. That was what Clark was.

"… Of course, Smallville will have to do something about the hay. Total fire hazard that stuff. And don't get me started on the allergies. I have a permanent prescription for Claritin. What do you think of a burnt orange pallet? And—"

Chloe growled. She couldn't help it. Lois shot her a surprise look. "What? You love orange."

The sickness climbed another notch. Martha interrupted. "Lois, I need you to go to the store. The spices we have contain nutmeg."

"So?"

"So Oliver is allergic to nuts."

"Oh but—"

"I need to season the stuffing. Here, take the car keys. You know what to buy, don't you?"

"Yes, but—"

"Thank you so much, Lois, you're a treasure. Oh, while you're there, can you please buy milk? A pound of sugar, and another bag of flour… And strawberries."

"It's December." Lois replied feebly even though she scowled at the growing shopping list.

"It's California," Martha retorted. "I hope there aren't too many people."

"I… Sure. I'll pick up some bridal magazines for you, Chlo."

"Thanks, Lois," the blonde replied feebly. All she could do at the moment was stay upright in her seat.

The front door closed less than two minutes later. Chloe dropped her head on her arm on the table. "Thank God…"

Martha smiled. "Well, you have at least two hours until she comes back. Do you need to lie down? Or did the nausea pass?"

"I'm all ri— You know."

Chloe stared at the older woman in bewilderment. Martha flipped the cap of the spice container open. "Oliver is watching you like a hawk and you chose tea over coffee… Are you happy?"

Her eyes burned, even more so when they fell on her left ring finger. "Yes. I'm very happy."

"I'm glad to hear that." Oliver stepped through the patio door, whipping his brow with his sleeve. His tee-shirt rose over his taut stomach. Chloe licked her lips then flushed brick-red when he winked. "Where's Bridezilla?"

"Grocery emergency."

"Oh what do you need, I can—"

"Mrs. K the nutmeg!" Chloe jumped off her chair. Martha continued to mix the spice with the bread and milk. Oliver caught her when she almost lost her balance.

"Easy there. You're pale, what's wrong?"

"The spices, your allergies…"

"I can have nutmeg. It's a seed, not a nut." He pecked her surprised lips. "I need a shower. Be right back."

Chloe slumped down on her seat and glowered at Martha. "You knew that."

The older shrugged with a knowing smile.

"I am not taking the blame when Lois comes back."

"What blame? We didn't know. Oliver set us right."

"Set what right? Oh, nice, gingerbread cookies, I love those…"

"Keep your sticky fingers to yourself, Clark Kent. And wash your hands. I need you to clean the turkey and stuff it."

"Ow, Mom…"

Chloe decided to exit the kitchen before he turned his best puppy look on her. She refused to go anywhere near that bird until it was cooked and ready to eat.

The bed was incredibly inviting so she curled on her side and closed her eyes. She never felt the mattress bent under Oliver's weight.

"Tired?" She nodded into the pillow at the swift caress on her hair.

"Hum… Lois's exhausting."

"I noticed."

Chloe crawled until she could rest her cheek against his chest. "You left…"

Oliver's fingers threaded in her hair gently massaging her scalp. She sighed in pleasure. "I am very sorry?"

"You should… It's your wedding too."

He smelled like soap and mint.

"All I want is you. I'll marry you barefoot on the beach tomorrow if that's what you want."

"No sand… I want flowers."

Oliver looped his arms around her. She nestled there. She felt safe in his arms. Always safe.

"We could…" Oliver trailed off. Chloe stopped nuzzling his shoulder to look at his handsome face. He angled his head so she resumed her burrowing in his embrace. "We could use my parents' mansion. The garden is beautiful and it blooms as early as February. And there's enough room in the house for a few guests as well."

"Lois, Clark and Martha. Tess and Hal." Images of the splendid hydrangeas and the flowering dogwood trees floated in her mind.

"Barbara and Carter. Maybe Emil."

"Lex?"

"And Ariane. You'll like her. She's the total opposition of Tess and your cousin."

"I like that plan…"

Oliver entwined their fingers before he pressed a light kiss on her knuckles and placed them above his heart. "Me too."

She closed her eyes, her body finally relaxing.

Chloe shot upright. "Oh God."

"What?"

"Lois and Tess are going to meet…"

Oliver's around her waist squeezed too hard for a millisecond. "It's not too late to elope to Vegas, you know."

He released his grip and Chloe settled back down on with another yawn. "I'll keep that in mind if Hurricane Lois hit again."

"I'll talk to her."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. Giving her permission doesn't mean she can ball over and upset you."

Chloe lifted her head from its nest in the crook of his shoulder. "You asked Lois' permission?"

Oliver blushed a little. "She's your family… I wanted to do it right."

Chloe stretched to give him a lingering kiss. "You're something else, Oliver Queen."

"Where do you think you're going?"

Oliver planted himself between Lois and the master bedroom door."

"Giving those to Chloe."

He glared at a handful of bridal magazines that came way to close to slap his nose.

"Chloe's sleeping."

"Then I—" Oliver grabbed the magazines. "Hey!"

"Keep your voice down. You are not waking her up for that garbage, do I make myself clear?"

The glower he got in return was deadly. He met it square on.

"What part of rest don't you understand? She nearly died last week and the baby is taking a toll on her. So either you back down or—"

"Baby? Chloe's pregnant? You bastard!"

