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I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t know how to tell her that it was about more than just money. It was more than sticking it to my sister and getting what my parents had left for me. It was about her.
“If you’re second guessing it,” I said, “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d give you the money for your mom.”
Lacie grinned.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
A smile spread over my lips and I kissed her again, holding her close as the world around us fell away. I didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, Lacie had walked into my life and turned it upside down. Somehow, I felt good about it.
I was happier than I’d been since the accident that killed my parents, since our band started going downhill. I was happier than I’d been in a long, long time.
The next three days went by in a flash. Lacie and I worked together during the days, and I tried my best to keep my hands off her. At night, she’d arrive at my suite at the Ritz and the barrier between us would melt away. Having her in my arms was the sweetest joy.
We laid in bed on Thursday, the night before our flight back to Los Angeles. I was tired from the long days of promotions and interviews and appearances, but I was happy. I trailed my hand over and back along her spine as she snuggled into my chest. Her breathing slowed down, and in a few seconds, I knew she was asleep.
I held her there, breathing in the scent of her hair and watching her chest rise and fall. Her face was free of any lines or frowns. She was angelic.
My heart thumped in my chest and I took a deep breath.
Was this really happening?
In a few days, on Monday, I would marry Lacie. It had started as a bit of a joke. I’d gone along with what Hillary had been saying to me, even though it sounded absolutely insane.
I’d thought it was some cruel joke from my parents, who obviously never thought I’d end up with anyone.
But now?
Now it seemed more real than ever. And Lacie seemed happy about it too, which was even more surprising. I mean, I was offering her a large sum of money to marry me, but still. She sounded like she wanted to get married.
She shifted against me, curling her fingers into my chest and huffing in her sleep. Her skin looked milky white against my tattooed chest, and I took her hand in mine. I stroked her back with my other hand and kissed her forehead and she quieted down again.
“Where did you come from?” I whispered, trailing my fingers along her jaw.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Deep in my heart, I knew this was the right thing. From the moment she’d walked in to our rehearsal space, I knew I’d make her mine. I thought I’d meant physically, but I’d been wrong. She was going to be mine, body and heart and soul.
And whether I liked it or not, I was hers, too. In a few days, we’d be man and wife, and the thought of it made my heart beat harder and warmth spread through me.
She was mine, and I was hers.
