Chapter 4
four
WEST
Fucking Vegas. It takes less time to arrange a wedding here than it does to do your weekly grocery shopping.
There’s something absolutely wrong with a place that allows two strangers – okay, so we’re not strangers but we could be – to tie themselves to each other without even seeing the light of day.
I look at the door, again, because as soon as I left Riva’s office his assistant, Jane or Joanne or something, whipped Eden away, telling her that I can’t see the wedding dress before she walks down the aisle because it’s bad luck.
I laugh even though it’s not funny. Because this whole night has been bad luck. Signing my soul to the devil in L.A., doing it again in a Las Vegas jail, and now I’m about to scrawl my name for the third time.
Which absolutely isn’t lucky.
In less than half an hour I’ll marry my best friend’s baby sister, and it’s the stupidest damn thing I’ve ever done. I’m sitting here in a fresh suit, courtesy of The Vantaggio Menswear Collection, questioning my life choices and wishing I’d never picked up Autumn’s call.
In between staring at the door, waiting for a signal that we can get this over with and get some sleep, I do some research, trying to find a way to make this ceremony not legal. Apparently crossing your fingers behind your back doesn’t work, so in the end I realize there’s only one thing we can do.
Get married and annul it in the morning.
Luckily, there’s no need for a prenup because this isn’t going to count. Eden will be Mrs. West Abbott for less than twenty-four hours and that’s it.
And now I’m thinking about her. How panicked she looked as she was led away, still clutching my jacket around her like it was a life-saving device. I stayed cool, promised her with my eyes it will all be okay, and I’m going to keep that damn promise.
I’m also never going to let Hudson know that I accidentally was his sister’s husband for a day. That way lies madness.
“We have the licence ready for you to sign,” Riva’s assistant says, walking into the room next to the waiting room next to the chapel. “The officiant is here. We’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” She takes a soft breath. “Your fiancée is beautiful,” she whispers. “So radiant.”
My stomach tightens. I can’t find any words to respond to that. I’m an asshole for putting her through this. There’s just no other way. I’ve wracked my brain and there’s nothing. I’m beyond pissed at myself for this.
“She asked if you were okay,” she says, smiling. “She’s so in love with you. It’s wonderful to see.”
Jesus, either Eden’s a great actress or Jane or Janet or whatever the hell her name is is blind. “I’m fine. Is she okay?”
“Oh, she’s perfect. Everything is. Just one question, what’s her favorite flower?”
I blink. I have absolutely no idea. My mind goes to the first flower I can think of. They grow all over Liberty, and I have some vague memory of Eden and Autumn making bouquets when they were little.
“Asters,” I say confidently. “She loves them.”
“Which colors?”
“Blue. Like her eyes.”
That pleases her to no end. She smiles widely and runs out. “We’ll be about ten minutes,” she says. “I know you don’t want to wait. But Mr. Riva wants this to be perfect.”
“It’s not a problem,” I say, even though it’s probably the biggest damn problem I’ve ever had to deal with. But Riva wants a show – or a little story for his wife – and I want to get us out of here unscathed.
Jane or Janet turns right before she closes the door. “Do you want me to give your fiancée a message?” she asks. “Before you see her?”
I clear my throat. “Just tell her I’ll take care of everything.”
Jane frowns, as though it’s not quite romantic enough.
“And that I love her,” I add quickly.
She beams and closes the door. I lean back in my chair, groaning. Because I’m tired, I’m annoyed, and most of all I’m fucked.
Once this night is over, I’m done cleaning up everybody’s messes. Especially my own.
EDEN
This is all a joke. It has to be. Any minute now my whole family is going to jump out from around a corner and yell ‘surprise’. It’s their way of showing me that I’m too impulsive and idealistic and it’s time I learned my lesson.
But there’s no sign of them as Riva’s assistant – Janice, a lovely thirty-five year old who confides that she prefers to work nights because that way she and her husband can switch off watching the kids without paying childcare – sorts through a rail of dresses at the boutique with me, ultimately choosing a white satin gown with a veil.
I’ve showered, had my hair blowed out by a stylist who couldn’t stop yawning as she curled the ends around a hot wand, and now I’m standing in front of the double doors that lead into the chapel, my stomach so tight I’m not sure I’ll ever eat again.
“You ready?” Janice asks. She’s got her phone out, recording me. I’m guessing for Riva or his wife.
I force a smile that doesn’t connect with my lips. “Can’t wait,” I say chirpily.
