An NSB Wedding

by Alyson Santos

She spins and marches out of the bathroom.

  Shit.

  After a quick rubdown, I toss the towel on the floor and brace for Armageddon in the main area of our suite. No Rose Chateau? Yeah, that’s a problem our tight schedule can’t afford. With the tour and every second of my time accounted for, it’s not like we have a ton of wiggle room for more wedding drama. We need to be married by the end of the day on Saturday. Period.

  As I come around the corner, Callie’s flushed cheeks tell me everything. Eyes blazing at her laptop screen, she makes a stunning bridezilla on the king-sized bed. Her teeth sink into a perfect pouty lip just begging for some attention.

  Restraint, Casey.

  A lungful of air doesn’t soothe my fire, so I aim for distraction instead. After hoisting my suitcase onto the stand, I start to rummage through it.

  Underwear, t-shirt. Shit, where are my black jeans?

  “And they still don’t have a backup plan! Can you believe that? ‘Oh, hello. Sorry to tell you your entire wedding just went up in flames—literally. Bye!’ Click.”

  I know I packed them. Bet they’re still out with laundry. Need to check with Tess. “Yeah? I’m sure they’re working on something. Let Rita handle it.”

  “Rita! In two days, we’re going to have four hundred guests, and we don’t have a place—Hey, are you even listen…”

  I turn at her sudden silence and arch a brow. Hell yeah. There’s nothing hotter than watching the woman you love covet your body.

  I feel the heat of her remote touch. Her gaze travels over my tattooed arms and chest, the ridges of my abs. Down it slides until it lands on the part of me that will always be ready for her. After all the setbacks keeping us chaste, it’s painful the way my body strains for her. A smirk creeps over my lips as I straighten to give her a full view.

  “Are you checking me out?”

  She blinks. Swallows. “Don’t be a jerk. I’m just thinking.”

  “About how hot I am?”

  “I hate you.”

  A slow stripper dance in her direction earns me a pillow to the crotch.

  “Careful. You’re gonna want babies one day, Mrs. Barrett.”

  “Yeah? Well not if we can’t get married because—”

  I yank her to the edge of the bed. Watch the heat in her eyes shift into anticipation. Need.

  “Because what, babe?”

  Her breath catches when I lean over her, and my own lungs hiss as her fingers explore my skin. I love that she can’t keep her hands off me. I can relate. That little halter top is killing me.

  “Because…”

  I push my knee between her thighs, forcing agonizing friction, and she slides closer with a soft moan. She’s so damn irresistible.

  “If you think you can charm your way out of this—”

  I reach into her hair. Tilt her chin up so I can charm the hell out of pink lips. Her groan is all I need. She arches for more exposure, and I reach under that tight fabric. She tenses into my hand as I massage her nipple into a hard peak.

  “We’ll figure it out,” I breathe against her neck.

  “You always say that.”

  “And we always do, right?”

  “I hate you,” she mumbles while sliding her hands around my waist. They go lower until a demanding grip on my ass forces our hips together. More friction. More fire. So many reasons not to worry about shit outside of this room. I pull in a breath, hungry muscle rigid and charged. I’d rebuild that damn rose castle with my bare hands for her.

  Seven days since our last real time together. My body screams for her. The fire becomes volcanic waves when her hands skim up my chest, pulling me closer, pressing, demanding relief.

  “Casey,” she gasps as I rock against her.

  “Yeah?” I manage. Her fingers work their magic on me and—oh god. My own grip slides her tiny shorts down so I can enter her slowly.

  “Ah... Case…” She arches again, moans that private melody I love. “I… ahh. We have to—”

  I pump harder, ready to push us into oblivion. My eyes clench shut, air coming hard into my chest. She’s writhing, so close. So damn close. Making me crazy. “What’s up, babe?”

  “Ahh!” She gasps out my favorite sound, jerks once, twice, a third, before curling over my body and wrapping her arms around my chest. We rest against each other in silence, one of my favorite moments. When our heartbeats and breaths slow in sync to form a perfect duet.

