Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (4 page)

We just have to figure out how to balance the two.

Somehow.

For the better part of an hour, I try to sleep. Around three A.M., I give up and go to the main room. The lights of The Strip flow in through the window. Even at three A.M., the city is bright and vivid. Even at three A.M., the streets are lined with cars and with people walking from casino to casino. Most are in winter coats. A few are in cocktail dresses, no doubt buzzed enough the cold temperature doesn't bother them.

What would Rosie do if she were here?

Get wasted.

But if she were sober? If she'd survived the overdose and clawed her way through recovery the way Miles did?

After she gave up on telling me to put school first, she'd find a gaudy venue, pick out an ornate dress, and spend our parents' money like it was going out of style.

There would probably be a horrifying bachelorette party with male strippers and penis-shaped straws.

I close my eyes and remember her room. It was loud, like her. Bright colors, ornate lights, flashy vanity mirror.

Perfect for a Vegas wedding.

God, I wish she were here. It still hurts that she doesn't exist in the world.

Miles is the only thing that makes it hurt less.

The energy in the room shifts. He's up.

He comes closer. No words, but I can hear his breath and his footsteps.

Then he's behind me.

Miles slides his arms around my waist. He pulls my body into his.

The world makes sense when we're pressed together.

Can I go another two months without those arms around me?

I'm not sure I can.

His lips brush my earlobe. "You look fuckable when you’re all pensive."

"Do I?" I arch my back to rub my ass against his crotch. I'd like to be thinking nothing. He can help with that.

Miles chuckles. "Princess, it's impolite to use your fiancée for his body."

"Is that right?"

He nods. "You keep going off someplace. Rosie?"

I nod. "She'd love a Vegas wedding."

"Damon too. He had a soft spot for whirlwind romances." Miles presses his lips against my neck. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer. "You've got an anchor tied to your ankle."

"Since when do you speak in metaphors?"

"It's something new I'm trying."

"For your lyrics?"

"For everything."

"I thought you were letting Pete take over writing Sinful Serenade’s lyrics," I tease.

"I'll have to punish you if you don't show me respect."

"Okay. Let's go now."

"It's not a punishment if you ask for it." He slides his hands to my hips. "You know I'm happy to fuck you any time, any place."

"And yet my clothes are on."

He presses his lips to my neck. "Remember our deal?"

"What deal?"

"No secrets, no lies."

"The deal we made when we were fuck buddies?" I laugh. "Another part of it was no falling in love. That didn't work so well."

"You can't blame me for that." He presses his cheek against mine. "I didn't realize how adorable you were when you blushed."

"Yes, you did."

He laughs. "I didn't realize how much I needed you."

"How much?"

"We're like puzzle pieces. You fit into me. I fit into you."

I turn back to Miles and stare into his eyes. "I don't know if I can do it."

"Get married?"

"I want to. I want to be with you forever. But... I don't know if I can survive your tour schedule. It's selfish, but I want you in my bed every night. I want your arms around me when I get home from work."

He runs his fingertips over my shoulders. "It's not selfish to want it. I want that too. But you know what I want more?"

"What?"

"I want you happy. And you won't be happy if you give up medical school."

"You won't be happy if you give up the band." I slide my hand over his. "We're at an impasse."

"No. We have a problem that we can figure out together."

"What if we can't?"

"We can."

"Let me guess. You just know?"

"Yeah." He pulls me closer. "Our first performance is in fifteen days. That gives us fourteen days for a wedding and a honeymoon. Or fourteen days to hang out in Vegas."

"And have lots of hot sex?"

"You think I could go anywhere without having sex with you?"

"Maybe I need to be reminded." I rise to my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

Miles groans as he kisses me. We had sex just this afternoon, but there's still so much time to make up for.

I pull my t-shirt over my head.

His eyes go to my chest. Then to my new tattoo. His pupils dilate as he nods.

I push my pajama bottoms off my hips. "Let's start with right here. Then we can move to the bed."

He does away with his boxers. "Princess, I love the way you think."

