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I picture the insidious look on Sebastian’s face less than twenty-four hours ago. His parting words. The power he possesses to ruin me by revealing our lie. Somehow, he’s so threatened by my modicum of success, and by my no, that he’s declared me his enemy. With his fat bank account and his suspicions, he could take me down.
A real marriage neutralizes the threat of a fake engagement. I swallow past a knot of fear.
“Flight Thirty-two to Las Vegas. All groups must board now,” a tinny voice rattles as we reach the busy gate, packed with people.
“I can’t believe there are this many people going to Vegas on a Sunday morning,” I say, though what I’m really thinking is I can’t believe I’m going to Vegas less than twelve hours after you proposed to me for a second time.
I lean closer, trying to lighten the mood, to slow my still surging pulse. “Are they all plotting their fake marriages?”
He tugs on my hand, his eyes darkening, his mouth serious. “This one is real.”
I’m speechless for several seconds. “I know,” I say, my stomach flipping with nerves.
“Real for two months,” he adds, like a reminder, but it hardly seems like a reminder for me.
It’s more like he’s reminding himself.
We reach the jetway, where a man in a starched blue suit gestures to the scanner. “Boarding pass, please.”
Gage scans his mobile phone. “How you doing?”
“Good. And you?”
“Great,” Gage says, but does he mean it?
The man smiles. “Good luck.”
After I scan my pass, we walk down the jetway in silence. My worries crawl back up my throat.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask. “You can back out.” Maybe he needs a parachute. Maybe he regrets his throwdown. “I’m the one who needs this. Sebastian’s after me. Not you.”
Gage’s head tilts my way. His eyes study me. “He’s after us. We’re in this together.”
My heart pounds mercilessly. “We are?”
“We are,” he says, strong, certain. “One hundred percent.”
“But you really don’t have to do this,” I say. I’ve never seen anyone step up like he has. I didn’t know that was a thing men did. Or people.
“You’re looking at me like you think I regret this.”
Busted. I purse my lips as we near the mouth of the plane. “I just thought maybe a few minutes ago…you were regretting it. When you sort of trailed off.”
He squeezes my hand again. “I was thinking. That was all. Just about…”
“The last time you got married?” I supply.
His smile is soft, a little wistful. “You’re a great listener. And yes, I was.”
“I had a feeling,” I say.
“But I’m sure of this,” he adds, curling his arm possessively around me like he did yesterday. “We have a plan and it’s a good one. A Special Edition Marriage.”
With our plan and our chutzpah, we step onto the plane on a Sunday morning. We’re not even going to stay overnight in the city of sin. We’ll be back in the early afternoon. Amanda spent the night at Ally’s house. Eliza is with her grandmother. There were no appointments today in San Francisco to get a marriage license, so this was our best option for a quick marriage.
We find our seats quickly in the twenty-third row, my engagement ring glinting from the sun rising outside the little window, my phone buzzes with a text.
This confirms your wedding at 10:00 AM at The Extravagant Chapel. Congratulations, and we will see you soon.