  “You’re amazing,” she whispers. “I love you so much.”

  My heart. Can’t believe I get an entire lifetime of this. “I love you too, babe. Now what were you trying to tell me?”

  She sighs. Bites her lip, touches my cheek. “Sweetie, we need to call off the wedding.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “We can’t get married without a venue.”

  Callie pushes at my shoulders, gaze heavy with satisfied lust and broken dreams.

  I don’t move.

  “Like Hell the wedding’s off. We’re getting married, Cal.”

  “But the Rose Chateau—”

  “What do fucking roses have to do with anything?”

  Her nose scrunches. “Language.”

  “You’re breaking up with me. I think I get a pass on word choice.”

  She rolls her eyes along with another shove against my shoulders. “Don’t be so dramatic. You know what I mean.”

  I straighten and cross my arms. “Do I? I can’t believe a Grammy-winning rock star is getting stood up at the altar.”

  “The altar is a pile of ash, genius.”

  She shrieks as I nuzzle her neck with my two-day scruff. “You’re going to leave marks!”

  “What do you care? You’re just gonna pout in the room all weekend.”

  “Jerk.” Why does this woman love to hit me so much?

  Her body relaxes into the sheets, and I finally push off her to my back.

  “Seriously, Case. What are we going to do?”

  I take her hand and follow her gaze to the ceiling. “First, put clothes on. Second, the Welcoming Thing. I’m freaking starving anyway. Then? We figure things out.”

  She squeezes my hand. Clings, really. “What if we can’t?”

  I twist my head over to connect with the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. “Not an option. I’m taking my wife on this tour.”

  5: THURSDAY 10:16AM, 2 DAYS

  Rita looks like a wedding coordinator who just learned the wedding of the century is now the disaster of the millennium when we spot her in the dining room. Starving children be damned. The world has bigger problems like insufficiently-flecked gold-flecked buttercream. She paces the length of the omelet bar like that’s her job, not making sure flowers are dyed in perfectly unnatural colors. She hasn’t seen us yet, too caught up with whatever inept minion is ruining her life on the other end of that earpiece.

  “Aw, she looks so stressed out,” Callie whispers to me. Leave it to Cal to feel bad that the destruction of her wedding is causing discomfort for someone else.

  “We pay her a shitload of money to be stressed out, babe.”

  “Yeah, but…”

  I squeeze her shoulders, heart melting because my girl is freaking amazing. It kills me that the only reason she even wants this show is to make everyone else happy.

  “I’ll talk to her. You go attack that fruit bar.”

  Hesitant eyes drift up to me. “You sure? I know you don’t like—”

  I cut her off with a kiss. “Go. Your job is pineapple.”

  She grins. “I’ll grab you some coffee too.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  I hold my smile until she commits to breakfast, then brace for Rita.

  Five steps away, the woman holds up a finger to stop me. Me, the groom paying her ridiculous fee.

  “I understand that, Frederick. But my clients are A-listers with an A-list guest-list. This wedding is not happening in a barn. Call me when you have an A-list option.”

  Damn, so many lists in that woman’s w
orld to keep track of. No wonder she’s grumpy.

  She presses the button in her ear and lets her face melt into a commiserating look. I return it because this is the most we’ve ever bonded.

  “Mr. Barrett, I’ve been up all night working on this. I promise we will have a solution shortly.”

  “So the barn is out?” Somehow I keep a straight face through the horror on hers.

  “Of course! I have a mind not to work with Frederick again for even suggesting such a thing.”

  “Seems a bit extreme.”

  “I can’t even imagine how devastated you two must be.” Her hand flutters to her forehead all devastated-like.

  “Well, we just—”

  “I swear. I will never contract the Rose Chateau again after this! How dare they?”

  “Let their building burn to the ground?”

  “Well, they should have had more sprinklers or made sure the wiring wasn’t hazardous or the kitchen had… enough… inspections…”

  Yeah, she has no idea what started the fire.

  “I see. So you booked us a place that wasn’t up to code?”

  Okay, I’m being a dick, but this is so fun.

