This Changes Everything

by Gretchen Galway

  His breath caught. “Look at you,” he whispered.

  “I’d rather look at you,” she said, sighing again. “I’m tempted to take pictures for later.”

  “I’m game.” He grinned.

  “God, just what my career needs. When people search online for piano teachers, they’ll get me. Butt naked.”

  “Not that I’d upload the pictures,” he said, raising his voice when she squawked in protest, “but if I did, you’d see a surge in business.”

  “The kind that uses little cards to hand out on the Strip.”

  “No, no. You’d be teaching piano, just… in the buff. I’d find it quite inspiring. I might even practice.” Slipping his hand between her legs, he lowered his voice. “I’d practice all the time. Every hour. Every day. Over and over and over, as hard as I could. Thinking about how to make my teacher happy.”

  “With one hand, you mean.”

  “There’s a lot you can do with one hand.” Gently, he explored with his fingers, wiggling as if on the keys.

  “Mmm,” she said, melting into him. “Practice makes perfect.”

  He lowered his head and kissed the side of her neck, nibbling softly and blowing against the damp skin while his hand stroked and circled between her legs.

  When her knees buckled, he guided her onto the bed, pushed her onto her back, swallowing her sighs with his mouth, and climbed on top of her, suddenly desperate to make love to her again as soon as possible.

  His phone buzzed. He ignored it, kissing his way down her throat to her breast and pulling a nipple into his mouth. Her body arched beneath him, responsive and welcoming, and he didn’t hear anything other than the little moans in her throat after that.

  Until a few moments later, when he was feeling her other nipple pebble under his tongue, the phone began ringing again.

  “Answer it or turn it off,” she said, running her hands through his hair. “Please.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh, rose, and staggered over to his pants. “Sorry,” he said to her, slapping at the fabric for the offending device. Why the hell hadn’t he turned it off last night? Or thrown it out a window?

  Hugo’s face was on the screen.

  “What?” Sly barked.

  But it was Trixie who answered. “We need your help. You and Cleo.”

  “We’re busy.” Sly cleared his throat. “Sorry, but we are.”

  “What kind of busy?” Trixie asked. But she didn’t sound like her playful, impish self. More serious.

  “Just sitting down to breakfast,” he said.

  “So you’re up,” she said. “We need you to meet us here.”

  Cleo was watching him with a questioning expression.

  “I’m very sorry, but it’ll have to wait,” he said. “We’re about to eat.” He flashed Cleo a wolfish grin.

  “We’ll eat together,” Trixie said. “Please.”

  “We could do that, but it’ll have to be later.” His gaze took in Cleo, deliciously ready on the bed from her beautiful head to her lovely toes. “Two hours.” He tilted his head to get a better angle. “Maybe three.”

  “We need you now. It’s about to start.” Trixie began talking away from the phone.

  Suddenly it was Hugo talking. “We’re getting married, and she wants you as witnesses,” he said. Then he cleared his throat. “I’d rather like it if you came as well. I’ve texted you the name of the place. Get here as soon as you can.”

  ♢ ♡ ♤

  Sly helped Cleo out of the taxi, not believing they were standing in front of a bubblegum-pink building with a drive-through window, flashing neon lights, and architecture painfully reminiscent of a Taco Bell. They should be back in bed at the hotel.

  “It’s not too late,” he said. “We can talk them out of it.”

  “Why?”

  He frowned at her, surprised. Given her messy divorce, she was the last person he would’ve thought would approve of a rushed marriage. “Because, until yesterday, Trixie was only pretending to like Hugo for our sakes?”

  “She’s not pretending. I think she really likes him. She must. Look where we are.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “This convinces you? The Taco Chapel?”

  “Why are you so upset? Hugo’s been in love with her for years.” She looked around for the entrance, then saw something in the front window and clapped her hands together. “He’s here!”

  “Alone, hopefully. It’s going to break his heart when Trixie wants an annulment next week.”

  “Not Hugo,” she said, patting his arm. “Elvis.”

  “I hate Elvis.”

  She gaped at him. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “The same thing that should be the matter with you,” he grumbled.

