God, she would’ve been so proud of me. Even like this. Even though it was a stupid pretend wedding and I was just doing it to stick it to my dad… she would’ve stood by me.
Hell, she would’ve laughed her ass off when I told her about it.
This isn’t like you, Maggie May. But that’s okay, too.
And she’d be right.
So I was about to do something dead-crazy and totally out of character tonight. This was Vegas.
Why not go all in?
So hitting up a wedding chapel with Zane Traynor wasn’t exactly the least self-destructive thing a girl could do on a Friday night. It’s not like I didn’t know that.
In fact, I’d be the first girl to tell any other girl who cared to ask that Zane Traynor was exactly the kind of guy you screwed in the bathroom at some off-the-hook party after a few too many drinks; afterward, maybe you told your girlfriends about his otherworldly body, his giant dick and how many times he made you come with his demonic tongue. Maybe you masturbated to the memory a few times or a thousand. Then you moved on. You met that handsome, sane, regular guy who might also have an otherworldly body, if you were lucky, but who hadn’t fucked half the continent.
Zane was not the guy you took home to your father, so to speak; even a father like mine.
He was most definitely not the guy you married.
No matter how much the idea might be sparking some misguided yearning deep in my gut, setting off a stupid thrill that was permeating my body and making me sweat just a little. No; Zane Traynor was not that guy.
Which was why I was not letting myself get carried away with what this wasn’t.
This was not Zane suddenly doing a one-eighty and becoming the man of my dreams. As in, the hottest rock god I’d ever laid eyes on, talented, charming, and committed, suddenly willing to give up his legions of adoring groupies to throw down and love me—and only me—for the rest of his life.
This was Zane pulling a classic Zane stunt, and me, for the first time ever, going along for the ride. Willingly. A little recklessly, but with good reason.
And my dad was that reason.
Tomorrow we’d laugh about the whole thing and go on with our lives. Down the road, we’d have one hell of an inside joke. Hey, remember that time we got pretend-married in Vegas to fuck with Dizzy?
Hilarious.
I stood up, taking a few calming breaths. The tears still sparkled in my eyes but I blinked them back.
Not a real wedding. No crying allowed.
I checked myself in the mirror one last time for signs of distress. Nope. Shit totally together. And damn… the dress was sexy. Slinky, clingy and tiny, I usually wore it as more of a long shirt with leggings and a little jacket.
But when I stepped out of the bedroom a moment later and I saw the look Zane gave me, and the look Flynn gave me, too… I knew I could do it. I could rock this suddenly-a-bride thing.
“Flynn,” I said, nodding my approval at Zane. “Good choice.”
Flynn had been a member of Dirty’s security team for three years, and he was solid as they came. And definitely discreet. The guy had barely spoken more than a few dozen words in my presence in the years I’d known him.
Zane grabbed a sweet little bouquet of pink flowers off the entranceway table.
“We’re getting married,” he said bluntly, answering the look of mild confusion on Flynn’s face as he handed the bouquet to me.
I rolled my eyes. “For now,” I muttered under my breath as I took the bouquet. The stems were cut short and it was tied with a white satin bow. It fit perfectly in my hand.
Nice touch.
Still, this whole thing felt hella ludicrous when I glimpsed the silent question in Flynn’s eyes. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t tell a soul what he’d seen, but I had to be certain.
I drew my shoulders back and held his gaze, undaunted by his size, the fact that he had a gun, or the cool, professional detachment that had settled over his features again. Yes, I was a small woman, but I ate rough-and-ready dudes for breakfast on a regular basis as part of my job. Security guys, roadies, rock stars… badass, manly men didn’t faze me.
Just beautiful, batshit crazy ones, apparently.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” I told him, “you tell anyone about this, I will kill you. You won’t know where or when or how, but I’ll do it. I don’t care if you’re all ex-military and shit. You will die. Slowly. I will kill you and all your future babies, too. You don’t want to fuck with me.”
“Know that, Maggie,” Flynn said with a little nod. A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at me, all tough in my sexy pink dress and four-inch heels, holding my little bouquet of tulips.
Yeah, they were tulips. My favorite flowers.
I eyed my “groom” sidelong as he offered me an elbow. I took it, feeling kinda regretful for the thing about the babies. Over the top much? Whatever. Flynn didn’t even have a girlfriend as far as I knew, much less any babies on the way.
“I love it when you threaten people,” Zane said, and Flynn looked away, pretending not to hear. From here on in, he was just a fly on the wall… a blind and stone-deaf fly with a gun.
“Yeah,” I said, a little sheepish. “I’m pretty good at it.”
Chapter Seven
Zane
Flynn and I strolled into the wedding chapel to find a bridal party waiting in the small lobby and a ceremony going on in the main room, beyond a set of closed doors. I could hear voices and laughter. Hopefully they were almost done.
I
