“Hey there. You looking to get married today, son?”
I don’t answer him because my phone buzzes, and at last her email makes landfall. It’s from her attorney, but she’s copied on it, and the words are hers. With the fastest swipe in human history, I open the note and read the last thing I expected to see.
Dear Wyatt,
Please accept this as my letter of resignation. I have loved every moment of working with you. It’s been fun, challenging, and wildly productive. But I can’t work with you if I want to be with you. And I do. I really want to be yours. So I’m going out on a limb and making the choice that will let us be together. I checked with an employment attorney to make sure I wasn’t breaking my contract with you, and she said in certain circumstances, when you have a reasonable claim, you can terminate employment without giving two weeks’ notice. Seeing as I’m in love with you, please accept this as my reasonable claim to leave my post at WH. Effective immediately.
Love,
Natalie
Boy, did I ever fuck up.
When I look up from the screen and meet Larry’s expectant gaze, the question he just asked registers fully.
And I know how to try to fix this mess I’ve made.
Sometimes you just have to bet the house.
35
In my line of work, I’ve developed a specialty: the remodel.
Giving a kitchen a thorough makeover is my key skill. I know which materials I need and the right tools to use, and I’ve become a master at meeting a deadline.
This might be the toughest remodel I’ve ever attempted, though, given the wrecking ball I used on our union earlier today. But I quickly assemble a list of materials and then round them up, starting at the New York-New York hotel.
Once inside the doors, I run.
Okay. Not true.
If I ran, security would likely tackle me.
But I definitely trot. Through the casino, along the shops, up the escalator, and past the arcade, glancing longingly at the black curtain that hides the pinball machine. I don’t go for the entrance. Instead, I head to the exit of the ride.
A bunch of rollercoaster riders pours out, windswept and hopped up on the adrenaline of a loop-de-loop upside-down trip.
This is where Natalie and I had our first adventure, and as I arrive at the picture counter, I’m ready and determined to find the evidence of it. The original is safe and sound at my home. Thankfully, the same woman who worked that night is here today—the cheerful brunette with pigtails and red glasses, only today her hair is yanked into a high ponytail.
“What can I do for you?” She flashes a friendly grin.
I follow Chase’s advice once more—do the opposite of what I did earlier. Instead of spraying my frustration on her, as I did the clerk, I sprinkle sugar on my request. “Hey there. About two months ago I was here with the woman I’ve just realized I’m madly in love with.”
The brunette’s eyes light up, and I continue, giving her the date and the approximate time. “We had our photo taken, and our number was sixteen. If there’s any chance you could find it and print me a copy, I’d be incredibly grateful and will happily pay double, triple. You name it. I need this picture, though, to show her how good we can be together.”
The brunette clasps both hands over her heart. “I love this city. Vegas is full of stories of love.” She straightens and adopts a serious demeanor. “I will absolutely, positively find it for you.”
Ten minutes later, I walk out of New York-New York with a copy of Natalie and me at the top of the rollercoaster, riding high on our exhilaration in each other.
Next, I pop into a drugstore on the corner, use my phone to search for a photo online, email it to myself, and print it out. I buy two frames. Then I stop at the Wynn, and twenty minutes later, I have all the materials I need for one helluva redo.
The only thing left is her.
With a whole new fleet of nerves docking inside me, I call Natalie.
Her phone rings, and rings, and rings, then her voicemail plays. A momentary bout of worry touches down as I wonder if she’s avoiding me. But I shrug it off and dial Lila.
“Hi, Wyatt.”
“Hey, I’m looking for Natalie. Is she around?”
“She is, but we’re busy shopping. Give us a little bit longer, and I think she’ll be ready.”
“Where are you?”
She laughs. “Oh, Wyatt. Natalie’s just helping me with a few items I need to get organized, and she’s having quite a good time here. Don’t you worry. We’ll see you soon.”
And I grin as I hang up.
Yes, you will.
I’ve got a feeling I know where the woman I want is. Because I know her. I know what she loves.
