All the Best Nights

by Hanna Earnest

  “Thank you both for your help with this,” Nelle said while Bran embraced Wyn. She offered her hand to Tomi. “I’m Nelle.”

  “We know who you are. Don’t know why you’d want to marry this—”

  “Talented dickhead,” Bran interrupted. “That’s what she calls me.”

  “How sweet,” Tomi deadpanned before turning back to Nelle, hand still outstretched. “I’m sure you have a whole team of people who would talk you out of this.”

  Nelle drew in her arm and clutched the flowers at her gut.

  His cousin and future wife stared at each other, a silent standoff that made Bran’s knees twitch. This would be the moment when Nelle backed out of it. Someone reasonable, someone trustworthy asking her to reconsider.

  But after a pause Nelle, deploying the kindest pitch from her collection of thoughtful tones, said, “Can we get started? I don’t want to keep Judge Jordan any longer than necessary.”

  Tomi rocked back on her heels and that was that.

  Judge Jordan sat above them, behind a large podium paneled with shiny yellow wood. Tomi nodded up at him and approached the bench with her folder.

  Wyn nudged Bran’s shoulder and he stumbled forward to stand next to Nelle. They’d been together for a few hours now, but most of it had been sitting. He hadn’t realized how much taller he was than her—a full foot apart if she took off those boots—until she looked up at him, her raised chin barely reaching his shoulder.

  Bran wrapped his hand around hers, enjoying the way the hardened pads of her fingers felt on the back of his palm.

  Nelle raised her eyebrows. “No hand holding?”

  “The occasion seems to call for an amendment.”

  “Should I be concerned the man I’m about to marry lacks conviction?”

  “You should be impressed by his judicious reasoning powers. I’m making an exception to ensure our success. Tomi wants us to be convincingly in love.”

  The smile she’d begun faltered and she faced the judge. “Right, let’s hope this goes smoothly.”

  Judge Jordan cleared his throat and set down the pile of papers he’d been reviewing. “It looks like everything is in order.” His mouth formed a serious line, but his lively eyes revealed an internal excitement.

  Bran Kelly Marries Nelle in Secret Ceremony.

  The headline flared through Bran’s mind. No—no one in this room would betray their secret.

  Bran stepped forward, pulling Nelle with him. “We really appreciate you going out of your way to accommodate our...specific situation.”

  Slipping his glasses to the end of his nose, the judge regarded Bran. “Yes, your situation. You’re interested in a sealed certificate of marriage, is that right?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And you understand that the union of two people is not to be taken lightly. That it requires forethought and dedication.”

  Bran didn’t get stage fright—he loved the way his heart pounded before he stepped in front of an audience. He was eager for the attention, ready to connect, ready to sweat and move and burn. But he did that with the weight of a guitar strap anchored across his back, a monitor hooked over his ear, and his hands settling across the metal coil of wire. Now he felt too light, disarmed. Unworthy.

  Judge Jordan stared down at them. “Why are you doing this?”

  It seemed like a good idea at the bar, Bran wanted to joke. His pulse quickened and he tightened his grip on Nelle’s hand. She responded with a reassuring squeeze.

  Because they had an understanding.

  “We’re seen,” Bran started, his voice quiet, “even when we don’t want to be. Our lives broken down, the pieces sold without our permission, without any possibility of getting them back. Pieces of ourselves.” He glanced at Nelle, those amber eyes locked on his. “We don’t want to share this, we want it to stay between us.”

  A lengthy silence took over the room. The clock on the wall ticked. Then the robed man nodded. “I’ll need you to both declare that you are lawfully free to be wed.”

  “I am,” Bran said and Nelle echoed him.

  “Now, in front of these witnesses do you profess your intent to be married?”

  Bran turned to face Nelle, searching her face for doubt, for regret or fear or any sign that he had completely overwhelmed her with this plan. She stared hard back at him, lifting her chin in that way that made him want to drop his.

  “I do,” she said. She squeezed his hand again.

  “Me too, or—I do.”

  “Then if there aren’t any objections, you could exchange rings.”

  Nelle’s lips parted and she looked up at the podium. “We didn’t have time—”

  Bran let go of her hand to fish in his pants pocket. “Got it.” He pulled out a flat square of cardboard, a ring attached to the center by a loop of taut plastic.

  “Where did you get that?” She studied the thin polished silver, shaped with one chevron coming to a sharp point.

  “Down the block from Magnolia. I know you’d probably prefer something in a blue box?”

  “No. A red one.”

  And he felt it again, that low pull that this was supposed to be better for her. But her eyes were dancing when she lifted them to his. Bran swallowed, overcome suddenly by the strength of his desire to slide this simple ring onto Nelle’s finger. He ripped at the plastic packaging with his teeth, and a grin pulled Nelle’s cheeks wide.

  With a snap the band came loose. Nelle removed the ring above her knuckle and took the new one out of Bran’s hand.

  “Not that way.” He stopped her. The metal was warm as he turned the ring over so the point was facing the base of her finger. “Like this.”

  She raised her eyebrows at his correction before letting her gaze drift down to her newly adorned hand, straightening her fingers to admire the effect. She frowned. “I didn’t get you one.”

