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It’s a family of celebrities, and I’m just a nerdy girl hoping to inherit her family’s winery as I walk into a situation I probably have no business walking into. Spencer’s barely been broken up with Amelia for five seconds—or three months, anyway—and now he’s married to me when there were no signs whatsoever that we were even dating.
So…yeah. The nerves are in full force, and after dissecting all of that in my mind, I think they have every right to be.
But there’s no turning back. Eventually, I’m going to have to face my husband’s family…or I’ll have to meet them anyway.
I draw in a deep breath and slowly let it deflate through my mouth, and then I open the door.
On the other side of it stands Spencer Nash in a suit.
Spencer. Nash. In a suit.
My brain malfunctions. My mouth malfunctions.
I gasp.
“Holy shit, Spence.”
He looks good all day, every day, but something about seeing him in a suit as he gets ready to attend a fancy dinner followed by a Vegas show is out of this world. His hair is slicked back, which highlights the blue of his eyes, and he looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a few days, which somehow makes him look tough and rugged even though his personality comes off more on the golden retriever side. His eyes connect with mine, and his heat as they sweep down my frame before moving back up again.
“Wow,” he grunts. “That dress…you look great, Gracie.”
Hearing him turn my name into two syllables with a bit of a rasp in his tone does things to me.
Crazy things.
Intense things.
A deep, dark ache pulses between my thighs.
I want to rush at him, to take him in my arms and kiss him and let him do whatever he wants to my body. His eyes dip to my cleavage again, and then they flick to my lips before they move to my eyes once again.
He feels it too. I know he does.
I clear my throat. “Thank you,” I say softly. “And you in a suit…wow, Spence. Impressive.”
One side of his mouth tips up into a smile, and then he reaches for my hand. “Ready?”
“Ready,” I confirm. I grab the handbag I bought that matches the dress, and we head downstairs to get into the limo provided by the hotel to take us to another hotel for dinner. We end up at a fine dining steakhouse at the Aria, and we’re led through the restaurant toward a private room in the back.
And that’s where we find the party just getting underway.
I recognize Lincoln right away, and his arm is around a woman who’s holding a baby. By her side is a young boy of maybe nine or ten, and they’re talking to a woman who has to be Spencer’s mom—a woman who looks quite a bit like the man she’s currently chatting with. She’s wearing a dusky rose-colored ruffled dress, and her hair is pinned up, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s also going to the burlesque show.
Won’t that be weird to go to a sexy Vegas show with your mom? I wouldn’t want to go with mine.
My relationship with my mom isn’t very complicated. She’s my mom, and I’m an adult who no longer lives with her. We text and talk a few times a week, but she’s busy living her best life while I’m busy living mine—best or otherwise.
She’s a free spirit, and I’m more conventional like my dad. Nana really took on the role of raising me, but she sort of took on the role of raising Amelia, too—which is why it’s such a mystery that we ended up so completely opposite of one another. You know, that whole good versus evil thing.
Though I suppose I’m giving my evil sister a run for her money by marrying her ex-boyfriend five minutes after their relationship death certificate was signed. Maybe I’m giving my free-spirited mother a run for hers, too.
The woman talking to Lincoln glances toward the doorway as we enter, like she has some sixth sense that one of her sons just arrived, and she excuses herself from her conversation with Lincoln as she ambles over toward us, her ruffled dress sashaying all the way over.
“Spencer Thomas, introduce me to your bride immediately,” she demands, and even though she’s yelling at her son, there’s an air of cheer about her that tells us both she’s joking around.
“Mother, meet Grace, your new daughter-in-law,” he says dryly, and he holds a sweeping hand out toward me.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Nash,” I say softly.