She told me she could happily live here. That this is her favorite place in the universe.
And since she’s helping Lila with her closet, call me Sherlock, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll find Natalie inside this big box not too far from the Strip.
When the cab drops me off, I say a quick prayer to the universe that I can find her and take not only one step, but all the steps to fixing us. As the doors slide open, I scan The Container Store, hoping for a glimpse of blond hair, a hint of strong legs, a flash of orange summer dress.
That dress. My God, that dress. My mouth waters as I think about how she looked in it and why she was so goddamn happy today at the courthouse. Because she was giving me everything she thought I wanted. Because she loves me.
She fucking loves me.
I head down the aisle, swinging my gaze from side to side at the sea of Tupperware, hatboxes, cloth file cabinets, cat food containers, ornament holders, shower caddies, laundry baskets, pill holders in every size imaginable, hangers, and garment bags, and at last I arrive in the land of closet organizers.
Orange.
I see orange.
And it looks like happiness to me. Like all my favorite memories and everything I want for my future.
Her back is to me, and she holds a shoe drawer, showing it to Lila. “And then you use this on the middle shelf and it helps sort all your shoes,” Natalie says, and her voice fills me with hope.
I hope I haven’t lost her. I hope I can pull this off. I hope she doesn’t think I’m crazy.
Lila meets my eyes, her own lighting up, but she quickly schools her expression. Natalie must sense I’m here, though, because she spins around in a heartbeat, obviously surprised.
And I stop thinking, and hoping, and wondering. I just do.
I walk up to her and speak from the heart. It’s not rocket science to tell her she’s the one. “I should have done a lot of things differently, Nat. I should have told you I love you first. Because I do. I love you like crazy, and maybe sometimes it makes me crazy.” One corner of her lips quirks up, as if she’s trying to rein in a smile. “I shouldn’t have filed for the annulment today. I shouldn’t have been a dick to you on the steps outside the courthouse when you were simply doing the most ridiculous thing I ever asked you to do. And most of all, I should never have asked you to keep such an unfair promise the night we married.”
“It’s okay, Wyatt,” she says, and her voice is feathery soft. “I kept it because it mattered to you.”
I shake my head, pissed at myself again, but even more in love with this woman. Lila takes a few steps back, giving us space as I continue, “I barely remembered our ceremony, let alone all those things I said to you. And that’s no excuse, but it is true. I remember them now because I went back to the chapel this afternoon, and that song was playing. Can’t Help Falling in Love. I know I felt it that night, and I feel it a million times more now.” She moves closer to me, and that emboldens me. So does the expression on her face—soft and caring, then the words she mouths. Me, too. I want to kiss her, but I have so much more to say. “I’m not drunk now. I’m completely stone-cold sober, and I’m asking you for a second chance. I’m wildly, madly, insanely in love with you, and I brought this picture to remind you of how amaz
ing we are together.”
Her eyes twinkle as I hand her the photo. “No, you didn’t bring my O face,” she says, mad, but not mad. She’s playful again, and I love that tone in her voice.
I can’t help but grin. “It’s much more than your O face, sweetheart. This,” I say, pointing to the picture in the cardboard frame. “This is you and me. This is how we are together. I brought this to remind you that this is where we started. That night. On that ride. And I want this to be us.” Her lips quiver, and her eyes shine with the start of tears. “I want us to keep riding the rollercoaster. To get on it over and over again. To keep climbing, and falling, and flipping upside-down, even if it makes us sick or crazy. I want to feel all the joy and exhilaration with you. The ups and downs. Because loving you is some kind of wild ride, and I don’t want it to stop.”
She presses her hands to my chest, gathering the fabric of my shirt. Her voice is laced with emotion, and she’s on the edge of tears. “Wyatt, I only pushed the annulment because I promised I would. I did it because I love you. Because I thought you wanted it. Because I know how much promises matter to you. That’s why I was crying in the hotel room earlier. Because I knew I had to do it, but I didn’t want to. And I do love you. I love you so much that I can’t stay mad.”