“Okay then. I’m opening the doors.” She murmurs something else into her lapel and music starts up.
The doors open and I blink, because the chapel isn’t full of my family yelling, Gotcha. It’s almost empty, actually. But it still looks beautiful, the aisle lined with fresh flowers. Blue asters. Like we used to grow in our backyard on Liberty when I was a kid.
“Pretty flowers,” I murmur, trying to figure out how they got so many here, when this place is practically a desert.
“Mr. Abbott said they were your favorite,” Janice whispers back.
But I don’t answer. I can’t. Because at the front of the aisle, waiting impatiently, is West. Dressed in a fresh suit, his face shaved, his expression completely impassive.
He’s devastatingly handsome. And looks so annoyed he could spit.
I know I’m going to get a lecture from him later.
About being such an idiot, not keeping my mouth shut.
Just being me, really. My eyes lock on his and he doesn’t look away.
Just swallows, long and hard, as Janice tells me to start walking.
Pachelbel’s cannon pipes out of the speakers fixed high on the walls, and I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, walking to the beat, as his gaze follows me the whole way.
My hands are shaking. This is why brides hold bouquets. Oh god, I’m a bride. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry.
As I reach the front of the chapel, West walks toward me, his eyes unblinking. He takes my hand and leans in so close I can smell the musk of his cologne, can feel the warmth of his breath.
His cheek brushes mine as he whispers. “Just say yes when you need to. Smile, say your vows and try not to mess it up.”
“You’re such a sweet talker,” I whisper back. “I’m swooning here.”
His lips twitch, but he doesn’t look amused. I guess it’s too soon for jokes. But honestly, a little ‘you look beautiful’ wouldn’t go amiss.
And really, this isn’t only my fault. He’s the one who started throwing the word ‘fiancée’ around. So I glare at him, because he might be Hudson’s friend, but he could at least have some manners.
The officiant clears her throat, and we both turn to look at her. West takes my hand in his and squeezes it.
I squeeze back. The international language of palms.
At the front, there are more asters arranged in huge urns on the altar.
The officiant gives us both a polite, disinterested smile, and flips open a leather folder.
“Welcome to the wedding of West Abbott and Eden Fitzgerald,” she says, even though the only person remotely interested is Janice, who’s walking around, recording everything with her phone held out in front of her.
I glance at West, just to see if his expression has changed. It hasn’t. If he wasn’t West, I probably would be swooning right now. He’s a handsome man. A catch. And his hand is about twice the size of mine, warm and strong as I curl my fingers around it.
But still. I’ve always been a kid in his eyes. Hudson’s little sister. I’m pretty sure he’d rather be pulling his fingernails out than doing this.
I must look panicked, because West frowns slightly, finally blinking as he mouths ‘okay?’ to me.
I nod, and I squeeze tighter still. He moves imperceptibly toward me.
The officiant asks a question I don’t quite hear. West says yes. I follow suit when she asks me. My hand starts to shake and West rubs his thumb against my wrist.
“Do you, West Abbott, take Eden Fitzgerald to be your wife? To have and to hold from this day forth as long as you both live?”
I think I’m going to be sick. West clears his throat. “I do.”
The way he says it, so sure, so clear. It makes my heart thud.
“Do you, Eden Fitzgerald, take West Abbott to be your husband. To have and to hold from this day forth for as long as you both live?” she asks me.
I inhale raggedly. This is real. My family isn’t here, it’s not a joke. I’m about to get married. On the same night I was arrested. My head starts to pound. Then West rubs his thumb along my wrist again.
Oh god, why does that feel so good?
“I do,” I manage to squeak out. West relaxes his hold on me.
Janice walks forward, holding a box with two rings. Where the hell did they come from? I glance at West. He just shrugs.
Then he slides the ring on my left finger, his own fingers and thumb closing around it for a moment, like he’s afraid it will fall off. Or maybe he’s scared I’ll yank it off.
It takes me three tries to get his ring on.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t help, just watches me through hooded eyes as I struggle to get it on his huge finger, like a kid trying to thread a needle.
When it’s finally on, I look up at him. There’s the smallest of smiles on his face. I have no idea what it means.
“By the power vested in me, by the state of Nevada,” the officiant says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
My heart kicks once. Then again. Janice claps.
“You may kiss the bride.”
Oh god. No. Why didn’t I think about this part? Janice walks around to the front, her phone trained on the two of us.