Chapter 3
chapter
three
Wren
Today is my wedding day.
My second wedding day, yet somehow this one feels more real than the big church ceremony felt. I stare up at the lit neon sign hanging above the double wooden doors leading into the chapel. Little Chapel of Love blinks back at me in pink and blue.
Tucked just off the Strip, the little white church looks like something from a vintage postcard. It’s a small, white clapboard building with a pitched pink roof and candy-striped awnings.
An instrumental love song drifts from hidden outdoor speakers, cheerful and slightly tinny. It’s definitely trying to give off romantic vibes, though the horns and traffic noises from the Strip still hang in the air.
I smooth a hand down my skirt for probably the fiftieth time. This is definitely not like the dress I wore to my first wedding. That one had been picked out by my then- future mother-in-law. I’d foolishly thought she was helping because she knew I didn’t have a mother to go through all the wedding planning with me.
The signs were there from the beginning, but it took me a while longer to see the level of curation that was going on from the sidelines. So no floor-length white gown today. Nope, I’m wearing a sassy red knee-length dress that hugs my curves and then flares at the waist to a fun and frilly skirt. I’ve paired it with black flats because no one wants to walk in the Vegas heat in stilettos.
Liam texted me he was on the way and that he had my bouquet with him, as well as the rings. My heart feels like a horde of tap dancers has moved into my chest and is rehearsing nonstop. I try some more deep breathing, but I end up holding my breath.
Why am I so nervous?
“Hey Songbird.”
Liam’s voice comes from behind me, and I steel myself before I turn to face him. When I am finally face-to-face with him, I realize immediately that I am not prepared. Not even a little bit.
High school Liam was hot.
Army Liam was even hotter.
This man standing in front of me is like a whole new person. He’s dressed in a suit that must be bespoke, with the way it molds to his broad shoulders and thick thighs. His brown hair frames his face in effortless waves.
He smiles and pulls me into an embrace. He’s like a solid wall of muscle pressed against me, his strong arms wrapped around my body. And he smells like sin. That’s the only thing I can think of. It’s earthy and decadent, and I want to bury my face in the crook of his neck.
He steps back, but grabs one of my hands. His dark brown eyes trail over my frame. Heat follows in the wake of his perusal, and it’s definitely from more than the Vegas temperature.
“You look gorgeous, Wren.” His swallow is visible as his Adam’s apple bobs. Then he holds out the bouquet of all white flowers to me. White roses, daisies, calla lilies, and baby’s-breath mixed together with only the smallest amount of greenery.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“My bride deserves pretty flowers,” he says.
His bride . I am so in over my head with this man.
“You ready to do this?” he asks.
“Absolutely,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. But I will do anything for Keller.
Liam leads me into the chapel and there’s a small narthex outside of the main chapel area. There’s a glass case with tiaras and rings and other things for sale. Liam walks straight the counter and speaks to the older woman standing there.
“Gregory wedding,” he says.
Gregory. Wren Gregory. God, how many times did I doodle that on my school notebooks? Too many times to count. It’s kind of a miracle he never caught me.
The artificial scent of vanilla permeates the air and I can see through the door into the small chapel area that there are candles lit.
“Yes, Mr. Gregory. They’re ready for you now,” the woman says. “Of course you have plenty of time since you reserved the chapel for the entire hour.” She looks down at her clipboard, then walks around the counter. “I’ll just give you two a moment. Step in through those doors when you’re ready.”
“Why did you reserve the chapel for so long? This doesn’t need to be a big deal, Liam. I didn’t want you to go to so much trouble or expense. We just need this to be legal.”
He steps in closer to me, then even closer so that I’m backed up against that glass case. “I can lie to the officiant. I can lie to your in-laws. But I refuse to lie to myself.”
I search his face. “Liam?—”
His arms go around me, bracing on the counter behind me. “If all you want is a fake husband, you need to pick someone else. If you want me…” His intense gaze locks on my lips, then slowly raises to my eyes. “That comes with everything.”
My lower belly pulls. Arousal, hot and wet, seeps into my panties. I want to ask him what he means by everything, but all I can do is nod. Because the truth is, he’s the only one I trust with this.
He leans in closer and presses his lips just below my right ear. My eyes flutter closed and my body leans into his touch. I’m so starved for affection it should be embarrassing, but I can’t muster up that feeling. Probably because right now horny is driving my emotion bus.
Then he steps away.
“Let’s get married,” he says.
I really hope I’m not panting. Or drooling. I feel like a complete mess, but I follow his lead and step into the main chapel.
Fairy lights cover much of the ceiling, giving the small room an ethereal glow. Maybe I’m drunk on his brief touch because this tiny Vegas chapel suddenly feels like the most romantic place in the world. Even with the accents of gold cherubs and rhinestone hearts.
He takes my hand, threads our fingers together and we walk down the center aisle. Four pews line each side, the ends of the wooden benches are decorated with lace bows. Faintly in the background, I hear Pachelbel's Canon piped in on the speakers.
The officiant—an older gentleman wearing a powder-blue tuxedo—stands at the front and smiles genuinely at us.
“Welcome, you two,” he says. “I’ll be marrying you today. My wife, Loretta here,” he points to the woman sitting in the pew. She’s the same one from the front desk area. “Will be acting as your witness.”
We reach him and he holds out a sheet of paper to Liam.
“If you could double-check the names,” he says.
Liam nods.
“Face each other then and hold hands,” the officiant says.
Once mine and Liam’s eyes meet, the man’s words fade into the background.
I repeat my vows, watch Liam’s mouth as he repeats his, then stare as my best friend slides a gorgeous ring onto my finger. He hands me a plain band to give to him.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” the officiant says.
“She was a bride,” Liam says. “Now, she’s my wife.” Then his mouth is on mine. It’s not a polite kiss. Not a wedding in a church kiss. Nope, he slants his lips across mine and slides his tongue into my mouth.
I’m hopeless to do anything but kiss him back.