  Her cheeks flush, brows scrunching almost to a point on her forehead. “Of course not. I would never, it’s just…”

  Maybe I’ve tortured her enough. “Rita, look at me.” She does. “We’ll figure it out okay?” I nod as I say this to trigger her own subconscious agreement. Her eyes glaze over as if she’s fighting tears. Or spontaneous combustion.

  “Thank you, Mr. Barrett. I assure you we’ll—”

  “Dude! Got your message. You didn’t tell us we were supposed to bring marshmallows to this thing. Bon fire!”

  I cringe. Rita shatters and takes off toward the exit.

  “What’s her problem?” Eli asks, running a hand through his morning hair. Looks strangely similar to his afternoon, evening, and stage hair as well.

  “That’s our wedding coordinator.”

  His eyes widen, following her retreat. “Damn. Bet she’s having a bad day.” He claps my shoulder and leans past me for an inspection of the buffet. “Whoa. Great spread, dude. Good job.” Another reassuring pat from our bass player, and he’s gone.

  Has Rita considered the healing power of bacon?

  An arm slips around my waist, and any lingering tension falls away. I tuck Callie against my side, my lips instinctively finding the top of her head.

  “Can you go smack Eli for me?” she mutters.

  I smirk. “What do you mean? That was downright delicate for him.”

  “So much bacon, though,” she says, and I follow her gaze to the growing pile on his plate.

  “Should’ve done a bacon fountain at the reception,” I say.

  “Is that a thing?”

  I shrug. “For A-listers like us, I’m sure it could be.”

  Her laughter is pure magic. What I wouldn’t give to jump on a plane for a week alone with that smile. “I wish Rita would stop calling us that. What does that even mean?”

  “Apparently, it means we can’t have a barn wedding.” She glances up, and I grin. “That was Frederick’s suggestion.”

  “Who’s Frederick?”

  “No idea. You want a barn wedding, babe?”

  “What about my allergies?”

  I love that she’s serious. “I’m kidding. Rita already told him no.”

  “If that’s what she thinks is best...”

  “I think she’d have a stroke at the mere consideration.”

  My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket. Ah shit. You have to be kidding me.

  Molly: SOS. Sixth floor Uncle N emergency.

  I’d been wondering why my sister wasn’t here stalking the bacon and my bandmate.

  ∞∞∞

  I leave Callie with the tiny lie that everything’s fine. After all, Uncle Nestor is not a problem she needs on her conscience. Hell, Uncle Nestor shouldn’t be on anyone’s conscience.

  Molly is waiting when the elevator dumps me on the sixth floor. Dressed in workout clothes with her hair tied up in a messy bun, it’s clear this crisis wasn’t on her schedule either. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, Case, but I didn’t know what to do. You know how he gets and—”

  “Don’t be a buffoon!”

  Molly shrinks behind me at the screech exploding from room 607.

  An older woman with a grimace that matches my uncle’s rushes into the hallway, hurling god-knows-what back into the room.

  “You, two-timing piece of sludge!”

  Ah. Cantaloupe. Why wouldn’t you throw cantaloupe at your scorned beloved?

  “They’re crazy,” Molly whispers behind me.

  “What happened?”

  “Not sure. I guess Uncle Nestor cheated on her?”

  “Ya think?”

  “They’re going to end up with a felony if we don’t calm them down.”

  I sigh and clench my jaw. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, big bro. Be careful.”

  I move toward the fray. Pretty sure I’ll be down an uncle in about five minutes.

  “Excuse me, ma’am?”

  The woman’s arm freezes mid-launch, and I’m relieved to see her melon arsenal is almost depleted. “Oh, Casey dear! It’s good to see you again. Congratulations on your marriage.”

  “Thanks, Ms. Hawthorne. What’s going on here?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Uncle Nestor growls, shoving through the door in a leisure ensemble I can’t un-see. “This witch is attacking me!”

  “Oh god, Uncle N. Can you put some clothes on?” I block the view with my hand.

  “I’ll get dressed when I damn well choose. How about you tell this hag to stop throwing fruit at me?”

