by J. A. Huss
I want to do all of it. The beach. The forest. The restaurant—minus the parents, of course. They won’t be there. And the fun spanking I never got. I’m so excited!
I pull on the black ribbon wrapped around the shiny white box and it dissolves into a puddle of satin. I lift off the lid and the paper inside makes a little whooshing sound.
Inside is… not what I expected. It’s the blue dress I wore to Kristi’s rehearsal dinner in Vegas. I lift up another layer of paper and find my crappy Target shoes. What the hell?
My cell phone rings in the other room, so I get up and race into the kitchen to catch the call. Vaughn. “My prince?” I ask the phone.
“The one and only,” he says back. “Did you find my gift?”
“I did. But it was not what I was expecting.”
“Hmmm. You need to trust me. Don’t pack anything, it’s all taken care of. I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
And then he hangs up.
“More like a shitload of hours,” I tell the silent phone. I pout a little, unhappy that I have to travel all the way to Saint Thomas alone. But I don’t want to spoil his preparations, so I put the dress on and manage to drag the zipper up after contorting myself into a pretzel.
I slip into my heels and grab my purse.
The driver takes me to the jet and I wonder, if I’m on the jet, how did Vaughn get to the island? But I don’t ponder too much. I’m tired from work, and there’s champagne chilling in the bucket next to the seat I like to sit in when we travel.
The staff pours me a drink and offers me food once we take flight.
I accept it gladly. Because I’m starved. And then, after about thirty minutes, I kick my shoes off and settle under a blanket to sleep away the long flight.
“MRS. Asher,” the attendant says, shaking my shoulder gently. “We’re here, ma’am.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up. “But we just took off.”
“Yes, ma’am. Las Vegas is a very short flight.”
“Las Vegas? But I thought we were going to Saint Thomas?”
“No, ma’am. That’s tomorrow night. Tonight you’re staying at the Bellagio with Mr. Asher. He’s already there. Your concierge is waiting for you in the limo outside.”
I realize the door to the plane is already open and the cool desert air is flowing into the plane. “OK.” I can go with the flow.
I get in the car and there’s Carl. I remember him from our last Vegas disaster. He was very helpful when we wanted to change Kristi’s wedding.
“Carl?” I ask him.
“Mrs. Asher,” he says back with a smile. “I’m to escort you to the hotel and lead you to your first clue.”
“Clue?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Asher left me specific instructions to give you clues as to where you will find him tonight.”
I have to turn away so I can process this. What is he doing? I spend the next thirty minutes wondering, going out of my mind with curiosity, and declaring my love to my husband internally over and over again.
I have a feeling…
“We’re here,” Carl finally says. The driver gets out and opens my door and Carl meets me, and then offers his arm so he can escort me inside. We walk between the large Asian lion statues and into the lobby of the very festive Bellagio Hotel.
I allow Carl to lead me and after a few minutes we end up on the terrace that overlooks the fountains. It’s empty and when I look around for other people, Carl says, “Mr. Asher made sure this night would be completely private months ago.”
My mind is spinning with possibilities. “You said I get a clue?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls a sealed envelope out of his pocket and hands it to me with a smile.
“Thank you.” My hands are shaking with anticipation as I take it from him and tear it open.
Princess,
This was where we came first. Do you remember what you said?
Love,
Your prince
I stare out at the view. At the people gathered around to watch the nightly show. “There’s too many people, that’s what I said.” I look over at Carl, just to make sure he doesn’t think I’m crazy. “I told him this wasn’t private enough. We needed a place that was just for us.”
Carl smiles and nods. “Yes, ma’am, that’s what you said.”
“Were you there?” I ask, surprised.
“Yes. I’m a wedding officiator as well as a concierge.”
“You married us?”
He nods again and his genuine smile eases my nerves a little. “I did. Mr. Asher is waiting for you in the exact spot where you were married. I’m to accompany you, but you have to remember where you got married to find him.”
“Where did we go?” I tap my finger on the ledge of the balcony and wait, but he doesn’t answer me.
After more than a full minute of silence he prods me. “You’re a wedding planner. Where would one have a wedding here?”
“The gardens are a pretty place.” But that feels too generic. I mean, flowers? Really? Is that all I could come up with? “The pools?” But no. How stupid to have a wedding at a pool, even a Bellagio pool. “I don’t know. Our room?”
When I look over at Carl, he’s smiling.
“We got married in our room?” It makes me laugh a little as I end my sentence. “Please, don’t tell me I was naked.”
He clears his throat.
“Oh my God, was I naked?”
“No, ma’am. You were not.”
“So Vaughn is in our room?” I start walking across the terrace, but Carl’s hand reaches out and stops me.
“Do you remember anything else? Your dress?”
I stare at him and then look down at my clothes. “I got married in this, didn’t I?”
He nods. “Minus the shoes. You said your dogs were barking.”
I turn away and chuckle. “I wish I had a picture.”
“Mr. Asher was afraid the media would get a hold of them. But he said, if you want, he can arrange it for tonight.” Carl pauses to see if I’ll answer him. “Would you like pictures of tonight?”
