Chapter 3 #3
“Marry me. Right now. Tonight.” He looked up at me. “You want reckless? You want to tick something off that list? This is it.”
My brain felt fried. Marriage. He was talking about marriage. To me.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was supposed to confess my feelings, get rejected, fly home heartbroken but at least honest. I wasn’t supposed to be standing in front of a Vegas chapel with Michael Ashford asking me to marry him.
“You’re insane,” I managed.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe I’ve spent two years watching you and falling in love with you. And I’m done with it. And you’re right. We don’t have forever, so just give me this.”
Two years. He’d been paying attention all this time?
“Michael—” A sob caught somewhere between my heart and my throat.
“I love you, Claudette Specter. Make me the happiest man on earth by being my wife.”
The words knocked the air from my lungs.
Michael Ashford loved me.
My entire world was rewriting itself in real time.
Instead I leaned down and pulled him down to me.
Our mouths crashed together and everything else disappeared.
His lips were soft, warm, urgent. So were mine.
His hands slid into my hair, angling my head so he could kiss me deeper. We stood, my back hitting the chapel wall, and I didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything except his mouth on mine and his body pressed against me and the way he was kissing me like he’d been starving for it.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, voice rough.
“That’s a ‘finally.’”
His smile was devastating. “Good. Let’s get married.”
The chapel was small and surprisingly tasteful. White flowers everywhere, soft lighting that made everything look like a dream. The officiant was a woman in her sixties with kind eyes and a dress that sparkled under the lights.
“Welcome,” she said warmly. “Do we have a bride and groom tonight?”
“We do,” Michael said, hand closing around mine.
“Wonderful. Do you have rings?”
“I—” I started, but Michael was already reaching into his pocket.
He pulled out a ring I’d never seen before. Simple gold band with a small diamond that caught the light.
My breath caught. “Michael.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” he said quietly, turning to face me fully. “I’ve been carrying it since I moved back from London and saw you at that first family dinner—when I realized everything had changed. That I wanted you. That I’d always wanted you.” His eyes met mine. “So yes. We have rings.”
The officiant beamed. “How romantic. Shall we begin?”
The ceremony happened in a blur. Standard vows we repeated after her. Words about love and commitment and forever that should have felt meaningless but didn’t. Not when Michael was looking at me like that. Not when his thumb was brushing circles on my hand while we spoke.
When we got to the rings, he slid his grandmother’s ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. Like it had been waiting.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant said. “You may kiss your bride.”
Michael’s hands came up to frame my face. He paused for just a second, eyes searching mine.
Then he kissed me, and the world caught fire.
This wasn’t the desperate kiss from outside.
This was something else entirely. This was a promise.
A claim. His mouth moved over mine slowly, thoroughly, like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second of it.
His tongue swept in, and I made a sound that should have been embarrassing, but I was too far gone to care.
His hand slid into my hair, the other one moving to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every inch of him pressed against me and it still wasn’t enough. I grabbed his shirt, pulled him closer, and he made this low noise in his throat that I felt everywhere.
When we finally broke apart, I was shaking. My lips felt swollen. My whole body felt like it was vibrating at a frequency I didn’t recognize.
“Hi, my dearest wife,” Michael said, his voice gentle and dark and full of promise.
“Hello, husband.”
The officiant cleared her throat gently. “Congratulations. You’re officially married.”
Michael grinned, and it was pure trouble. “Perfect. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.” He laced his fingers through mine and pulled me toward the door. I hesitated for a while, then he said, “Trust me.”
Twenty minutes later, we were standing in front of a cherry red convertible. Michael tossed the keys in the air and caught them, looking very pleased with himself.
“You rented a convertible.”
“You said road trip was on your list.”
“I said Highway One.”
“We’ll get there.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Tonight we’re going somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“The desert.” He walked around to the driver’s side. “I want to watch the sunrise with my wife.”
The way he said wife made my stomach flutter.
We drove out of the city as the sky started shifting from black to deep blue. The strip disappeared behind us, all those impossible lights fading until there was nothing but desert and stars and the road ahead.
He pulled off the road, finding a spot overlooking red rocks glowing in the pre-dawn light. “We’re married now. Which means we get to do everything you’ve always wanted.”
He killed the engine and turned to face me fully.
That was when the headache hit—like lightning.
Sharp. Sudden. It felt as though someone had driven a spike through my skull.
I tried to say Michael’s name, but my mouth wouldn’t work. The words came out garbled, nonsense sounds that didn’t mean anything.
“Claudette?” Michael’s voice changed instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I tried to tell him. Tried to explain. But my body wasn’t listening anymore. My vision blurred and the beautiful desert sunrise started bleeding into itself, all the colors running together.
“Claudette!” Michael’s hands were on my face, his voice urgent. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
The last thing I heard was Michael’s voice—panicked, desperate—calling my name over and over.
Then nothing.