While we’ve spent almost all of the last twenty-four hours in bed, we’ve spent a lot of it talking, telling each other all the stories we’ve missed in the last several months. For some reason the physical connection makes it easier than talking on the phone. Plus there’s no projects or deadlines or appointments hanging over us here.
She told me about her semester, her feelings about her recital and her competitions, the repertoire she’ll be working on next year, other competitions she plans on entering. I hesitated to bring up the grad school conversation, not wanting to be pushy or overbearing, but she dove right in when I edged close to the subject, informing me that she’d looked more at schools in California and was starting to put together the audition material.
My heart had sped up at the possibility of her moving closer to me, even though it’s at least a year away. We fit together so well that the thought of us not being together then seems insane. Especially if we know we’ll be together after she graduates, surviving the time in between will be easier.
I shower quickly, not wanting to waste even a second of the limited time we have together, and look forward to a time when we’ll get more than stolen moments and short trips together to sustain us.
Chapter Twenty
Lauren
Brendan’s disappointment that I didn’t bring the godawful bikini I bought at a Walmart in BFE, Colorado is short-lived. When I put on the emerald green halter top I brought instead, his eyes glaze with lust, and I wonder if we’ll make it to the pool at all. But he jerks himself away, adjusts himself in his boardshorts, and leads the way to the door.
When we get back later, after swimming and dancing and enjoying a few cocktails, he pins me against the door, his mouth hot and hungry on mine as he peels the skimpy fabric from my body.
The five days in Las Vegas pass in a blur of orgasms, good food, and fun. We spend our last day wandering The Strip and shopping. I wanted to see all the crazy casinos I’ve only seen in movies or read about in books. The extravagance and ridiculousness of building replicas of major world landmarks in the middle of the desert in the Southwest isn’t lost on me, but it’s still fun. Especially with Brendan snapping selfies of us and kissing me and holding my hand and buying me little souvenirs as we wander from place to place.
He’s treated me to fancy dinners, casual restaurants, and room service in bed. We’ve played a few slots and talked about going to a show, but the tickets to Cirque du Soleil were so expensive that I didn’t feel good about making him spend that much, and he refused outright when I suggested going to Thunder from Down Under. Part of me thinks it would be fun to go to that kind of a show, but I had to spend the afternoon reassuring him that his body was plenty hot enough for me. Which it is. And I had no complaints about showing him exactly how true that is. Especially when he returned the favor.
We’re slowly making our way back to our hotel after dressing up and going dancing and drinking at a club. Brendan insisted, saying that he wanted to relive our time on the dance floor in New York, buying me another formfitting dress to wear and killer heels. We’ve passed several of the wedding chapels that Vegas is so famous for in our wanderings the last few days, and I’ve made a game out of pointing out the most outrageous ones. There’s another one that strikes me as hilarious, especially with a couple of vodka and sodas filtering through my veins.
I tug on Brendan’s arm to stop and point it out. “Who’d want to get married with an Elvis impersonator as the officiant? And why is it always the old, fat Elvis in the glittery jumpsuit? I mean, if I wanted Elvis to perform my wedding, I’d rather it be the younger, cuter version.”
Brendan stops and looks at me, mildly affronted. “Why? You really need to stare at some other hot guy at your wedding? Shouldn’t the groom be enough to hold your attention?”
I hold up my free hand, palm up. “But why would I want a sweaty old fat guy dressed up like someone else doing it?”
He grunts, and I’m not sure if he agrees or not. “Who would you rather have?”
I shrug. “I dunno. Someone normal.”
His gaze scans the buildings across the street, and he lifts his hand and points. “What about that one? It looks pretty normal.”
Squinting, I follow the direction his finger points. Pink neon lights pick out the name of the chapel in the darkness—The Hitching Post—but other than the somewhat cheesy name, it doesn’t look too bad. No dead celebrity impersonators. Some roses and carnations backlit in neon. I shrug. “Yeah. If I were going to pick one, I’d go for something like that more than an Elvis one.”
He tugs on my hand and heads in the direction of the wedding chapel. I tug back, trying to stop him, but in my heels I’m no match. “Brendan? What are you doing?” My voice comes out about an octave higher than normal, squeaky with nerves.
Glancing back at me, he smirks. “I just wanna check it out. Come on. There’s no harm in looking.”
I stop fighting and walk with him, trotting across the street when the crosswalk light changes at the corner. We stop and try to look through the windows, but can’t see much. “Let’s go inside,” Brendan says, hand already pulling open the door and escorting me through before I can even register what’s happening.
I glance at him, worry pulling my brows together, but he just smiles at me and reclaims my hand once we’re both inside.
Fake flowers in red and pink and white cover almost every available surface. The only unoccupied space is the counter in front of a gray haired woman with glasses wearing a shimmery beaded black jacket over a maroon dress. She smiles widely at us, taking in our joined hands. “Welcome. Do you have a reservation? Or are you just looking?”
“No, no, we’re—” I start to protest, but Brendan cuts me off.
“Just looking right now.”