“Are we getting married?”
“I think that’s up to you.”
“Is he waiting in the room?”
“Yes, he is. But he wanted me to ask if you’d like a real dress this time. I’ve got the shops open for you and a selection of dresses waiting for your choosing.”
Do I want a dress? “No. I don’t want a dress. Like it or not, this was my wedding dress.”
“I understand.” And then he offers me his arm again. “Shall we go upstairs?”
I only vaguely remember nodding my head and letting him lead me away. My stomach flutters inside and I feel a little lightheaded.
Vaughn Asher is waiting for me. He’s waiting to marry me. He flew me here on his private jet and he’s trying to recreate our wedding night. Good God, he is the perfect man.
When we get off the elevator on our floor, Carl leans into my ear. “I’m going to wait here until you’re ready. Do you remember your vows?”
“Vows?”
He smiles at me and urges me to walk forward to the Grand Lakeview Suite that we were in back in September. “Don’t worry, ma’am. It will come back to you.”
I walk forward, trying to put that last question out of my head. And when I reach the door, I notice that it’s propped open with the swing-latch. I push the heavy door open, step inside, and then let it fall closed behind me.
I can see him standing at the end of the long hallway, backlit by the spectacular Bellagio fountains. He’s got on a black tux. Maybe even the one he was wearing that night because it was the premiere for Invisible Man 2. His hands are folded in front of him, and he’s smiling so wide I can’t help but smile back.
“Mrs. Asher.”
“Mr. Asher.”
He steps forward and meets me halfway, then takes my hand and leads me over to the dining table where there’s a spectacular array of fruits and bite-sized morsels. “You liked
this part, right?”
I nod as I stare up at his blue eyes. “I did.”
And then he points down to the sheepskin rug. “And that as well, correct?”
I sigh as I think about lying on the rug with him that night. I was drunk. The room was spinning a bit. But this fur felt so damn good I did not care about anything else but lying down on it. “The sheepskin rug makes everything better.”
“I love that you love it.”
I bend my knee to lower myself down on the rug, but he pulls me back up. “No, sweets. You misunderstand.” And then he guides me to the chair. “It’s your turn to sit and my turn to kneel.”
I think I might cry as he urges me to sit and then I cover my mouth with my hand as he gets down on one knee and presents me with a turquoise blue box.
“Grace Kinsella. I didn’t do this right the first time. I never asked you properly.”
He’s spinning me around the terrace and I’m laughing. Partly because I’m drunk and partly because it feels so good to be happy. He makes me so damn happy.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks, stopping the twirl to pull me towards him. My hands go to his hard chest, pressing up against his muscles like they want to ward him off. But I don’t want to ward him off at all. I want him to hold me close.
“Because I’m happy.”
“I love to make you happy. I could make you happy forever, you know. I could be your prince.”
“I think you could too.”
He unleashes a dimpled smile that stuns me silent. “I think you should make me legally required to make you happy, Kinsella.”
“How does one go about doing that, Asher?”
“One makes it legally binding though a very special happiness ceremony. I promise to make you happy and you promise to let me.”
“Hmmm.” I laugh. “I like that promise.”
“So say yes.”
“Yes.”
“No,” he says frowning a little. “I mean, really say yes.”
“Yes, Mr. Asher, I will marry you. That is what you meant, right?”
“That’s what I meant. I’m in more than like with you, Grace. I’m in love. I’m so fucking in love with you. I want you more than anything. I want to keep you forever and never let you go. I might want to make you have my babies and be my best friend, too.”
My shoulders relax. Like every bit of stress in my life evaporates in that instant as I listen to him. The fountains are still putting on their show behind him. The horns are honking on the Strip. And the wind is gently blowing my hair so it drags across my face.
He gently swipes a finger and catches my blowing hair and tucks it behind my ear. “Please mean it. Do you mean it?”
His shirt is open in the front, his bow tie, just a hanging bit of cloth around his collar now. I touch his stomach. His perfect stomach. “You’re built like a god, do you know that”
He cups my face with his hands. “Grace, I’m fucking dying here, sweets. Be my wife. I can’t leave here without you. I can’t. I’ve never wanted a woman so much in all my life. And I don’t want you just for sex, Grace. I want you for that and more. I want you for lying in bed naked on a Sunday afternoon. I want to cook dinners with you. I want to buy a puppy together and give him a ridiculous name, like Boris or Dave. Please, be mine, Grace.”
“Jesus Christ, Kinsella, you’re gonna give me a heart attack. I asked you if you’d marry me. Are you gonna say yes?”
I watch his eyes as they search mine, so filled with anxiety over my decision. “No,” I say softly.
His smile fades. “What?”
I shake my head. “I won’t marry you again, Vaughn. Because… because we don’t need a do-over.”
He drops his head to his chest and waits me out.
“I don’t want to marry you again, Vaughn. I remember that night now.”
He looks up quickly. “You do?”