  “Hag? Oh hag is it? You’re a cad, Nestor Barrett. A bona fide cad!”

  I draw in a deep breath. “Okay, look, I don’t know what happened, but I need you to scale this back to a private affair.”

  “Affair,” she huffs. “Appropriate choice of word. Wouldn’t you say, Nestor?”

  “Oh for god’s sake, woman. I exchanged one dirty photo with her.”

  Nope. No, no, no. I glance back at Molly whose concern has faded into a traitorous snicker. She’s loving this. That makes one of us.

  “Your penis belongs to me!”

  Oh my god.

  “Hey.” I step between them and practically push my uncle back into the room. His lady friend follows to finish the assault, and I give them each a hard look. “Here’s the thing. You both need to start acting like adults because I have bigger shit on my plate at the moment.”

  Nestor crosses his arms. Ms. Hawthorne looks ready to cut off that penis she believes she owns.

  “We’ll need new table arrangements,” she says. “As well as a new room. I will not spend another minute with this lying, cheating animal.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe if you’d be willing to spice things up—”

  “Stop.” I clench my eyes shut and draw in a hiss of air. “Please, just… I can’t.” When I re-open my eyes, the warring couple finally seems settled into cool stares. “The hotel is booked solid for the wedding and some conference this weekend. As for the reception… I can’t go there right now, so I need you to work this out or leave. Got it?”

  Ms. Hawthorne sighs, and even Uncle Nestor keeps his grumbling to a dull murmur as I stalk to the door.

  “Oh, and no more fruit-throwing.” I call back.

  ∞∞∞

  Callie is chatting with Holland when I return to the dining hall. They’ve become close, besties as she calls it, which definitely makes things easier for Luke and me. Right now though? I hate anyone who’s blocking her from me.

  “Morning, Holland. Can I borrow Callie for a sec?”

  “Of course. So sorry about the Rose Chateau.”

  “Yeah, it sucks.” I raise my brow at Callie and nod toward the exit. “I need you.”

  Her expression fades into concern, and maybe I ki
nd of feel bad for the false alarm. Then again, what’s the definition of emergency? Tension is already releasing from my shoulders at the thought of kissing her. Of absorbing her warmth, her peace. She can’t be my wife soon enough.

  “What’s wrong, hun?”

  “Everything that’s not you and me in a hotel room right now.”

  Her cheeks flush. “Case…”

  A grin spreads over my lips. “Cal…”

  She bites her lip to cut off her own smile. “You don’t play fair.” I know what my smile does to her. So I have no shame, big deal. Her arms slip around my waist.

  Shit. My blood rages hot. “You’re killing me,” I groan against her ear. I’m sure she can feel how much I want her.

  “Yeah? You’re the one trying to seduce me in the dining room.”

  “Is it working?”

  The look in her eyes says everything. Her hands tighten behind my back, dip into my jeans.

  “Please, babe. You’d have mercy if you knew—”

  “Oh good! You’re both here.”

  Fuck. Rita is the devil. There’s zero doubt in my mind.

  Callie pulls back and straightens with enough politeness for both of us. Good thing because I’m pretty sure there’s a reason Rita avoids my gaze as she shoves brochures at us. “Do you have a minute to sit and discuss another option?”

  I take a step toward the exit. “Actually, we were just—”

  Callie gives me a look, and I grunt.

  “Of course,” she says.

  We gather at an empty table, and I study Callie’s face as she scans the brochures.

  “I found the perfect venue. It’s within distance range of the Rose Chateau and can accommodate an event of this size. It’s a miracle they have availability, though I suspect your name has something to do with that.” My name is probably the only thing she likes about me, and she seems damn proud that she got to trade it for some brochures. I’m not as confident as she is when I absorb Callie’s reaction to the extravagant photos.

  Her brows knit, jaw tight as she examines the images. “It’s beautiful, but…” I know that softening in her voice. She doesn’t want to break Rita’s heart.

  Not a problem for this guy. “It’s kind of over-the-top, don’t you think? Is that wall gold-plated?”