  He shook his head. “Too obvious. It’ll blend in on you—you’re already wearing fifteen of them.”

  “They’re stacking rings. You’re supposed to group them.” She replaced her top knuckle ring and they considered her hand again. “You’re right—you can barely notice it.”

  It didn’t seem that way to Bran. That glinting silver with its delicate dent was all he could focus on. He rubbed his thumb over it, feeling both the softness and strength of the metal between their bodies. Something tightened in his chest and he pulled her closer, placing his palm on her neck, his fingers threading into her hair, his thumb on her hot cheek.

  Her face tilted up and Bran lowered his mouth, pressing a kiss to her full lips. He slipped his tongue slowly into her mouth, just for a moment, a tease, a taste—mellow sweetness lingering from their shared pudding. Nelle crushed forgotten flowers against his hip.

  A dull clap interrupted them and Bran pulled back, searching dumbly for the source of the noise.

  Judge Jordan tapped lightly at his gavel, a sly smile on his face. “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.”

  Bran stared down at Nelle, her eyes still closed, dark lashes fanning across the light freckles at the top of her cheeks. He exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t wait.”

  “If the interruption is concluded, we could finish?”

  Nelle opened her eyes. “Yes, please, Your Honor.”

  “Do you, Antonella Georgopoulos, take Bran Kelly as your legal husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “And do you, Bran Kelly, take Antonella Georgopoulos as your legal wife?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then this institution recognizes your good-faith commitment to each other. In front of these witnesses, in accordance with the power vested in me by the State of Michigan, I declare you husband and wife. And now you may kiss the bride.”

  It was harder that time—grinning like the lunatics they were. Their teeth clinked together tw
ice before they managed to keep their mouths shut, straining to seal their lips tight long enough to kiss.

  Chapter Six

  Nelle needed to stop looking at the ring. Stop checking to confirm it was really there, on her finger, placed by Bran Kelly himself. She had just married Bran Kelly. Bran Kelly was her husband.

  And she couldn’t tell anyone.

  Since she’d been a teenager, she’d known Bran Kelly’s voice was a force. And tonight he’d proved just how captivating he could be, how hypnotizing. He had pulled off some gift of gab, Blarney Stone, leprechaun trick—not that she could fully blame him. She hadn’t needed much convincing.

  There was a flurry of signatures as Tomi and Judge Jordan took over the paperwork.

  Wyn smiled at them and held up her phone. “Do you want a picture?”

  “No!” Bran and Nelle responded to the offer simultaneously.

  No. They were agreed. This was just for them. Private, like nothing else in their lives. And she didn’t need a picture to remember it. How could she forget any of this? The soft yellow walls would glow in her memory, along with the scent of peonies released into the air by bruised petals. No picture could capture the heat of Bran’s hand on her cheek before he kissed her.

  Bran Kelly, her husband, he could kiss.

  She’d surprised him back in Chicago, in the car when she’d pressed her lips to his, and he’d still reacted like a pro, jumping in and matching her rhythm, her beat. But when he’d taken the lead and kissed her—it had been all style, soul, spark.

  She would never forget that.

  And she had the ring.

  A wedding ring.

  Real metal cuffed around her finger.

  Judge Jordan climbed down from his podium. That was it. They’d done it.

  Since the bar, everything had happened in a dark blur. But as Tomi handed Bran the folder, the room seemed brighter and reality sharpened into focus. Nelle blinked herself awake, jarred out of her stupor by Tomi’s words.

  “The record here is sealed. This is your copy. Take it home. Do not lose it.”

  Record. Sealed. Copy.

  That was a legal document. A legally binding document. She hadn’t signed anything in years without a team of lawyers clearing it first, checking over her shoulder, dedicated faces reflecting up at her from mirrored tabletops. And that prenup—her breath felt shallow. That prenup. How vulnerable had she made herself? What could Bran take her for if this went south?

  Bran’s eyebrows pulled together. “I can’t keep this in my house. Someone could break in and find it.”

  “Break in? You live in the hills.”

  “It happens all the time.”

  “Put it in a safe.”

  “That’s the first place they’d look.”

  Tomi sighed, leading them to the door. “You’ll just have to risk it. Someone breaking in to your house to find this paper is the least dicey part of what you’re doing here and you know that.”

  Dicey. That’s what this had been. That’s what this was. A gamble. A risk. She hadn’t had the nerve to get unauthorized bangs earlier, how could she do this just to bang Bran Kelly? A sudden wave of nausea rushed through Nelle. What if someone found out? Her managers, her publicist, the label, her parents. She had risked their financial security too.

  It wasn’t just the money at stake. What if Bran was just using her for publicity? Some stunt to bolster his bad boy image—and ruin hers. No one would talk about her album after this. They’d look at her and see him. Maybe he’d arranged this whole thing to play her, convinced her to go along with it just to splash it in the tabloids himself. Big news to set the scene before his new album dropped. An old story trending again. There could be a swarm of photographers outside waiting for them. He could have tipped them off himself.

  Nelle spun the ring, pinching it between the fingers on either side.