––––––––

M
egara

Miles and I sit at a cozy corner table at the Starbucks three blocks east of Las Vegas Boulevard, sipping our drinks and soaking in the silence.

My eyelids press together. I can see bits and pieces of a wedding. I can see the two of us at an altar. It's not as pristine as the one in the hotel chapel. It's bright and brilliant, overflowing with red roses or maybe purple orchids.

His eyes sparkle. My hands are on his. There are wedding rings, simple silver bands. There are words falling from our lips.

A shriek of glee pulls me from my thoughts.

"You're getting married!" Kara squeals. Her friendly voice echoes around the room.

She bounces toward me. Her long, dark hair bounces with her. Her makeup highlights her brown eyes and her round lips. Her navy wrap dress shows off her enviable curves.

Drew, her fiancé, Miles's closest friend and the guitarist of Sinful Serenade, is a few paces behind her. He wears his exhaustion all over his handsome face. There's something else in his dark eyes— he's wrecked with worry. More than usual.

She throws her arms around me. "I'm so excited. Do you have a venue? Do you have a day?"

Drew makes the
cut it out
expression.

"We don't have anything," I admit.

"Don't worry, Princess. I'll take care of it." Miles presses his lips to my forehead. "Go get beautiful with your friend."

"Get beautiful?" Kara puts her hand on her hip, feigning indignation. "She's gorgeous right now. And so am I. Not as gorgeous as my poor, jetlagged baby." She blows Drew a kiss. "And he's not even wearing eyeliner yet."

Drew shakes his head. "Every day since Tom's wedding."

"It's hot, baby." She pulls him into a close hug. Then she's on her tiptoes, and he's leaning down to kiss her. Even in her wedge shoes, she's at least six inches shorter than Drew.

Drew groans with pleasure. He's crazy about her, but he's not the PDA type. Well, not with us watching. I've heard plenty of stories about public sex.

After she pulls away, she looks into his eyes. It's a plea, a secret one.

"It's Pete's fault," Drew complains. "Jess swoons over him in eyeliner, so now he wears it every day."

Miles chuckles. "Steele's got game. Can't fault him for that."

Drew turns to Kara. "Will you—"

"No." She cuts him off. "Don't say anything. To anyone. Please."

"About what?" I ask.

"It's nothing. A surprise... for after your wedding." She bites her lip, not quite believing her words. "I have a dozen shops bookmarked. We're getting home late. So don't wait up, boys."

"My parents are coming in. They want to meet us for dinner," I say.

"Okay, okay. Most of these places close by eight. I permit you to meet Dr. and Dr. Smart for dinner at nine." She turns to Miles. "You, arrange dinner. And no excuses about how you were too busy writing love songs or getting new tattoos or something."

Miles chuckles. "Sure thing, Kara. Good to see you again. How did you like, uh..." He runs his hand through his hair, trying to recall the city of Kara's trip.

"Shanghai. It was different." She turns to Drew with an encouraging smile. "Throw a depraved bachelor party. Put Tom's to shame."

"A depraved party that ends in time for him to get to dinner at nine?" Drew asks.

"You're in Vegas. I'm sure you can squeeze lots of depravity into the next ten hours." She laughs. "I believe in you."

***

T
he bridal shop is huge and it's pink. Every inch of space is pastel pink—the floor, the walls, the frames around the mirrors, the couches, the register.

There must be a thousand dresses. A few hundred are close enough to my size—they do rush alterations here—that they make viable options.

There are several hundred dresses to choose from.

And I haven't got a clue about my venue. About the time of day. If I'm inside or outside.

My heartbeat picks up. It's hard to breathe.

Where do I start? I've never thought about a wedding. Not the dress, the venue, the cake, the flowers. It's never crossed my mind.

Now, I'm attempting to arrange everything in a span of 48 hours. Seventy-two max.

It's overwhelming.

"Relax, sweetie," Kara says. "I've got this."

"But..."

"Do you have any idea what you want?"

"Not boring but not tacky either."

"Ah, I've got it. Sit down." She nods to the pink couch in the dressing area. "Allow me."

