PROLOGUE
Chandeliers twinkled overhead, and a string quartet played Led Zeppelin.
All while our friends and family ate and drank and made merry.
Out the nearest window you could see the Eiffel Tower all lit up for the night, and I couldn’t have been happier if I tried.
The hotel suite was wonderful. Everything was perfect. Just perfect.
“Here you go,” said my husband, David, passing me a Moscow mule. “Happy seventh wedding anniversary, Mrs. Ferris.”
“Right back at you, Mr. Ferris.”
He pressed a kiss to my lips. “Who the hell would have thought?”
“We had a rough start.” I smiled. “But I sure am glad we persevered.”
“Me too. This dress you’re wearing…” His fingers traced down my spine in a thrilling fashion.
My back was bared by the low square cut of the short, black Hervé Legér fit and flare dress.
It also had a plunging v-neckline, and my man definitely noticed.
“Have I said how much I appreciate the easy access?”
“I may have learned a thing or two about how you like it,” I said coyly.
“We are in the city of love.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s not like we’d be missed.” He nuzzled the side of my neck, making my toes curl. “What do you say, baby?”
“You want us to sneak out of our own party?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
I nodded. “True.”
“Did I mention we’re in the city of love?” he asked, nibbling on my earlobe.
“Yes. I believe you did.”
We were in France because Stage Dive was doing a world tour.
It started three months ago and would continue on for another ten.
A whole year and a bit on the road with one of the biggest rock bands in the world.
From North America to Europe, Asia, Australia, New Zealand, South America, and then back home again.
Not all of the family would be on the whole tour.
People had lives and children had school and so on.
But tonight they were all here. Just for this.
For us. And the celebration of our seven years together.
I’d intended it to be a casual get-together, but this was so much better.
Everyone dressed up to the nines and was having the time of their life.
Touring was hard work with constant stresses, and we deserved some fun.
“Coming through,” hollered Mal, the blond drummer.
David and I separated to allow the dance line to pass.
Because even fancy parties in France needed a dance line, apparently.
First came Mal bopping along with his two-year-old son, Tommy, on his shoulders.
Followed by five-year-old Gibson and his dad, Ben, the tall, bearded bassist. Behind them came the band’s lead singer, Jimmy, with his twin girls.
They were almost six and would in all likelihood be taking over the planet any day now.
Hooray for strong women. Their father couldn’t have been any more delighted with their energy and enthusiasm for life.
Jimmy might have been the slick bad boy of the band back in the day, but he’d grown into a good man and a great father.
At the very end of the line was Sam, our head of security. Clad in his usual black suit with a poker face few could match, he nodded briefly as he danced past. “Excuse us, Mrs. Ferris.” As hard as I tried, I couldn’t get him to call me by my first name.
“Not a problem, Sam.”
“Lovely night.”
I grinned, saluting them with my drink. “It sure is.”
When Tommy noisily demanded to be put down, his father complied.
The small child immediately ran past the buffet, swiping several macaroons, before disappearing behind the chaise.
This excellent idea was seized upon by all three of the other children, and soon enough, the macaroon tray sat empty and the kids grew increasingly hyper.
“They’re going to be on a sugar high for days,” said David, cozying up to me again.
“Lena’s flying home with the girls tomorrow. Can you imagine all that energy in a confined space?”
He grunted. “Terrifying.”
“That’ll be us one day.”
“In about five years,” he agreed, taking a swig from his bottle of beer. Because you could take the rock star to Paris and dress him in a three-piece suit, but he still wouldn’t be sipping champagne. Thank you very much.
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“And you do like your plans.”
The man was right about that. Some people could go through life flying by the seat of their pants.
Content to not know what would happen next.
I was not one of those people. I both knew and accepted this about myself.
Know thyself and all that. Lists were my friends.
Neatly ordered inventories of anything and everything going on in my life.
Places to be. Things to do. Targets to be achieved at work.
Planning was how I gave shape and context to my existence which in turn helped me live life to the fullest. Not that I didn’t mind taking a walk on the wild side now and then.
I had woken up in Vegas married to a rock star, after all.
But being organized was where I thrived. It was my happy place.
“I say we enjoy ourselves while we can.” His fingers crept beneath my long blonde hair to rub my neck. Guitarists’ hands were wonderful things. So much strength and dexterity. Not to mention the creativity.
I raised a brow. “Are you talking about the bathroom again?”
“The way I figure it, this suite has four rooms,” he said, voice low and husky.
Sexy as fuck. My panties grew damper with every word he whispered.
“The bedroom, bathroom, dining room, and this formal parlor or whatever the hell the butler called it. Now, given how much we’re paying per night, it would be wrong of us to not make the most of the place. ”
“Oh.”
“Four rooms is well within our abilities.”
“I’d hope so. I only turned twenty-eight yesterday.”
“Exactly,” he said as Led Zeppelin changed to The Rolling Stones. “And we just renewed our membership in the mile high club yesterday for your birthday.”
I gave him a distinctly cat-got-the-cream sort of smile.