The woman’s smile doesn’t falter. “Would you like a tour? There’s a ceremony going on in the red room, but you can peek in if you’re quiet.”
“Sure,” Brendan says as I start to shake my head no.
I look at him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?” I hiss.
He just grins. “It’s just a tour. She’ll give us a pamphlet. Aren’t you curious?”
The truth is, I am a little curious. Especially now that we’re here. And there’s no way to back out without causing a scene. So I follow along, making appropriate sounds of appreciation as she shows us the three spaces of varying sizes. I push away the images of the two of us standing at the front of the smallest chapel. Because that’s just crazypants.
“We can seat up to seventy-five people in our largest space and have dressing rooms for the bride and groom. You’re welcome to bring your own witnesses or we can provide them if you need.” She leads us back to the lobby where we came in and plucks a glossy trifold brochure from a plastic holder, spreading it out on the counter and pointing at the various packages and prices with a pen and explaining what each includes. Brendan listens intently, and I fidget next to him, not sure what he’s playing at with this.
Sure, yes, this week has been amazing. And while fantasizing about marrying him someday isn’t out of the question, doing it now seems like a phenomenally impulsive and probably bad idea. While I like the idea of spending an indefinite amount of time with him, the fact is that we’ve barely begun seeing each other again. It’s been a month since he showed up at my house and we decided to give this a try. And in that time we’ve only seen each other a few times, this week included, and talked on the phone some.
Why in the world is he looking at a wedding chapel?
Chapter Twenty-One
Brendan
With the wedding chapel brochure in one hand and Lauren’s fingers clutched in the other, wild thoughts brew in my head as we head back out onto The Strip. I lead her to a little bar we passed earlier and order us two shots of vodka. She casts me a concerned look as the bartender pours the liquid into tiny glasses and passes them to us before moving on to the next customer.
The nimble fingers of her free
hand slide around the glass, her face full of trepidation as she looks at me. “Shots, Brendan?”
I give her a careless grin, even though I feel anything but careless right now. My stomach is twisting, and I need the shot for courage, because as soon as we went inside that wedding chapel, I knew I wanted to marry her. Tonight. I’m hoping she’ll go along with my crazy plan. I love her. She loves me, too. I know it, even though neither of us has worked up the guts to say it yet. But what better way to do that than with a proposal? I know it’s crazy, but the more I think about it, the more it just seems right and the less it seems completely insane.
She’ll be stuck on the insane aspect, though. At least for a while.
Sliding the brochure into my back pocket, I pick up my own shot glass, the fingers of my other hand still laced through hers. I’m not willing to let go of her hand. Not with the end of our trip looming over us.
Not when I might be able to guarantee that trips and stolen moments won’t be all we get. Not when I can lock this down for good tonight.
If she doesn’t think I’m stupid crazy. That’s a big if, though …
I clink my glass against hers and raise it to my lips, waiting for her to do the same.
“What are we toasting?”
I hold her eyes, wide and fathomless in the dim yellow light of the bar. “Us.”
She gives me her signature smirk—another reason we’re obviously made for each other, because I’m known for my smirk as well—and taps her glass to mine again. “I can drink to that.”
We both knock our glasses back at the same time, and she squeezes my fingers hard as she slams her glass back down on the counter. Her face screws up, and she sticks out her tongue and shudders. “Blech. And that’s why I don’t do shots. Give me a fruity cocktail any day.”
Laughing, I pull her close and kiss her. Her fingers wrap around my neck, and the kiss goes deeper than I’d intended for public consumption, but I can’t say I mind.
When she finally pulls back, her chest heaving, she looks up at me, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “That’s a nice chaser, though.”
With another chuckle, I pull her close in a hug, just wanting to hold her. Imprint the feel of her body on mine. I’ve been doing that at every opportunity. I’ll need it to last me while we’re apart, because no matter her answer, we’ll have to spend time apart. She still has to finish school. I’m still working with The Professor for the time being. Nothing about our situation can change right now.
Releasing my hand, she wraps her arms around me, holding on tight for a moment before releasing me and sliding onto the stool next to her. I do the same, pulling the brochure from my pocket and laying it on the counter.
She reaches over and fingers the edge, her eyes fixed on it. “What was that all about? Back there at the wedding chapel … why did you get this? And why did you pull it out again?”
Sucking in a deep breath, I think about ordering another shot, but I have a better chance at this if I’m clearheaded. Liquid courage only goes so far. I cover her hand with mine, waiting for her to meet my eyes. “I think we should do it.”
I feel her withdraw as much as I see it. Her lids lower, and she looks away, going completely still, her fingers under mine flattening. She doesn’t even breathe for a long moment. “Do what, exactly?” she asks in a small voice, and if I weren’t holding her hand captive, she’d be wrapping her arms around herself.
“Get married.”
Her eyes fly to mine, her mouth open in shock. Then she pulls her hand away and laughs, shaking her head, like I just told a joke.
I quirk up one corner of my mouth, like I’m in on the joke, but I’m completely serious. I knew this would take some convincing, though. We’re not even into negotiations yet.