"Okay."

I collapse on the squishy couch. I'm still working at a sleep deficit, and this is a hell of a comfortable seat. I let my eyes close and take a half-nap.

Twenty minutes later, Kara is ready to go. She hangs the dresses in one of the stalls and taps me on the shoulder.

I focus on my reflection as I step into the dressing room. Is that really me, in a boutique, trying on a gown? Frizzy dark hair, brown eyes, and gawky figure—yep, it's me.

I'm really doing this.

After I strip to my panties and put on a logline bra, Kara helps me into a gown. It's heavy white satin, so white it catches all the light in the store.

There's something flattering about the sheath dress—it makes me look statuesque and classy—but its utter lack of adornment is boring. It's barely fancier than a maxi dress I'd wear to the beach.

She adjusts the bust and waist. "Too simple?"

I nod in agreement.

"I have just the pick." She helps me out of my dress and my bra and into a fluffy ball gown.

I'm swimming in taffeta. The ball gown makes Cinderella look under-dressed. The ruffled skirt takes up most of the dressing room. The bodice is adorned with rhinestones. They catch the fluorescent lights.

"It is loud," I say.

She laughs. "When in Vegas..."

"Sparkle like the stars."

"You do sparkle." She steps backward and takes a long look at me. "You hate it, don't you?"

I nod.

"I have an idea."

Despite the horror that is this dress, I trust her.

She helps me into another half-dozen dresses. None are right, but we start to narrow in on what I want—ivory, not white, a ball gown or a princess dress with a touch of adornment.

We must be at dress ten. I'm about ready to fall asleep on that pink couch. It feels like it's been hours.

Kara looks me over. "You want to break for lunch, or do you want to try two more?"

"One more."

"I'll make it count." She looks at the dresses left on the rack and picks one. "Here we go."

It's pretty. It has a light sparkle, a full skirt, and a gorgeous, rich ivory color. It's almost cream. Not that I know the difference.

Kara undoes the corset back, and I step into the dress. She takes her time lacing the back.

Her voice gets bright. "I think this might be the one."

My chest feels light. Is it really possible I'm in my wedding dress? The thought is equal parts exciting and terrifying. "Really?"

"Really." She takes my hand. "Let's look in the main room."

The dress is a few inches too long. I'll have to wear heels. As it is, I'm barefoot.

I stumble all the way to the mirrors in the center of the room.

My exhale is a mix of relief and excitement.

The dress is straight out of a dream and it fits like a glove. Between the sweetheart neckline, the v-waistline, and the full tulle skirt, it's the perfect princess dress.

I really do look like a princess.

A tear forms in my eye. I go to wipe it away. No good. There's another. Another.

Blinking does nothing to stop the happy tears from forming.

"It's perfect," I whisper.

She chokes back a tear. "Oh God. Now I'm crying. You look beautiful. That's it, Meg. That's the dress."

My eyelids press together. I can see myself at the altar in this dress. I can see the look of delight in Miles's eyes as I walk down the aisle. I can feel his fingertips on my chest, tracing my tattoo.

Your Worship, you really look like a Princess.

I love you.

I know.

Don't
Star Wars
me at a time like this.

He smiles so hard that he can barely get out his
I love you too
.

My gaze goes to my reflection.

The sweetheart neckline is low enough to show off my fresh ink.

The reflection of the words is backward in the mirror. Still, I read them over and over.

Be Brave, Love
.

I want to be brave. I want to run to my feelings instead of running from them.

––––––––

M
iles

Under normal circumstances, Drew isn't exactly what I'd call "a barrel of laughs," but he's in an especially off mood today.

I send him to get suits so I can tour venues on my own. None are quite right. But one gives me an idea.

It takes a few hours searching online, but I find the perfect venue. I can see her there, can see us there.

I book it for the day after tomorrow.

Fuck, maybe I am rushing, but I can't help it. I need a better explanation than
I want the world to know she's mine
if I want to convince Meg's parents this is a good idea.

She won't do it without their blessing.