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“Okay, then.”
He took her hand and slipped it through his bent elbow. “Pretend it’s a bad dream.”
“Not bad at all,” he thought he heard her whisper.
He led her across the living room to the terrace door. Together, they stepped out into his fairyland of a rooftop garden.
A softly glimmering crystal chandelier hung from the center of a white canopy swagged with dozens of strands of twinkle lights. Flowers in big gold urns showcased all the colors of fall: plum dahlias, burgundy roses, green hydrangeas, and orange calla lilies. The guests, seated in gilded Chiavari chairs, turned as they entered, and he heard more than one sigh of relief followed by a piercing wolf whistle from Jonah. Piper managed a wobbly smile. He’d flown Amber in on a private plane from Houston as a surprise. She waved at Piper and began to sing “Come Away with Me” in her exquisite coloratura soprano.
Twists of brown and mulberry velvet ribbons marked the makeshift aisle, and the chandelier made her rhinestone headband glitter in her dark hair. She was so caught up in Amber’s solo that she didn’t notice who waited for them at the front of the aisle, not until the final chorus faded and he began to lead her forward.
Her fingers dug into his arm. “You didn’t!” she whispered.
“We needed somebody to marry us,” he whispered back.
“But . . .”
The last notes of the song faded away. He cupped his hand over hers as it rested in the crook of his arm and led her the rest of the way down the aisle to the place where Phoebe Somerville Calebow, the owner of the Chicago Stars, waited to marry them.
***
“I warned you from the beginning that I’m a user,” Piper told her husband that night as she lay in his arms, all woozy and satiated from their lovemaking.
“How long do you think it’ll be before I outlive my usefulness?”
“A very long time.” She curled into his chest. She didn’t know exactly how she’d pull it off, but she intended to be a superstar wife. “I can’t believe we’re married.” She sighed.
“I thought we weren’t going to mention it.”
“Only tonight.” She flipped to her back. “Now that I’ve landed a man, I’m thinking about letting myself go. No more dresses, makeup, haircuts . . .”
“You barely get haircuts now,” he pointed out, drawing her close once again.
“Dresses are a lot of bother.”
“Fine with me, but you’re going to miss sneaking looks at yourself in the mirror whenever you get dressed up.”
Her smile turned into a frown. “You have to get a prenup. Or a postnup. Honestly, Coop! For someone who’s supposed to be a crackerjack businessman, you’ve been completely irresponsible.”
He yawned and curled his hand over her thigh. “You and Heath work it out.”
“Is that the way this marriage is going to go? The three of us. You, me, and your agent?”
“That’s how it rolls when you marry an overprivileged ex-jock.”
She laughed and held up her hand, admiring in the soft bedroom light the ring he’d given her. A spiral of tiny diamonds wrapped a narrow gold band. “You could have afforded a lot bigger.”
“True.” He kissed the slope of her breast. “But you’d have killed me.”
He knew her so well. Not only her jewelry preference, but also her flaws and insecurities, along with every one of her hang-ups. But he loved her all the same.
“I have a ring for you, too,” she said, “but you won’t get it for a couple of weeks.”
He twisted the platinum band she’d bought him by wiping out a big chunk of her savings. “I already have a ring.”
“Not that kind of ring.”
His head came up off the pillow. “Tell me you didn’t—”