  The universe was usually on her side—but that hadn’t stopped her dad from getting sick. That had felt like a warning, for her to keep her priorities in check. A reminder of why she worked so hard and where her energy should be. Through that lens, marrying Bran Kelly was selfish, jeopardizing the reputation she’d built her career on.

  Nelle™ was witty but kind, stylish in a natural way, and profitably sexy. She was chic and casual and cool. Levelheaded and charming. Never foolish. It wasn’t part of her brand.

  Now she had leapt without fully vetting where she might land.

  The harsh rectangular overhead light shut off and Nelle stopped in the middle of the hall. The cameras outside would find her, blind her, she was sure of it. She couldn’t go forward. And she couldn’t go back.

  Staring down at the ring on her finger, vertigo swelled behind her eyes. Was it the dark hall or panic that prevented her from seeing the point clearly? She could feel it still, of course. Metal digging into her skin as her fingers squeezed tighter together.

  Bran dropped back from the others. “You okay?” His pale eyes flicked back and forth between hers. “You probably—I’m sorry if—this wasn’t—”

  He cut himself off, looking away from her.

  Was that guilt she heard in his words?

  We don’t want to share this, we want it to stay between us. That’s what he’d told the judge. And yeah, he was a masterful performer, but not because he manipulated a crowd. Because he opened up to them.

  Nelle wet her lips and he followed the movement automatically. He stepped closer to her, his head bending over hers, his scent catching in her lungs.

  She wanted to trust him. Trust that she hadn’t gotten him wrong. That he wasn’t some devil. Some liar. But there could be photographers outside. She had to know.

  “Let’s go,” she said, the words as unsteady as her steps past him.

  She had to know if they were really in this together. If his proposed secret had been part of a game, or the prize itself.

  She didn’t take his hand as they left the building. Instead she pulled herself in, wishing she hadn’t left his coat in the car, wishing she hadn’t left all semblance of sense at the bar. She ducked her head down in preparation for the onslaught, wanting to watch her step when the strobe of camera flashes interrupted her vision, when it would be revealed that they’d been discovered—or she’d been set up.

  But outside the night was still, black. The red Ferrari and a blue Prius the only cars in the lot.

  Nelle’s breath clouded the air as she released a hot sigh of relief. It felt like something. That he hadn’t played her. That she hadn’t been that wrong, that foolish. That maybe she’d get what she wanted out of this: a secret that felt good to keep. She had said yes, and the universe hadn’t let her down.

  For better or worse—for the time being—Bran Kelly was her husband.

  “Thank you again for the flowers,” Nelle recovered herself enough to say to Wyn.

  Tomi pulled Bran in for a hug. “I liked seeing so much of you this week.”

  Bran nodded into her shoulder. “Me too.”

  “And I’ll call you, about the—”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Bran stepped back. “For everything. I owe you.”

  Tomi almost smiled. “Yeah, I’ll send you the bill.”

  He raised his hand in salute and opened the door for Nelle. She sank into the seat and pulled his jacket over her lap. They hadn’t been gone long but the car had cooled in their absence. They had raced away from the city, lights blazing behind them. But as they made their way back, Bran drove with a contemplative air. The Ferrari winding through country roads was as out of place as his silence.

  That changed when they reached the highway. Nelle grasped for the door hold as Bran pressed the pedal into the floor, the engine roaring its appreciation loud and clear.

  “Hey, Ferris Bueller, slow down. We’re making a clean getaway, the last thing we need is to be pulled over together
right now.”

  The blinker clicked as Bran passed between a truck and a minivan. “It’ll take another two hours to get back.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  A simmering determination set in his eyes as he looked at her. “So what hotel are you staying at?”

  Nelle’s body clenched at the intensity of his question. She’d been so preoccupied with the reality of their marriage, the possibility that he’d betrayed her, she’d forgotten the other half of their agreement. Bran’s rush to get back proved he hadn’t. “The Waldorf. You?”

  “I’m not checked in anywhere.”

  She glanced at the duffel bag behind his seat, where he’d tucked the brown envelope into a flat side pocket. “Where were you planning to sleep tonight?”

  “I’m not planning on sleeping anywhere tonight. And neither should you.”

  The car accelerated and so did Nelle’s heartbeat, circulating the heat that burned her chest to every inch of her body. His energy was contagious, his urgency became hers. But they had to be smart about this. She put her hand on his leg, feeling the tendon of tightened muscle that urged the car forward.

  “Bran. We’ve got time. We have all night. But not if we get caught.”

  Under her hand his leg relaxed and he eased off the gas. He breathed out next to her, slowing the vehicle down to the speed limit. She lifted her hand and he grabbed for it, bringing it back to his leg. His thumb brushed over her angled ring. “It’s going to be a long drive. Tell me something interesting. Tell me about Iowa.”

  Even if it had been day, and there had been something to see out the window besides black trees blending into black night, Nelle wouldn’t have been able to pull her attention from Bran. The whole world was the two of them alone in the car, talking in the dark. “Iowa’s not interesting.”

  “I think hometowns deserve a bit of loyalty.”