“Ha ha.” She shoves my shoulder. “You’re hilarious.”
I capture her hand again, pulling it to my lips and kissing her knuckles. “Glad you think so.” I hold her eyes with mine. “I’m not joking, though. I’ve told you over and over that I want you to be mine. I want it to be official.”
Her mouth is hanging open again, and I slide off my stool, wrap my arms around her, and place a kiss below her ear. With a deep breath, I let the words spill out that I’ve been having a harder and harder time holding back all week. “I love you, Lauren. I fell for you months ago on that road trip. I know this seems crazy, I know it’s impulsive, but every time I’m with you, everything just feels right. Like all the missing pieces are clicking into place. All the pieces I didn’t even know were missing. I know you feel it too. We fit. We work. And even though it’s crazy, that’s what makes it work. Everything about us has been impulsive and insane. The road trip. Me showing up. Trying to make this work. Coming here. This is what we do.”
She stares up at me, her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. She snaps her jaw closed, her throat working convulsively as she pushes me back slightly by my shoulders. Not shoving me away, just giving herself room to process. I let her, not wanting to crowd her. Wanting her to agree on her terms. But dammit, wanting her to just fucking agree. To be mine. My wife.
The words echo in my head.
Insanity.
Absolute insanity.
But the best kind in the world.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lauren
I stare up at Brendan, my mind whirling. This feels like some kind of fever dream, but he’s solid under my hands. He kissed me. He’s holding me. This is real.
Blinking, I try to process what he just said. That speech. Impulsivity being the defining characteristic of our relationship. The thing that started it. The thing that keeps it going.
And those other words.
I love you, Lauren.
Words I didn’t expect to hear from him. Not right now, anyway. Certainly not after he proposed marriage.
Because that was a proposal, right? I mean, not in the conventional sense. He didn’t get down on one knee. He didn’t offer me a ring.
“Do you have a ring?” I blurt out, somehow my mind catching on that.
He grins, all sex and confidence. “Is that a yes?”
My mouth is working faster than my brain right now. “I don’t remember you asking a question …” The coy words are out before I can stop them.
But he’s undeterred. If anything, that seems to spur him on.
He takes a half step back, his hands going to my thighs as he swivels me around on my stool, drops to one knee, and clasps one of my hands between both of his. My other hand drifts up to my mouth, covering my once again unhinged jaw.
I can’t believe this is happening …
“Lauren, I’m in love with you. I started falling for you that first night after you drove through a blinding snowstorm and let me massage you afterward.” He glances around, like he might want to say something else, but is aware of the fact that we have an audience. A growing audience, I realize as I look around too. He’s making a bit of a scene.
His voice draws my attention back to him. “I knew I was in love with you months ago. I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks. The time we’ve spent apart has been torture. I don’t want to second-guess us anymore or wonder if you’ll change your mind about the distance. I want to know that you’ll be waiting for me, and I want you to know that I’m waiting for you. That we’re in this crazy, impulsive thing together. Please, Lauren. Will you marry me?”
The entire bar seems to be holding its breath. All conversation around us has ceased. The bartender isn’t even filling drink orders. Everyone’s waiting for my answer.
And once again, my mouth moves before my brain has a chance to catch up. “Yes,” I breathe.
The entire bar erupts in cheers, and Brendan launches to his feet, wrapping his arms around me and claiming my mouth. After thoroughly kissing me, he tosses some bills on the bar and leads me out the door.
I stumble after him in a daze, not sure what’s going on. “Where are we going?”
He glances back at me,
happiness stamped on his face. “First we need some rings. Then we’re going back to that chapel.” He stops and yanks me against him, his lips fusing to mine once more. “I can’t wait to make you my wife.”
The next two hours pass in a whirl of color, light, and sensation, Brendan’s words echoing in my head the whole time. I can’t wait to make you my wife.
Holy shit. We’re getting married.
Some part of my brain is freaking out, because holy shit, we’re getting married. What the fuck are we thinking?
But the other part of me—the part that I’m choosing to listen to right now—is excited. And happy. And stupid in love. He loves me. And I love him. I’ve had some variation of that feeling—whether I acknowledged it at the time or not—since New York. I was too afraid to tell him, because I was afraid that he didn’t feel the same way.
But he does.
He does.
And now we’re getting married.
Brendan leads us to a jewelry store in the mall of one of the casinos. I don’t even know which one. I can barely keep up with the rapid changes going on around me.
He asks me what I think as he taps the glass above a gold wedding set, complete with solitaire engagement ring and matching bands for the bride and groom. The clerk pulls the set out and places it gently on the counter, prattling on about carats and clarity and I don’t even know what.
Brendan’s paying attention, smiling and nodding and looking at me. “Do you like it?”
I meet his eyes, and the confidence and love shining there steadies me. “Um, it’s pretty, but I prefer white gold.”
He flashes me a grin and, without looking at the clerk, says, “You heard the lady. Show us something in white gold.”
She moves two steps down on her side of the counter, her long, French tipped nails tapping the glass. “Here are our white gold collections. As you can see we have some lovely options …”
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 12