He blocked her fist one inch from his jaw. "That's why you proposed you jerk! She thinks you love her but you only feel cornered so you popped the question. You're just go through the motions to avoid another scandal so soon after your Lena's debacle. When was that one again, oh yeah, four months ago. You can go to Hell and your billions with you! My cousin is not for sale!"

Oliver took one menacing step forward. He had never hit a woman before but he was this close. "I don't care if you're the only last blood relative she can talk to, I will protect her from you too, if I have to. I'm marrying Chloe because I love her. She's brilliant, she's strong, she's beautiful, and she wants me. She's not my better half, she's everything."

"Lois."

Martha's peacemaker tone cut through some of the tension in the room. The brunette shook her head. "You better not screw this up, Queen. Or the Blur will be the last of your problems."

"I'll hold you to that."

Lois clamped her mouth shut. She squared her shoulders and marched out in a somewhat dignified exit. Oliver exhaled slowly to try and calm down. It took him a full minute before he could turn and smiled at his other guest.

"My apologies, Mrs. Kent. This was a poor display of manners."

The older woman smiled. "Actually, I think you handled it very well."

"I agree."

Oliver started to turn, his temper ebbing as soon as Chloe's arms wrapped around his midsection from behind. She stood on tiptoes to land a kiss on the nape of his neck. He covered her hands with his.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"You guys were kind of loud."

"Sorry."

He wanted to wring Lois' neck all over again.

"It's not your fault. Lois never knew when to quit. It's what makes her a good investigation reporter but…"

Oliver's heart plunged when she left her sentence unfinished. He hated that Lois had pinpointed the exact thing the tabloids across the country was going to exploit. He trusted Barbara to work her magic with the press. But what could she do if the lies took roots? He was walking a path he'd never taken before. What if he made the wrong choices? What if he hurt Chloe? And their child? Every time he had something worth fighting for, he managed to find a way to ruin it.

Chloe must have seen his face darken. Her expressive eyes softened. She pushed him until he sat on the edge of the table, so she didn't have to crane her head back to stare into his eyes. "But sometimes… Sometimes even the best reporter misses the most important clues and they have the whole picture wrong."

Oliver looked at her from under his lashes, as hope unfurled tender leaves and its bloom washed away the darkness. She believed him.

Chloe reacted to his kicked-puppy look like she always did. With an exasperated/fond roll of the eye, and a kiss. Oliver pulled her closer between his legs to deepen it.

A light cough stopped him short.

"Right. So… Hum… Put us to work, Mrs. Kent?"

It turned out the sheepish, patented Oliver Queen smile worked on future surrogate mothers-in-law, too.

"Here."

Oliver looked up from the cutlery he was arranging on the table to the glass in Lois' hand.

"What's that? Poison?"

"Eggnog."

"Spiked?"

"Is there any other way to drink beaten raw eggs and cream?"

Oliver took the peace offering with a grin. "This might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Miss Lane."

They toasted. The caramel and butterscotch hit his tongue with the characteristic splash of orange of the Courvoisier VS Cognac he'd offered Hal for his birthday. He wished Chloe could drink. She would appreciate the rich taste. As it was, she couldn't have eggnog at all, alcoholic or not.

"I shouldn't have said that earlier."

Oliver sighed. A part of him wanted to brush it off, accept the apology and move on. He owed it to Chloe not to.

"No, you shouldn't have. The tabloids will drag us down through the mud. I'd appreciate if our family didn't align with the vultures."

Lois' hazel eyes widened at his bluntness. Unless it was him calling her family. Oliver took another sip. She nodded.

"I used to work for the Inquisitor. I know how they think. You have to pull the carpet from under their feet first."

Barbara said the same thing often enough.

"My PR advisor is working on it."

Oliver sampled more eggnog. Carter had almost swallowed his tongue when they'd called to give them the news. He wished he could have seen his face. He still needed to call Hal.

"I can help with that."

Oliver returned his attention to the conversation at hand. He opened his mouth to ask how she could do that then he saw it. "You want to write our story."

"Chloe cannot do it herself, she is the story. But I can. Plus, I'm her cousin. If her own cousin doesn't point out the obvious, Chloe Sullivan will stay dead. The resemblance will stay fortuitous. An incredible coincidence, nothing more."

"Or people will suspect you lie to protect her."

"I'm not exactly known for my ability to keep my mouth shut," Lois said without qualms.

Oliver rubbed his jaw with the heel of his hand. They hadn't thought of that. They'd discussed her adopting his last name, about using Chloe as a name she "preferred" over Dorothy—the yellow brick road jokes grow old, you know—but Lois' suggestion was so simple… She would hide in plain sight.

"I have to talk to my advisor, and to Chloe about it."

He already knew what Barbara was going to say. The interview would also explain why Oliver Queen had Lois, Clark and Martha fly from Kansas. What Billionaires wanted, Billionaires got, even on Christmas.

Oliver polished his glass.

"You owe an apology to Chloe, too."

"She said I was out of line and I had lost my Maid of Honor privileges for the rest of the week. I am forbidden to discuss anything pertaining to the wedding until after New Year's Eve."

Go Chlo!

"Thank God."

"Hey!"

"How about more eggnog?"

"Lead the way, Golden Boy…"