I run my hand down her bare arm, unable to resist touching her. Gooseflesh rises in my wake. I breathe a sigh of relief. “But I need to confess something. Before we left your room this morning, I saw that law firm name flash on your screen. The one who sent your letter later on.”
Her gaze turns quizzical. “You did?”
I nod, take a gulp, and come clean. “I freaked out and thought it meant something else. Something bad. And that’s why I was such a dick at the courthouse. But then I realized how ridiculous that was well before you even sent your email. Only this time, I didn’t need to see the homeless guy eat the sandwich to know it was safe. Because I know you, and I know your heart. I just hope I haven’t messed things up too badly because of how cold I was.”
Her grip on my shirt tightens. Her gaze is fierce and loving. “You haven’t. Not at all. I swear.” Then she says, with a playful cackle, “But I fully intend to prank you with a sandwich someday.”
I laugh lightly. “You better. But even if I screwed things up a little, I want to make them a lot right. Because this can be us.” I tap the photo one more time. “And we can be this couple, too,” I say, drawing a fueling breath as I reach into the bag from the drugstore and take out a framed photo of two gibbons swinging on a branch in a tree.
She laughs. “You want us to be . . . gibbons?”
I reach for her hand. “Nat, did you know gibbons are one of the few animals who mate for life?”
“Along with termites, beavers, and swans,” she adds, with a happy shrug. “I looked it up. It seemed like something you’d enjoy knowing.”
My heart does a wild dance—because she wanted to know, and she wanted to share. “I said I was asking for a second chance, and I meant it,” I say, my gaze holding hers. “But not just a dating chance. Not just a let’s-go-to-dinner chance. I’m not betting a five-dollar chip on red.”
I get down on one knee, and her eyes widen. I was nervous before, but I’m not anymore. I’ve never been so sure of what I want and what I need. “I’m going all in, and I’m asking you for a second chance at marriage. I want to go home to New York and live with you and share a life with you, and I want you to be my wife. Let’s stay married. Hell, let’s get married again. Let’s renew our vows. Marry me over and over. Every year. Let’s make it our thing.”
Her eyes turn to moons, and her jaw falls open. “Oh my God,” she gasps.
I take out the gift I bought at the Wynn—at the fancy jewelry shop in the fanciest hotel. I open the blue velvet box and show her a two-carat emerald-cut solitaire.
“Be my gibbon,” I say with wild hope.
She falls to her knees, throws her arms around me, and kisses me like she wants all the same things. It’s only been a few hours without kissing her, but hell, it’s so damn good to do it again, to feel her lips on mine where they belong. When she breaks the kiss, she meets my gaze, and says softly, sweetly, “I’ll be your gibbon. But don’t you know, I already am?”
The smile that is my greatest joy spreads across her beautiful face, and I can’t believe how lucky I am. “Oh, and about that letter of resignation you sent me,” I begin, tapping my chin. “I had another idea.”
“Tell me,” she says, practically bouncing. But then she stops, and her smile disappears as she looks at her watch. “Wyatt,” she whispers, in that soft kind of voice that portends trouble. My heart speeds up.
“What is it?”
“We need to go. The courthouse is closing. They’re filing our annulment paperwork.”
I grab her hand and tug her up. “I don’t want this marriage to be annulled.”
“I don’t either.”
Lila chimes in. “Let’s take my car. It feels like something a fairy godmother would do.”
And, you know, that pretty much describes her role in this story. We rush out of the store, slide into her sleek black car, and peel away.
36
“Ohhhhhhhhh.”
The clerk gives a double-shouldered shrug. “I am just so, so sorry.” His tone tells me he’s not sorry at all.
“You see,” he says, tilting his head, “since you were in such a hurry, I took a second look at your paperwork. You’d been so thoughtful as to leave a note explaining that you’d tried to file with Easy Out Divorce. And”—he clears his throat as if he’s prepping to deliver a punch line—“since Easy Out Divorce is now a known scammer, the courts have a temporary offer that anyone who was scammed by Easy Out can get a special, fast annulment. So I fast-tracked it for you. Isn’t that swell?”