  Grabbing his hand, she led him to the front door, which was painted gold and covered with faded plastic flowers. “You just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

  “I got the same as you.”

  “You did more of the work,” she said, shooting him a naughty smile that made him resent his uncle even more. They could be in bed at that very minute, not walking into a converted fast-food joint to greet a white-suited Elvis impersonator holding a ukulele.

  Sly groaned inwardly. Cleo would never criticize any event that featured a ukulele. They’d probably end up getting married themselves.

  He tripped over something on the carpet. Looking down, he saw his own feet and nothing else. But he paused a moment to calm himself, recognizing he was upset.

  Of course he and Cleo weren’t going to get married, ukulele or no. He glanced at Cleo. She wouldn’t want to. Not today, not for a long, long time.

  The queasiness that had come over him when he’d woken in an empty bed settled over him again.

  Cleo might not be able to imagine settling down again, but he didn’t mind the idea of living together for an extended, indefinite period…

  Which only made his stomach clench more tightly. The idea should be unthinkable. Minguez men made terrible husbands. He cared too much about her to inflict his innate workaholic nature on someone as sensitive and affectionate as she was. She deserved a guy who cared more about her than his career, a guy who woke her every morning with a kiss and went to bed with her in his arms. Every woman he’d ever dated had complained about how often he’d been in a different time zone. You couldn’t Skype your marriage.

  He wouldn’t do that to her. But he could help her get over her first husband so that she’d be ready for the right guy when he came along. They’d already crossed the line. There was no going back. Might as well get as much out of it, within reason, as they could.

  Trixie rushed over from a side door. She wore an ivory peasant dress and had flowers—real ones, not plastic—pinned in her hair. “You made it. Thank you. We want to get it over with before I change my mind.”

  “If you think you might—” Sly began.

  Hugo smacked him on the shoulder. “Did you bring the ring?”

  “What ring?” Sly asked, startled to think that he’d screwed up somehow. Then sanity reasserted itself. “Of course I didn’t bring a ring. I didn’t know you were getting married.”

  “I told you an hour ago.” Hugo reached down and captured Sly’s right hand. “Don’t worry, you’ve got it. I’ll get you a new one later.” He began unscrewing the heavy gold band that Sly wore on his third finger. It had come to him after his grandfather’s death several years earlier.

  “Dad’s not going to be happy,” Sly said. “He’d wanted me to have that.”

  Hugo’s voice dropped low enough that only the two of them could hear it. “I need it more than you. Your grandparents were married for over sixty years. I’m going to need all the luck I can get.”

  “And I don’t?”

  “You’re not the marrying kind,” Hugo said.

  Although his uncle’s words echoed his own thoughts, Sly was annoyed. “I don’t know that.”

  “Trixie will be glad to hear it.” With a low chuckle, Hugo turned Sl
y’s hand over and pressed his grandfather’s ring, as well as a smaller one, into his palm. “Hold onto these until the big moment.”

  “You’re seriously doing this?”

  “I sure as hell hope so.” His craggy face split into a smile. “But not seriously. We’ve got Elvis.”

  Trixie was talking to Cleo. “I’m so glad we’ll have music for the ceremony. He usually plays guitar, but I asked for the uke. As a thank-you to my maid of honor.” Trixie smiled, but it was strained.

  They couldn’t let them go through with this. Sly tried to catch Cleo’s eye, but she was staring at Elvis, who was strumming the ukulele and singing “Let’s Get This Party Started.”

  “That one’s so seldom attributed to the King,” Cleo said.

  “Well, none of this will be quite the way I might’ve done it if I weren’t in such a hurry,” Trixie said, pushing back her shoulders. “We’ll have to make the best of it.”

  Sly raised his voice. “But why do it now? If you love Hu—”

  Hugo hit him again. When Sly spun on him, his uncle replied, “There was a scorpion on your shoulder. It’s dangerous here in the desert.”

  “Right,” Sly said, rubbing the point of impact. Years of handling unruly pets had given Hugo quick impulses.

  “Let’s get this party started,” Hugo said. “Right, sugar?”

