11. Hazel
HAZEL
“Welcome back, Mrs. Curran.” The title delivers a jolt, and Conal notices, because he immediately pulls back from an embrace to look at my face. “You’ll take our name, won’t you?” It’s another huge thing that I somehow haven’t even thought about yet.
“You liked it last night,” Rafe says from across the room.
Bron chuckles. “Screamed it a couple of times, actually. I’m Mrs. Curran!”
“I did? Oh god, I don’t remember doing that.”
“I liked it,” Conal says, “and I’d really like you to be Mrs. Hazel Curran, but if that’s not your style, I get it. ”
“Fuck the patriarchy!” Rafe pumps a fist in the air, and I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or ironic.
“I’d be happy to take your name. I guess I’m still coming out of the fog from last night.”
“No more memories coming back?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
He brushes hair back from my cheek and tucks a couple of strands behind my ear. “And how are you feeling?”
“I feel pretty good, actually.” I think there’s been adrenaline pumping through me ever since I woke up this morning, and it’s probably helping me recover from the hangover more quickly than I otherwise would have.
“I wish we could whisk you off on the honeymoon you deserve,” Conal says, “but unfortunately we have work scheduled. Other people are involved, and postponing it would cause problems.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m still in the mood to celebrate, though. Are you up for going out tonight?”
“I’m okay with whatever you want to do.” I swear a wicked look flashes in Conal’s eyes when I say this, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared .
At Conal’s suggestion, we take a short nap before we get ready for our night out.
I’m sure there’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep when he lies down next to me on the bed and puts his arm around me, but I must be more tired than I realize, because the next thing I know, he’s waking me up by gently shaking my arm.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, do you still want to go out tonight?” He rolls me onto my back and presses a kiss to my lips, and it’s a lovely way to wake up.
“Where are we going?” I ask when he pulls back. “What should I wear?”
“The sequined shirt would be good. I love how it clung to you in all the right places.” He slides a hand along my side to illustrate his point and triggers a gnawing sensation deep in my belly. But then he rolls away and climbs out of the bed, telling me he’s going to take a shower.
I follow him into the bathroom a few minutes later to freshen my hair and makeup, and when I catch sight of him in the mirror as he’s coming out of the shower, wrapping a towel low around his hips, water clinging to his bare chest, that gnawing sensation threatens to bore a hole right through me.
He had his hair tied up in a man-bun to keep it dry in the shower, and when he releases it and shakes his head, I feel like I’m watching it all happen in slow motion.
I’ve never shared a bathroom with a man before, but Conal strides over to the sink next to me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I try to act normal and carry on with what I’m doing, but I sneak repeated glances as he moisturizes his face and combs his hair.
“I’ll bring your new clothes in,” he tells me when he’s finished at the sink, and after he does, he leaves me alone to get dressed.
When I’m ready, I find all three Curran brothers waiting for me in the living room, and it would be impossible to say which of them looks best. Each man is handsome, and together they’re devastatingly potent, so much so that I lose my words for a moment when Bron asks if I’m ready to go.
Instead, I nod as my eyes continue to drink in all the leather, denim and dark good looks in front of me.
“You look beautiful,” Bron says, as the other men communicate the same message with their eyes.
I look down at my outfit. “Your brothers have great taste in clothing. ”
“And in women.” He separates from the others and steps forward to take my hand and lead me to the door. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels loaded with meaning and intention. They’re going to share me.
I worry that I’m going to be in my head all evening, overthinking and speculating about what my new, unconventional marriage will mean, but the men take me down to the casino, where we play blackjack in a high rollers room, and I quickly become engaged in the game.
At first, I watch them play, but when Rafe hears me whisper the move I’d make when Bron is dealt an eighteen, he suggests I join in on the next round.
I’m nervous at the start, especially since it’s not my money I’m playing with, and I cringe when I bust and lose, but Rafe reassures me, resting his hand on my lower back.
It’s not long before I become completely absorbed in the game, and intuitively, I seem to have a sense of what cards might come up next.
Pretty soon, the guys are all watching me play more than they’re focusing on their own cards, and they cheer loudly when I win a tough hand.
I’m closest to Rafe, and I swear he’s about to give me a celebratory kiss, but he pulls back at the last minute, instead raising his knuckles for a fistbump, though his eyes are on my mouth the whole time .
Conal doesn’t hold back, though, and after he brings me in for a kiss, I have a hard time getting my head back in the game.
Luckily, we don’t play much longer. “It’s time for our reservation,” Conal announces, and escorted by security, we take an elevator way up to a restaurant on the top floor of one of the hotel’s towers.
Again, we eat in a private room that overlooks the city, which is nothing short of dazzling at night, though I much prefer to focus on the three men who are at the table with me.
“Does it ever bother you, living your life in a bubble?” I ask after we place our orders.
Conal shrugs a shoulder. “It used to bother me, but it’s the way things have to be.”
“We use disguises sometimes,” Bron says. “And it’s easier when it’s not all three of us together, and in a place as crowded as this.”
“We’ll be moving into the house tomorrow. It’ll be more relaxed there,” Conal says.
“The one you mentioned to my mom?”
“Yeah, it’s owned by our label. We’ll be recording our new album there.”
I nod like it’s perfectly normal that I’ll be living with three rock stars and enjoying a front-row seat while they create music millions of fans are eagerly awaiting.
After a delicious dinner, another surprise awaits: Conal tells me we have tickets to the hottest show in Vegas. The limo takes us to another hotel, and we’re shown to special seating in a theater that’s a work of art in itself.
The show, which is filled with acrobatic feats, beautiful music, and an intriguing storyline, is stunning, but it can’t hold my attention, because Conal, who’s on my left, and Rafe, on my right, both put their hands on my legs, and the way they casually stroke my skin nearly turns me into a puddle in my seat.
I’m sad when the show is over and they take their hands away to clap for the performance. But when we all get to our feet for the standing ovation, Conal slides his arm around my waist, and opts for kissing my jawline rather than continuing to applaud.
“How did you like the show?”
“I loved it! Thank you for bringing me.”
“Of course. We can see more shows while we're here in town, if you’d like. Or in other towns.” I assume he means Los Angeles, since it’s not too far of a drive .
“Are you tired?” Conal asks as we file out of the theater, and I admit that I am, though when he’s touching me, I’m filled with restless energy.
As soon as we’re back at the suite and Rafe closes the door behind us, dozens of butterflies take flight in my stomach. I’m ready for anything—ready as I can be, anyway—but also a bundle of nerves.
Conal disappears into the bathroom, and Rafe and Bron head off to the other side of the suite. I assume that will be the last I’ll see of Conal’s brothers for the night, but after I get ready for bed, all three brothers are waiting for me in the big bedroom.
“I like your pajamas.” Bron sounds flirty, but he’s smirking at my pink plaid flannel PJs. They’re all I have with me, and though they definitely don’t seem suitable for sleeping with rock stars, I didn’t want to be presumptuous and come out naked.
Conal’s smiling, too, but his expression is much more wolfish. “Can we kiss you goodnight, Mrs. Curran?” he asks.