“You did?” I ask, as my shoulders sag.
The clerk clasps his hands together. “It’s with great pleasure that I tell you your annulment was granted today, and this marriage has been dissolved.”
My heart sinks.
But only for a second. Because where there’s a will, there’s a way. “No problem,” I say with a smile. This time, I’m practicing being a good guy. Because good guys win. And this good guy knows there’s more than one tool to fix something broken.
I turn to Natalie. “Want to bet there’s a city hall or someplace like that where we could get married again? Let’s do it right. Do it now.”
Her eyebrows rise, and she asks the clerk where civil ceremonies are performed.
He points up. “Sixth floor. Office of Civil Marriage Unions.” He hands us the papers and calls out next.
After we snag a marriage license, ask Lila to be our witness, and confirm our early evening walk-in appointment, Natalie and I stand in front of a judge in his office chambers, and we get married again.
This time it’s simpler.
This time we’re sober.
There’s no twenty-four-hour chapel, or sorta Elvis impersonator. Just my wife and me, sealing our love once more. I don’t ask her to undo it tomorrow, because I want to be entangled with her forever when we say I do.
Then, I kiss my bride in our second marriage, even though it’s our first legally. But who cares about technicalities when my lips are on hers? She tastes so lovely, and I’ll never tire of kissing her. My head spins from the sweetness of her mouth, and my body lights up from this connection we share. “You’re stuck with me now,” I say when our lips separate.
With her hands looped around my neck, she murmurs, “That’s where I want to be.”
As we head down the steps of the courthouse into the sunset of this city, leaving Lila on her own, I flash back to the moment here earlier today, when we were falling apart. I reach for her arm. Wrap my hand around it. “Hey, let’s make this the end of us ending. What do you say to that?”
She grips my hand. “It had better be the end of breaking up.”
I run my fingers along the back of her dress. “I guess it’s n
ot your annulment dress anymore.”
She gestures to the orange fabric. “It’s my wedding dress. And truth be told, I wore it today hoping something like this might happen.”
“You’re such a planner.”
“That’s why you need me.”
“I do need you. And that’s why I want to tell you my plan for rejecting your resignation.”
She loops her arms around my neck and says, “Tell me. But make it fast, because I’d really like to consummate our marriage.”
It’s safe to say my proposal floors her. She cries again, and they’re tears of happiness. When we make it back to my room, I kiss them away, strip off all her clothes, then mine, too.
She’s naked before me, and it occurs to me that we’ve only made love once before without our clothes on. We’ve always been rushing, risking, tempting fate. The last time we were chest-to-chest, skin to skin, was on our first wedding night a few months ago.
And I don’t care what the courts say about marriages being dissolved. Not existing. Never happening.
We happened, and we’re happening again, so I join her on the bed. When I enter her, we both groan. Electricity shoots through me. It feels like pure bliss as I sink into her, savoring the way we fit. She moans happily and meets my gaze. It’s intense, the way we look at each other. The way we want to look into each other’s eyes.
“Can we do this every night?” she asks in a sexy purr as she wraps those gorgeous legs around my ass.
“Every morning, too,” I say on a thrust, and we move together. “Want to know why?”
“Why?” she asks, as she arches her spine, her lips falling open.
“Because I love fucking my wife,” I say with a throaty groan. “And I fucking love my wife.”
I’m rewarded with a wild cry of pleasure, then another, and it doesn’t take her long at all to fly high. Pretty soon, I’m doing that thing she loves—coming loud and hard. I might even roar.
I’d like to say we spend the night riding the rollercoaster or the Ferris wheel. But nope. We go horizontal again. All night long. It’s as perfect as a wedding night can be. And I’m not just saying that because we order an Oreo sundae from room service sometime in the middle of the night.
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