  “We’re not getting any younger.” Trixie marched forward a few steps, then looked over her shoulder at Hugo, who’d frozen in place. “Change your mind already? I’ve got a flask in my purse if you need a little more courage. I just had a hit myself.”

  Hugo met Sly’s pained glance, shrugged, and jogged over to Trixie. “I’ll save mine for the honeymoon.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

  A fortysomething showgirl with stunning legs, a feather boa, and a clipboard appeared behind the altar and picked up a microphone. “Dearly beloved, are you ready?”

  “You all go up there,” Trixie told them. “Elvis is going to walk me down the aisle. It’s part of the package.”

  Elvis, giving her a playful, characteristic sneer, joined Trixie, and before Sly could stop them, Hugo and Cleo walked to the altar and turned, waiting for the arrival of the bride.

  “Come on,” Cleo mouthed to him.

  What else could he do? With a shrug, he trotted down the narrow aisle past the flimsy fiberboard pews and stood next to Hugo. “You aren’t really going to do this, are you?” he muttered.

  “Wait until you hear him. He’s really good.” Hugo spoke as if the event’s musical accompaniment had been Sly’s primary objection.

  “Mark’s going to kill me,” Sly said. “Letting his mom marry you without even a phone call.”

  “You can call. Just wait a few minutes.” Hugo’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

  “What if she regrets this and hates you?”

  “She won’t,” Hugo said calmly. “It was all her idea.”

  Sly was going to continue to argue with him, but Elvis began to sing “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and somehow, impossibly, the campy atmosphere turned serious.

  The guy was actually good. His voice was rich and powerful, and even his playing on the ukulele seemed flawless. Sly saw Cleo’s eyebrows rise in admiration.

  Fools rush in, he thought. Hugo had waited almost twenty years to marry again. Was it really a rush?

  Sly decided to let it go. If they wanted to do this, it was their own business. To show Cleo he wasn’t going to cause any more trouble, he turned to her with a smile, and then was shocked to see her biting her lip, a tear streaming down her cheek. She didn’t see him, only Elvis and Trixie, who were walking at a snail’s pace up the aisle during the song.

  Her sweetness touched him. She really was a softhearted person for all the sarcastic attitude she flung around.

  Elvis handed Trixie over to Hugo, who was also overcome with emotion. His deep-set dark eyes were shining with unshed tears as he took Trixie’s hand in his and turned to the altar. Elvis finished his song, greeting everyone in the traditional manner, and asked if anyone had any objections to the marriage.

  Sly felt Cleo’s gaze turn to him. He glanced at Hugo, saw him wipe away a tear, and kept silent.

  The speedy vows centered on loving each other tenderly, not being cruel, and promising to avoid Heartbreak Hotel.

  He couldn’t believe this was really happening.

  Then they exchanged rings, Elvis proclaimed they were married and couldn’t be returned to sender, and they kissed.

  “I’m all shook up,” Elvis declared, lifting the ukulele. “Join me in welcoming the married hunk and hunkette of burning love, Hugo and Trixie.”

  The speakers began blaring “Viva Las Vegas.” Elvis and the showgirl belted out the lyrics while Hugo took Trixie in his arms and danced her down the aisle.

  Cleo and Sly, clapping along but not dancing, stared at each other.

  “They really did it,” Cleo said, her blue eyes like saucers.

  Sly took her hand and pulled her into his arms. A light show had begun, flashing in time to the music. “Yeah.” He wondered if his parents were going to be annoyed he’d let it happen. In their family, weddings usually involved several hundred people, international flights, and five days of celebration. Hugo’s decision to elope wasn’t entirely because of his fear Trixie would change her mind. He probably wanted to avoid all the fuss.

  The singing and dancing led to signing legal documents, giggles and hugs, generous tips, a few package-approved photographs, and a hurried exit to the parking lot. Another group, all in Hawaiian shirts and bikinis, were waiting for their turn, and they traded smiles and high fives as they passed.

