CHAPTER 27
Declan
I’m driving the rented Escalade to the Mariah Carey Chapel of Love, my head still pounding and my thoughts still a tangled mess. But I’ve got a double cheeseburger in my hand, and it’s helping already.
I just deflowered my best friend. My favorite person. A woman who admitted that she’s been saving herself for me.
It was the most powerful, intense sex I’ve ever experienced in my life. She was the most loving and present sexual partner I’ve ever had.
I love Summer.
I’ve always loved her.
So why am I so twisted up about this?
I steal a glance at Summer in the passenger seat, eating her burger while lost in her own thoughts.
She’s a strong woman, physically and mentally, but with a delicate core.
I never want to hurt her. I never want to do anything that’s not in her best interests.
I worry that she might regret this kind of rash decision.
She turns to face me, her head tipped to the side and a soft smile on her lips. “Want to turn around, Declan? It’s not too late.”
“Nope. Do you?”
“Nope.”
“You gonna eat all those fries?”
“Of course I am. Duh.”
But she grabs a handful and drops them in my empty container. “You’re beautiful, Summer. I can’t stop looking at you.”
“I bet you say that to all your almost-wives.”
“You’re the first and only.”
Her smile spreads.
I ache to touch her. It’s been ten minutes, which is way too long to go without touching her. I’m growing hard thinking about how silky she is in my hands, how hot and tight she feels when I’m all the way inside her.
Heaven help me, I want her again. I’m like a drug addict tasting cocaine for the first time. I know I’ll never get enough of Summer. I want to love her, possess her, be with her.
Protect her.
And all of these feelings have twisted together inside me, creating a heavy guilt deep down in my psyche. I shouldn’t have taken her like that. I shouldn’t have used her. I should have been able to stop.
“No guilt, Declan. Remember, you did nothing wrong.”
I groan. She’s reading my mind. She does that.
“I wanted it, and I want more of it. And I want to get married. So, let’s do it before either of us changes our minds.”
I nod and swallow hard. “I’ll make this right, Summer. We’ll fly to New York and visit Harry Winston. I’ll buy you whatever style of obscenely expensive wedding ring you might want.”
She snorts. “I can already see it—me out in the sleet moving cattle, a honker-sized diamond getting stuck in the horse’s mane. Or watching it fly off my hand while I’m mucking stalls.”
“It won’t fly off if it’s properly sized.”
“I wouldn’t mind a simple band, though.” She says this looking out the car window again.
“This will be a wonderful adventure, Summer.” I’m trying to reassure her. Maybe myself, as well.
“It’s funny, really,” she says. “We came to Las Vegas to stop Evander and Phoebe from eloping, and now we’re eloping. It doesn’t even feel real.”
“We can do whatever you want to help make it feel real. We’ll have a big party after if you want. Bigger than Finn and Emma’s wedding, if that’s even possible. I promise to make you happy.”
“Then don’t force a big, fancy party on me.” She turns my way, irritation etched on her face. “No way am I wearing one of those stupid white dresses. It was bad enough being a bridesmaid twice in one year. I’m perfectly happy to do this in jeans and a T-shirt and then get on with my life.”
She is wearing the dark-wash jeans and simple sky-blue T-shirt I ordered for her when she was in the shower.
Her only wardrobe choices were a tequila-spotted black cocktail dress rumpled on the floor of the suite or her barfed-on snap-front shirt and ranch jeans she left in her room.
I’m in my standard uniform of black jeans and a charcoal-gray T-shirt.
Fancy party, this is not.
“I wonder what life will look like,” she says, glancing out the window again. “You know, like the logistics of it all. Will we live together?”
“We’ll be married, so…”
“This doesn’t feel like a joyous occasion, though,” she adds. “It feels like crisis resolution. Isn’t that what you MacLaines like to say? Crisis resolution?”
“This isn’t crisis resolution,” I snap, but I’m not sure that’s the truth.
It was a crisis that I took my best friend’s virginity when I had no idea that’s what I was doing.
And my resolution was to get married. “We’ll live together.
Husband and wife. If you don’t like my house, we can live in your cabin. ”
“Where would we park all of your cars and off-roading vehicles?”
“I could keep them at my house and in the vehicle sheds. It’s not like I’m moving off the ranch.”
