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“Mine.”
Annie’s eyes fly wide, one manicured hand pressed to her mouth. “This is a big deal! Where will it be? What are you wearing? What am I wearing?”
Her excitement makes me grin, but I hold up a hand against the questions pinballing around my brain. “Just tell me you guys can stay.”
They exchange huge smiles. “Of course we’ll stay,” they say in unison.
“Good. As for where, we haven’t talked about it. This was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing.”
“When did you decide?”
“Last night,” I admit. “It was Harrison’s idea. He was persuasive.”
“I can imagine.” Annie laughs.
“I guess we’ll probably go to one of those wedding chapels. That’s what Vegas is known for.”
Elle shifts onto the edge of the couch across from us. “You’re marrying one of the richest men in the world. You celebrate birthdays on a yacht. You can’t cheap out.”
“Vegas is thecapital of elopements,” I counter. “Maybe we should keep it simple? Especially given the timeline.”
Elle rolls her green-and-white cup between her hands. “It’s also the city of decadence and sin and eight-dollar lattes. Even if you say “I do” with plastic flowers and painted doves, you’re going to want a killer dress and a photographer and an afterparty with a great band and a magnum of champagne. For the love of Elvis.”
Maybe she’s got a point. Except I’m not logistics girl. Getting to a gig on time is a win as far as I’m concerned.
“I wouldn’t know where to start,” I admit. I take a long drink of coffee as Annie reaches for her phone.
“You don’t have to.”
