I let go, dropping to my feet and backing away… the phone was already dialing Jude. Oh, no. No, no, no.
I hung up. “You are not calling Jude.”
“You just said we need security,” he said casually, studying my nipples through the silk pajama top again. Fuck it, let him look. I didn’t have time to ward off his eyes and the full force of his crazy at once.
“Yes, and I told you when you ‘proposed’ that you can’t tell anyone, and if you make Jude come with us, everyone in the universe will know by the time the sun comes up.”
“Why’d you say ‘proposed’ like that?” he asked, and if I didn’t know better I could’ve sworn I hurt his feelings. “It was a legit proposal, Maggs.”
“A legit proposal usually climaxes with the presentation of a ring, Zane.”
“Offered you a ring. And you ask me—”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“—a legit proposal climaxes with celebration sex.”
And there it was.
“You said no sex.”
He shrugged, like it was the world’s most unimportant detail. “I said we didn’t have to have sex. But let’s stay on focus here, Maggie. Dizzy’s waiting.”
Right. Almost forgot about that ass, I was so busy dealing with the one in front of me.
At least the mention of my dad’s name served to remind me why the hell we were even considering this crazy shit in the first place.
“Whatever,” I said, shoving his phone into his washboard abs. “You’re not calling Jude.”
“Jude’s discreet, Maggs,” he said. “It’s his job.”
Great. We hadn’t even gotten to the ceremony and we were already arguing. Again.
Ceremony… Jesus, that sounded official. Even though it would only be a fake ceremony, to screw with my dad… still. Jesus.
“Listen to me carefully,” I said. “You can’t tell Jude. Jude’s best friend in the entire universe is Jesse, and he’s going to tell Jesse, even if we tell him not to. It’s a given. You and me getting married tonight—even just for Dizzy’s sake—is too juicy a tidbit to expect people to keep it to themselves. Do you get that? Jesse will tell Elle, and Elle is too close to Dylan not to tell him. Dylan will tell his best buddy, Ash. Ash is the Pusher’s lead singer. Odds are he tells his buddies, too.” Including Coop. Ugh. “Which means Pepper finds out, and Pepper will tell the whole fucking world.” It was true. The Penny Pushers’ drummer had a big fucking mouth. “Do you see the path of destruction?”
“Guess I can kinda see how that would go down,” he said slowly, following my logic. “Pepper does have a big mouth.”
“The biggest.”
He eyeballed me thoughtfully. “You put that together quick.”
“It’s kinda my job,” I said.
“So when you said we’re not telling anyone… you meant literally anyone.”
“That’s right.”
“For how long?”
“For-fucking-ever.”
He stared me down for the longest few seconds in history, shaking his head like I’d truly fucking stumped him. Too bad. We were doing this my way—in secret—or not at all.
Finally he cracked a bemused smile. “You know, you’re a strange one, Maggs.”
“Trust me, my friend, you are way the fuck stranger.”
He shrugged. Then he was back to his phone, all business. “I won’t call Jude. We’ll get someone else.”
“But—”
“Trust me.”
I bristled, and he caught it.
“If I’m gonna be your husband, you’re gonna have to learn to trust me,” he said.
“Don’t start that shit.”
“What shit?”
“Calling yourself my husband. There’s still plenty of time for me to ditch your ass before we get to the altar.”
He just smiled his crazy-hot Viking smile and stood there, staring at me, like he was waiting for me to go ahead and ditch.
Yeah. The bastard was calling my bluff.
I rolled my eyes. But I made no move to disappear.
“Go put that sexy dress on,” he ordered, “or I’m marrying you in your jammies. You’ve got… six minutes.”
I gave him my coolest, most unhurried look. “Sure. After you get out of my room.”
“No problem. Meet you out there.” He flicked his chin toward the main room and sauntered out.
I shut the bedroom door behind him. Then I tossed those slutty pink undies across the room in a frustrated snit and started digging through my travel case in search of something else. I wasn’t sure what the right underwear to get married to Zane Traynor in was, but it wasn’t those. If only I had some granny panties to put on. Serve him right if he tried to get up under my skirt. Knowing Zane though, it’d probably just turn him on.
Fucking perv.
I knew I’d found just the right panties and bra when I saw them, though. I grabbed my makeup bag and took everything into the bathroom to get ready.
I put on the lingerie, really fucking glad I’d had a hot date tonight—yeah, right—so I was all neatly shaved and moisturized. No marrying Zane with shin stubble. I pulled on the dress, made up my face with the basics—quick dash of mineral makeup, lip gloss and mascara—and smoothed out my hair, with a couple minutes to spare. With all the travel and the crazy pace of my work life, I’d become pro at doing this top speed, able to get ready for any given situation at a moment’s notice.
Never thought I’d be doing it for my own wedding, though. Probably would’ve thought I’d be paying a professional to do this when I got married. And maybe I’d have some friends here, getting ready with me?
Like who? Your good pal, Zane?
Fuck.
Whatever. This didn’t really mean anything, right?
You’ll get married for real, to someone kind and handsome and sane, when you’re ready.
Thanks, Mom.
And by the way, you look beautiful.
For a moment as I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror, I felt proud and so intensely