“We can live at your house, at least some of the time,” she says. “But if you think I’m doing your laundry, you’ve got another thing coming. Ditto cooking. I hate to cook and I suck at it. I’ll do the dusting, the bathrooms, and floors, but I’m not touching the kitchen or the laundry. Deal?”
“You drive a hard bargain, but it’s a deal.”
We reach over the center console to bump fists. “And, Summer, I have a cleaning lady, as you’re well aware. And if I’m not eating out, then I’m eating at Finn and Emma’s or Dad’s. But you already know that since you’re usually sitting across the table from me, mooching off them, too.”
“Mooching is an unpleasant word. And you don’t pay me enough for a cleaning lady.” She gasps and stares at me. “Sizzling hot fuckballs! I just realized that I’ll be rich!”
“Very rich.”
“Am I going to sign one of those things, you know, where I promise not to steal your money?”
I laugh. “A prenup isn’t necessary.”
“Not smart, Declan.” She wags her finger at me. “Most marriages don’t last these days. I could take you for all that you’re worth.”
“Our marriage will last, unless you don’t want it to. And if you want out, you can take anything you want from me. I won’t fight you.”
“Not smart. You should protect yourself. I worry about you. What if you were marrying someone else, a woman who had her eyes on your fat wallet?”
I grab her hand. “But I’m not marrying anyone else. I’m marrying you. And I know you would never hurt me.”
I’m far more worried about her protection, though I don’t tell her that. The moment she marries me, she automatically signs up for the full MacLaine Legacy protection plan—safety, belonging, health, wealth, property, love, happiness, adventure, laughter—all hers whether she knows about it or not.
I can’t even imagine how royally hacked off she’d be if I told her that’s how I see it. She’d hate to learn that I think she needs any kind of protecting.
“It’s a dumb move, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I laugh at the thought of Summer trying to take advantage of me. I can’t even picture it. She’s as honest a person as I’ve ever known. It’s part of why I love her so much.
I love her.
Of course, I do. I’ve loved her since the moment I set eyes on her. I already know this, but I’ve been saying it over and over to myself the last twenty-four hours. I wonder if it’s because I want to find the right words so that I can tell her that I love her.
Maybe it won’t feel completely real to me if she doesn’t know. And if she hasn’t told me she loves me, too.
I finish off my burger, feeling myself relax into the idea of marrying her. It’s not a traditional way to go about things, but we’re not exactly the most traditional of people.
I’m so done with fucking around. I’ve felt it in my gut for a long time now.
One meaningless hookup after another has left me hollow inside, and supremely unsatisfied. Because all the while, I only wanted the one woman I couldn’t quite reach. There’s only ever been one who could scratch my itch.
And I’ve got her now.
I park in a nearby lot, and we walk the rest of the way to the Mariah Carey Chapel of Love. I look up at the pink neon sign. “I’m getting a wicked case of déjà vu.”
“You should. It’s not even been twenty-four hours since we were here last. Beyoncé better be on duty again tonight, because if we’re gonna to do this, it’s only right that she does the honors.”
We step inside and I immediately smack my forehead into a hanging decoration. I swat it away, then look up to see that I’ve sent cupid spinning.
The inside is jogging my memory, but it’s much bigger than I remember. Granted, my perception of space, time, and reality were a little wonky last night. I look around and see seven individual wedding rooms, each named for a pop star. We head for the Beyoncé room, but it’s empty.
“May I help you?” We turn to see Beyoncé herself exit the employees-only door and come to the desk. Her long blond hair flows. She’s wearing a huge white cowboy hat, white cowboy boots, a red-white-and-blue Western dress shirt and matching pants, and a giant silver belt buckle.
A shit-ton of white fringe sways from her outer arms and the outseam of her pants.
When she sees us, her face lights up. “Oh, it’s you two! I’m so glad you came back to pick up your rings. I was going to have to start calling you if I didn’t see you by tomorrow. You’d be surprised how many couples stumble out of here without even picking up their marriage certificate.”
“Rings?” Summer asks.
“Certificate?” I ask.
“Yes to both,” Beyoncé answers, opening a drawer.
Summer turns to me, perplexed.
I shake my head. I’m as lost as she is.
“From last night,” Beyoncé says, eyes widening. “When I joined you two in holy matrimony. Well, maybe not holy, but totally legal. Ring any bells?”
Summer and I shake our heads in silence. Beyoncé hands Summer a package.
“Again, congratulations and best wishes for a happy life together.”