“Now here we are. It’s the city of love, baby. So let’s go make it.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed. “You better play exceptionally well here, because you’re getting so much mileage out of this city of love thing.”
My husband nipped me on the neck, making me jump. Just a little.
“No biting,” announced a small voice. “Don’t, Uncle Davie.”
“Shit. Tommy.” David swallowed. “Didn’t see you there, buddy.”
The child with the mop of wild blond hair stared up at us with a horrified expression. “You sweared!”
“Busted,” I muttered.
Tommy lifted his arms in a silent demand to be picked up, and David did as asked. Once the boy was settled on my husband’s hip, he pursed his lips, thinking deep thoughts. “Want cookies.”
David bit back a smile. “Do you now?”
Tommy just blinked, the picture of innocence.
“We’re all out of cookies, sorry,” I answered. “How about an apple?”
“No.”
“Some berries?”
The small child screwed his nose up in disgust. “No-o-o.”
“No to apples and berries, huh? Well, what about a nice yummy turnip?”
“Yuck.”
I tapped a finger against my chin in contemplation. “What would you say to a lovely big cabbage, then?”
He shook his small head fiercely, and David cracked a smile.
“Broccoli? Asparagus? Onion?”
Tommy giggled. “No, Aunty Ev. No!”
“Are you threatening my child with vegetables again?” Mal tickled his son, making him wriggle like a worm. “That’s just sick and wrong. How could you, Child Bride?”
“Chide bwide,” repeated Tommy dutifully.
“How long are you going to continue with that?” I took a sip of my drink. “I’m heading toward thirty, for heaven’s sake.”
Mal just winked.
David had no sooner handed the boy over than Tommy squirmed to be set down. Little legs pumping, he was off and running. Mal shook his head. “They never stop. And that’s why he will be an only child.”
“Yeah?” asked David.
Mal shook his head. “Oh, yeah. Phew. One and done.”
Pale arms wrapped around Mal’s middle as his redheaded wife Anne joined the conversation. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“But we discussed this,” said Mal. “I know we did.”
“Was this like the time we discussed turning one of the bedrooms into a giant ball pit? Or was I actually awake when this conversation happened?”
He shrugged. “Maybe not, now that you mention it. Tommy was around six months old, and he had one of those diaper explosions where it went right up the back. Never been so traumatized in all my life.”
“I thought one more might be nice.” Anne rested her head against his arm. “Maybe you could think about it.”
“We do make pretty babies.”
“This is true.”
“And you get incredibly horny when you’re pregnant. Once you stop puking, that is.”
“That’s not my fault,” said Anne. “There’s a lot of hormones going on. They stir things up in me, in both cases.”
Mal grinned. “Then the tit fairy visits. I love it when that happens. They get so sensitive.”
Anne looked to heaven, but there was no help forthcoming.
“But enough about you,” said Mal. “Really, the world deserves, nay needs, more of my DNA. Think of it, a legion of ridiculously good looking drumming artistes.”
David snorted.
“Shut up, Davie,” griped Mal. “Petty jealousy is beneath you, bro.”
“Hold on. A legion?” Anne’s brows rose. “I was just thinking of a sibling for Tommy.”
“Only one? How could you be so selfish, Pumpkin?”
A little line appeared between Anne’s brows as she stared at her husband in wonder or maybe bewilderment. Possibly both.
“If we had three then they could start a band and be like Hansen or the Jonas Brothers.”
“Oh, that’s definitely worth considering,” I added. Because encouraging the lunatic drummer sometimes was just an honor and a privilege.
“Thought they were all going to be drummers?” David tucked a strand of long hair behind his ear. “How’s that going to work?”
“Awesomely,” said Mal.
Anne held back laughter.
“No, Tommy. Please don’t put that up your nose. Thank you, son. I appreciate your restraint.” Mal gave his wife a look. “Definitely gets that from your side of the family, Pumpkin.”
“While it’s been great to share all of this deeply personal information with our nearest and dearest,” said Anne, “why don’t we revisit this topic once the tour is over and we’ve had a chance to catch our breath?”
Mal pressed a kiss to her lips.
Just then, the string quartet started playing Jackson by Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash.
One of my all-time favorite songs and kind of relevant to how we’d started.
Because we sure had gotten married in a fever.
A drunken one. Next a stupendous croquembouche decorated with bright fresh flowers and golden lines of delicate spun sugar was wheeled in with much pomp and pageantry. Everyone started clapping.
“Cake,” yelled Tommy.
“Wow. Who did this?” I asked, my face hurting from smiling so hard.
Jimmy sketched me a bow from across the room, and I blew him a kiss. Best brother-in-law ever.
David slipped his hands beneath my hair, placing a white gold diamond solitaire pendant around my neck. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
“Oh my, God. It’s beautiful.” I wound my arms around his neck and held on tight. “Thank you.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” I said, getting teary. “Everything is absolutely perfect.”
He gave me a devil may care grin. “And it’s going to stay that way.”