  Tucked under Hugo’s arm, Trixie was back to her old self again, relaxed and cheerful, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “That was perfect.” She turned to Cleo and Hugo. “Don’t you think? No wonder he was the best-selling solo artist in the history of recorded music. I read that on Wikipedia.”

  “We’re lucky he’s nice enough to marry people now,” Hugo said.

  “I really felt his spirit in there,” Cleo said. “Gave me chills.”

  “I had chills, but that was just nerves.” Trixie gave Hugo a bear hug. “I’m better now. Sometimes you just have to hold on and jump.”

  Over Trixie’s flower-clad head, Hugo beamed at the world and said nothing.

  Trixie went up on tiptoe for another long kiss that went on and on. Cleo snapped a few pictures and even turned to take a selfie with them in the background.

  Breaking the kiss, Trixie turned to them. “Now we have to ask for that favor.”

  23

  Cleo scrolled through the pictures she’d just taken, deleting the bad ones, only vaguely aware of what Trixie had just said. Standing in the parking lot was a bit of a letdown after the Elvis revue, and she put a hand over her mouth to cover a yawn.

  “Favor?” she heard Sly ask sharply.

  “This wasn’t it,” Hugo said. “Although we do appreciate you coming.”

  “Thanks for inviting us,” Cleo said. She was sincere, although the busy night before was catching up to her. Gravity was pulling at her eyelids, inviting her to rest.

  “This is about the dogs,” Trixie said. “We’d like to travel a few days before we go home.”

  “A full week, darling,” Hugo said. “You deserve a real honeymoon.”

  “Would you be able to watch our fur babies? It would be best if you stayed in the house. My house, I mean our house, since Hugo has agreed to live there, even though he’s never been upstairs.”

  Sly’s voice was wary. “Are you asking me or Cleo?”

  “Both of you, of course,” Trixie said. “You spent the night together, right? But everything happened so fast, you don’t know how it’s going to be when you get back home. Staying at my house will give you a little time to figure it out.”

  “Please,” Hugo said. “If she thinks she’s playing matchmaker, she won’t feel so guilty about leaving the dogs for another few days.” />
  Trixie turned to Hugo with a flushed, melting smile. “Am I that obvious?”

  In response, Hugo cupped her cheek and kissed her on the lips. Sly glanced at Cleo and smiled.

  He’s a nice guy, she thought, going all squishy inside. For an alpha mogul, he’s quite the sweetheart.

  Trixie broke the kiss and said somewhat breathlessly, “Mark’s room has the best bed since it wasn’t that long ago that he was living there, but maybe that would be a little awkward.”

  Cleo couldn’t think of what to say. She was too busy wondering what excuse Sly was going to come up with.

  “Liam’s old room is set up for guests,” Trixie continued. “The mattress is only a double, but since you’ve just gotten together, you’ll probably like being on top of each other.”

  Elvis’s melodious warbling reached them from inside the chapel. Another wedding had begun. The sun was still low in the sky but shimmered brightly over the tile roof. At that moment, reality as she’d known it felt very far away.

  “I’d be happy to stay at the house with the dogs,” Cleo blurted. The entire weekend had been one crazy impulse after another. “My wedding gift to you.”

  “Wonderful! Of course you can use the piano as much as you’d like.” Trixie handed her a set of keys on a Chihuahua-shaped fob. “Liam and Bev have been watching my babies this weekend, but they have to go to work tomorrow. And they’ve got a human baby. I didn’t want to impose. Not with Mouse too.”

  “Isn’t he at the vet clinic?” Sly asked.

  “Bella wouldn’t mind keeping him another—” Hugo began, but Trixie patted him on the chest.

  “No,” she said. “He can’t spend another day there. He’s going to be living at the house and should get to know it as soon as possible.”

  “Even if you’re not there?” Sly asked.

  “Why not? It might be better if the changes happen in stages. Stage one, the house and other dogs. Stage two, all of us together.” Trixie cast an appealing look at Sly, then at Cleo. “Are you willing to do that? He’s a doll. A gentle giant.”

  “Why not?” Cleo wasn’t in any hurry to go back to her old life just yet, since she didn’t know how Sly was going to fit into it, if at all. “The more the merrier.”