“You said…”
“Grace, I know you’ve had a hard life. I know some of your secrets—” My panic must be evident, because he lays both palms flat against my cheeks and kisses me softly. “Not everything, princess. Not everything. But some.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. I only want to talk about happy things. But tomorrow, maybe. Just give me one happy night and I’ll tell you tomorrow. Be my prince, Vaughn. Be my prince and make me your princess and then I can deal with reality. But tonight, I just want the fairytale.”
“And then I called in Carl,” Vaughn says as he opens the Tiffany’s box and presents me with the rings. There’s three in there. One giant engagement ring, platinum. Easily a three-carat diamond, big, but not too big. And two platinum wedding bands. “They have inscriptions,” he says as he takes his out of the velvet cushion. “Read mine.”
He holds it out and I take it from him, tilting it in the light just so, until the writing becomes clear. “The Prince.” I laugh. And then I look him in the eye and slip it on his finger.
“Read yours now,” he sighs.
I take it and hold it under the light. “The Princess.” And then he holds up the engagement ring so we can read it together.
“The Fairytale.”
He slips the band on my finger, then adds the rock.
He kisses me, whispering in my mouth, “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I say back.
“No do-overs for us?”
“Never. It was perfect the first time.”
Read other books by J.A. Huss
END OF BOOK SHIT
I’ve said a lot to you guys over the course of this series. I hope you enjoy this part of the book. I like writing it because it lets me have a voice in what people are saying about things in the publishing world.
Lots of people have reservations about serials and I don’t blame you. I’m not much of a serial reader. I read a few of the bigger names. Especially Ella—I’m reading Hansel right now and my mouth has been open the entire time. This book reminds me of her writing in HERE, the first book I ever read from her. It was also the book that brought us together as friends because I had her on my blog and a few months later she invited me into Indie Inked and that changed my life. Hansel is detailed and emotional and dark and I’m loving it.
But yeah, I can see why people don’t want to mess with them. So I’m eternally thankful that you guys read all the way to the end.
My next book is the last in a three book series. Then I have a standalone out in January called Three, Two, One. I was going to do a serial for that one. Or maybe more aptly a series, since they would be longer than novellas. But I think I’ve changed my mind about that.
Serials are hard work. They are not, regardless of what some people have said on Facebook in recent weeks, a way for authors to “make maximum profit for minimal effort.”
That could not be farther from the truth for me. I spent four months working sixteen hour days to get this series out on time. And I spent well over twelve thousand dollars producing it. Cover photos, editing, formatting, books, postage, swag, release day blitzes, newsletters—all these things cost money.
For sure it paid off, but it was a high price for me to pay when I’m giving up my time. Because time cannot be bought or sold. Time cannot be replaced or taken back. Time is finite in the strictest sense of the word.
So Three, Two, One will be a standalone book instead. It will probably be long since I really do have three plots worked into it.
But here’s the thing I can do with this upcoming book that I could not do with Social Media. I can weave all three of those plots together to make one coherent story. They can intertwine and build up to one epic climax and I can have one ending that resolves them all simultaneously.
Social Media could not do that. Each book has its own climax and resolution. You can’t have more than one major conflict or it becomes too much. That’s why authors write books in a series. So they can have lots of big conflicts that contribute to the overall major conflict that spans the entire story.
&nbs
p; After Three, Two, One in January I will have two Merc books because the Rook and Ronin and Ford and Come fans have been very patient with him. He’s been in so many books as a voice on a phone, or just a side character. So it’s finally time to tell his story.
After Merc I have two more standalones, one of which is a spinoff of this series, and then I will do another full-fledged serial like Social Media next summer. I swear, it will take me that many months to recover from this, that’s how stressful it was to release six books over twelve weeks.
So, thanks for letting me tell this story the way it needed to be told. I’m not out to rip people off. And yes, people actually messaged me on Facebook to tell me that when they found out I was writing a serial. Needless to say, they are not #fans so as you can imagine, I don’t really care what they think. ;) No, I’m not out to rip people off and make them pay six times as much for one story. I’m just trying to write the best story possible and I think this was the right move for Social Media.
And I had a LOT of fun. Part of the serial process is the anticipation of the next “episode”. Remember LOST? That crazy SF show about the plane that crashed on the mysterious island and the people who survived? I loved that fucking show. I’m a Lostie, for sure. And even though it was so frustrating, I loved the anticipation of wanting to know what happens next. I was so sad when it was over.
That’s what a serial has that standalone books do not. And if you release them very quickly it’s fun to wait. That’s how I see it at least. That’s why I had two-week release intervals.
So next summer I will have some things planned for you while you wait for the next “episode”. We will do a lot more between books. Like maybe extra scenes or something. I will have to think on it. But serials in my opinion are just as much about the “experience” as they are about the story. So we’re gonna have ourselves an “experience” next summer.
That series will not be dark. At least I don’t think. It will have drama, but it’s going to be funny, I think. I’m not going to tell you anything else because the premise is rather unique and I’m gonna keep it under wraps until a week before the first book releases just like I did Social Media.