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“Napkin colors?”
First thing this morning, I enlisted my right-hand woman, Leni, reminding her I’d pay her overtime. She’s steered my most prestigious clubs with a capable hand. She can pull together my wedding.
Annie’s concern might stem from love, but I still don’t tolerate working with a middleman—or woman—when it comes to my future wife.
I hit my fiancée’s contact. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts, love,” I say when she answers.
“Annie’s right that we have to make some decisions. Like where this thing is going to be.”
“It’s handled. We’re looking at venues after lunch.”
"We are?" Sebastian mouths.
I nod, deciding on the spot.
“And as for your dress,” I say, grabbing on to the next obvious thing. “Every boutique in Vegas will be on standby for your visit.”
“We also need guests,” Annie calls. “Rings—”
“I’ve left a message for Toro and Natalia to get on a flight tomorrow. If you want Callie, your brother, and anyone else from LA, I’ll send a plane. Now enjoy dress shopping.” I lower my voice. “Buy something outrageous I can rip off you, and we’ll meet for dinner in a few hours to compare notes.”
Once we click off, I text to Leni to prioritize the boutique visits.
“You’re confident in this,” Tyler asks when I tuck the phone away.
I nod toward the track. “Building an empire takes time. Making a woman fall in love with you takes time. Crafting an engineering marvel capable of generating this amount of speed and downforce takes time. Planning a wedding doesn’t take time.”
Not if you’re obscenely wealthy.
Two more cars speed by, the sound of their engines tearing through the stands.
“So, what’s the vibe? Hot pink? Red velvet? Just need to plan my outfit to match.”
Beck’s drawl has my head swiveling.
I shove myself away from the barricade. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The chapel has blue walls with paper hearts and cherubs armed with bows and arrows. Three rows of pews line each side of the room. Not to be outdone by the gaudy wall decorations, the end of the aisle boasts a white lattice altar lined with flocked doves pointing out at every angle like demented pigeons. The red carpet is the only familiar element.
“Rae said yes to a Vegas wedding.” Beck lifts his palms. “This is a Vegas wedding. My girl has a sense of humor, and she loves a little cheese.”
“Not your girl,” I say automatically.
But Beck's right—when I started having feelings for her, I tried buying her expensive things. She looked at me as though I was an animal. I’d never been so perplexed by a woman, entirely unsure of how to impress her.
Since then, we’ve found a happy medium where I sprinkle in outrageous gifts between smaller, meaningful things she values every bit as much.
But as my fingers brush the gauze curtains in the doorway, a flicker of doubt surfaces.
“Is this what you want?” My brother’s voice makes me sigh. “It’s not a race, Harry.”
“Everything is a race.”
“Welcome, welcome!” The man brushing through the door behind the altar has my attention snapping back. He’s wearing a black pompadour and an aubergine-colored suit, complete with wingtips. “You must be Harrison and family. I need no introduction.” He pops a knee and flashes a plastic grin.
“I’m the King!” the man exclaims.
