“Yeah, but I can’t get it for seven years. Or until I get married. I guess I could find some drunk guy to be my husband. Yay Vegas!” I laughed and the sound was feral, like it was bursting out of the throat of a wounded animal. Okay, maybe I wasn’t as composed as I thought I was. The stipulation was in the will to make sure that I’d be taken care of if I were to start a new life with someone. My father was young and alone when he raised me, so it was his way of looking out for my future. “Maybe in the meantime I can find one of those old-fashioned diners where the waitresses roller skate. Seems fun. What do you think, would I look good in an apron?”
I expected Wes to smile, to play into my sorry attempt at joking, but his expression was somber as he said the last thing I expected.
“I think you should marry me.”
Wesley
August 2009
When your best friend asks you to marry them for fifteen million dollars, you say yes. That’s the rule.
Instead, mine raised a beer bottle to her crimson lips, took a long sip, and said, “No. Can we just drop it and move on?” A variation of the same response she’s been giving me since she told me what her grandparents did.
It wasn’t exactly how I imagined the night would go when I booked the rooftop bar overlooking the Strip. The tour was going great, for the most part, but we all knew something—someone— was missing. Tonight was supposed to be the tipping point, when all the pieces fell into place and we could finally say we all made it. Instead, they’re falling apart.
“Give me one reason why it won’t work.” I shifted closer to her on the couch we selected at the far edge of the party. It was scorching during the day, but at night the desert air cooled drastically, justifying the small flickering firepit in front of us.
“The money wouldn’t come all at once, it would be paid out over a few years,” Avery explained.
“That’s still fifteen million. And I’m failing to see what part of this is a bad idea.” In my opinion, it was by far one of my best ideas. Sure, I’d been in love with her since I was fourteen and that could make me a bit biased. But for fifteen million? C’mon. “Is it because of your grandparents, that they’ll try to stop it?”
“No. My dad put the trust together and his lawyer oversees it, so they won’t know. But I can’t ask you to do this. It’s too much.” She slumped, as if she was begging the crack between the couch cushions to swallow her whole.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. It’s your birthday, so if you need to think of it as a present, be my guest.” I waved, flagging down a girl walking by. “Watch, even a stranger would say yes to me.”
Avery was stubborn and terribly self-reliant—had been since the moment I met her and wanted nothing to do with me. I was used to convincing her to let me help her and she was worth the effort.
When I captured the girl’s attention, she gave me an appreciative once over then flashed a smile. She was pretty with big doe eyes and springy blonde curls, but that didn’t matter. There was only one person for me.
“Oh, you’re one of those guys in that band. Fool’s Gold, right?” she asked nonchalantly, like she didn’t want to come off as a fan. God. We had fans. It was still hard to wrap my mind around. We worked hard to get to this point, but the fame and recognition were so sudden. It didn’t happen too often, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to complete strangers knowing my name.
“Yeah, Fool’s Gambit,” I corrected. “But would you marry me for fifteen million dollars?”
She blinked once, confused. “I guess?”
“Great! Thanks. That’s all I needed, enjoy the party.”
“No problem?” she said, her inflection warping her words into a question as she walked away, brows furrowed as she stole a final glance of Avery and me.
“That literally proves nothing,” Avery grumbled, though a thrill raced up my spine when I noticed her scorching gaze follow the girl until she disappeared into a circle of gyrating dancers. I wasn’t trying to make her jealous, but I wouldn’t complain if she was. I was ravenous for any proof she wanted me the same way I wanted her. “That was a hypothetical. And she doesn’t know you.”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to marry me because you know me? That’s harsh, Ave.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It can be. Marry me,” I said. “Nothing more to it.”
“How long would this be for?”
“Forever is fine by me. I’m not picky.”
She gave me a playful shove, bumping her shoulder against mine. Her hair moved with her, whispering against the side of my neck and forcing me to suppress a shiver. “Be serious.”
I was more serious about this—about her—than anything else in my life.
The fans. Our new found fame. The rush of adrenaline when we were on stage and perfectly in sync.
It all paled in comparison to her.
