Page 34 of Sweet Surrender

“Well, if you have to wear a dress, then it’s the least I can do.”

“True. Yes. But . . . thank you.” She smiles softly and moves to the wall of windows that overlooks the Strip down below.

It’s weird—I barely know this woman yet I feel close to her. Maybe it’s because she’s endearing. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to worry about impressing her as this is simply business. Or maybe it’s because we’re both about to be thrown into the same fire and so we share a mutual bond no one else might understand. Whatever it is, the feeling has me walking over to her, standing beside her, and linking my fingers with hers.

I don’t know if I expect her to yank her hand back, but I’m relieved when she doesn’t.

“How did we get here, huh?” I murmur.

“By plane,” she says and we both bark out a nervous laugh at the ridiculous comment. “Sorry. I crack jokes when I’m freaking out. Which I am by the way—freaking out. It’s not you though. It’s . . . everything else.”

“But it is me. I’m the reason you’re here.”

“Yes, but I like you. It’s the everything else that’s daunting.”

“Define everything else?”

“What is my mom going to say? To think? How is my life going to change? What if we fumble when we kiss at the altar and people can tell it’s the first time we’ve ever done it? I’ve told everyone—well, my friends and family—that I’ve sworn off men for a year because of Paul, and now I turn around and get married?” She blows out a shaky sigh that ends in a self-deprecating chuckle and then throws her hands up. “What if, what if, what if?”

I nod slowly. I know she can see it in her periphery, but she doesn’t turn or say anything else. “For the record, I’m freaking out too but am well aware being unpredictable is part of my nature. Wanting to get anywhere near a justice of the peace for a wedding is not however.”

“Great, so we’ll both shock the shit out of everyone while having mild heart attacks ourselves.”

I chuckle. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious.”

I squeeze her fingers. “Should we do some shots to ease our nerves?”

“You have alcohol?” She turns to look at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

“In the bag.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I came prepared.”

“Yes. Please.” If relief was audible, it would be those two words. “I’m good with prepared.”

Within a few minutes, I have the bottle of tequila opened and poured into two shot glasses.

“You know it’s bad luck to see your bride before the ceremony, right?” she asks as she takes the shot glass I slide across to her.

“Good thing we already know how this is going to turn out.” I smile, hold my glass up, and tap it against hers. “To our impending divorce.”

“To no future,” she adds.

“To life after you’re the wife I never dreamed of.”

She laughs. “Touché, husband who’s definitely not my type.”

“No?” I quirk a brow. Not her type?

“No.”

“Cheers,” I say seconds before we toss back the shots. While she might down it like a pro, the hiss she emits after, and her pinched expression that follows, has me laughing.

“Jesus.” It must taste like battery acid from her expression, but then she holds her glass back out to me. “I think I need another.”

And that has me laughing even harder. This woman is . . . she’s something else. “Okay. One more. Then that’s it. The last thing we need to be is glassy-eyed and shitfaced no matter how welcome the idea sounds at the moment.”

“Party pooper,” she says, sticking out her bottom lip.