“Me too,” she said, looking him in the eyes—albeit briefly—for the first time since they’d left the suite. He reached for her hand, and brought it to his lips, brushing a soft and gentle kiss there. A tingle rushed over her skin from his touch. It scared her sometimes how easily and how much she felt for him.

  “I’m famished,” she said, needing to shift gears.

  “All right, let’s get some food in you, woman,” he said, and they picked up the pace through the casino on the way to the Blue Ribbon. But before they reached it, a stunning array of lights greeted them.

  “Holy shit,” she said, her jaw dropping at the purple light that streamed through a gigantic chandelier in the middle of the casino. Only it was more than a chandelier. It was thousands upon thousands of beads of lights draped down from the ceiling, forming an oval curtain of glitter and sparkle that beckoned them.

  “That’s the Chandelier Bar. Want to get a drink?”

  “I’m starving, but oh my God, that just speaks to my bartender’s heart like nothing I’ve seen before. What a gorgeous and ostentatious display,” she said, bringing her hand to her chest.

  He laughed. “Apt description, and that’s only the entrance. Let’s go in.”

  They walked up the steps and into the open bar area, a truly opulent and unique place that would make the Phantom of the Opera jealous judging from the crystal creation that hung above the bar itself. “It’s like those beaded curtains that hang down in dorm rooms. Only, you know, not cheesy and tacky,” she said.

  “Nope. Not tacky at all. Just a spectacle, like this whole city. Gotta say, places like this are part and parcel of why I love Vegas,” he said, when they reached the packed bar. There were only two free seats, and he pulled out one of those stools for her. “This place is all about flash and size and I’ll build a bigger one. But somehow the city thrives on that. The kind of one ups-manship that brings you things like this—a bar made out of a chandelier.”

  Soon, a pretty young thing with a sleek blond chignon glided over to them, and asked for their order. Clay gestured to Julia. “Belvedere on the rocks, please.”

  “And for you?” the woman asked.

  “Macallan,” he answered.

  “Coming up shortly,” she said and walked away. Clay turned to face Julia. He cleared his throat, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw the barest of nerves flash in his eyes. “So, I have something for you.”

  Her heart dared to flutter, like a baby bird trying out its wings. She simultaneously wanted to swat her heart, and encourage it to fly again. “Oh, you do?” she said, giving him a playful look. This was so much better—she’d rather enjoy herself with him than be pissed over what hadn’t happened. Yet.

  “I do, but I forgot to order ice. One second.”

  He stood up, and walked to the other end of the bar, finding the blonde bartender. She nodded as he spoke, then he returned to her. “But you know about it already. The gift.”

  “Oh.” Flip-flop. The wings folded in. So much for that flicker of hope.

  “The necklace I was telling you about before?” he said insistently, making a rolling gesture with his hand, as if to prompt her memory.

  “Right,” she said, her mind returning to the story he’d told her before she fell asleep.

  He dug into the pocket of his pants, and handed her a small gift, wrapped simply in purple tissue paper. “Fitting color,” she said with a smile. She was not going to be ungrateful for this gift, and for all he’d done.

  Placing the small package on the metal counter, she untaped the paper. But he stopped her, resting his hand on top of hers. “Wait. I want to say something first. I want you to know how much I have loved this weekend with you, even in spite of everything that went wrong. And it has been my absolute pleasure to shower you with gifts.”

  Warmth rushed through her body, and she couldn’t help herself. She leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on his soft lips, then returned to the gift and unfolded the tissue paper.

  There it was. The Purple Snow Globe he’d had made just for her. The clasp on it was twisted, and the sight of the slightly mangled bar made her throat hitch.

  “It might still work,” he said. “Let me try to put it on you.”

  She lifted up her hair, and he grinned wickedly at her. “Now, all I want to do is lick and bite that neck when you show it off like that.”

  “I wouldn’t object,” she said as the bartender served a pair of mojitos to nearby patrons.

  But there was no licking or biting, only the soft slide of his hands as he tried to fasten the necklace. The clasp didn’t want to slide in through the hook. Too many bumps and bends in it. He held it closed with his hands. “We’ll get it fixed back in New York.”

  She glanced down at her chest; a silver martini glass with a purple gem on it rested against her skin. A swizzle stick popped out of the glass. “I love it.”

  “Gorgeous,” he said, appreciatively, letting the necklace fall into his hands, and tucking it safely in the tissue paper. “Makes me think of the night we met.”

  “When you didn’t order my signature drink,” she teased, reminding him of that first night in San Francisco.

  “No. But I managed to have one anyway, when I licked it off you,” he said, now reaching for her hand. This trip down memory lane had a way of erasing all the frustrations she felt earlier. “And I wanted you to have this as the final gift this weekend, because it only seemed fitting for the last gift to be one that reminds us of how we met.”

  Last gift.

  Then it hit her. This didn’t have to be the last gift. It might be the last gift he gave her, but there was no reason she couldn’t give him a gift. She didn’t have a tangible one with her, but whoever said she couldn’t ask him? She wanted to marry him, she wanted to be his wife, and she’d never lived by the rules, not when it came to men and not when it came to life. She was a gambler, a woman who took chances, and even if he said he’d been carried away in bed, so what? She knew his heart and she certainly knew her own. Why the hell did she have to wait for him to officially propose? She started to speak, figuring there was no point planning it out in her head. Just dive in headfirst, and ask the man you love to be with you always.

  “Clay,” she began, squeezing his fingers tighter in emphasis. “Remember earlier tonight, when—”

  He cut her off. “Where are our drinks? This is taking a long time.” He held up his hands in frustration.

  Her brow creased. “It’s busy. It’s a Saturday night. I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” She took a beat. “Anyway, so—”

  He shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” he said harshly.

  She reached for his arm, trying to settle him. He was never like this. He wasn’t an impatient man who bristled at slow service. “It’s fine. We’ll get our drinks in a few minutes,” she said calmly.

  “Everyone else is getting their drinks,” he said, pointing to the bartender now serving a Manhattan to a man a few seats down.

  “Then I’m sure we’ll be next,” she said, trying to reassure this unexpected ire from him.

  He shook his head, and she swore he was about to start blowing steam. His jaw was set hard, and anger flared in his eyes. “I’m just going to do it myself.”

  He stood up, heading to the other side of the bar. Her jaw dropped. Was he crazy? “Clay,” she hissed, forgetting about the proposal. “You can’t do that.”

  “Yes I can,” he said as he marched behind the bar and reached for a glass. “Now, I believe it was a Belvedere for you?” he asked, turning around and reaching for the vodka off the mirrored shelf of liquors.

  A hot burst of embarrassment splashed down in her body, and red raced across her cheeks. Other patrons were noticing and staring at him as he poured the clear drink into a sturdy tumbler. But the bartender didn’t seem to care. “You have to stop,” she said sharply. “Just let them do their jobs.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I have to stop? But I made you your drink,” he said, handing her the glass of vodka. She waved it off.

  “Oh right. I forgot your ice,” he said, and he dug his hand into his pants pocket, and then dropped something into the glass. She couldn’t tell what he was doing from her vantage point, but in seconds the glass was in front of her again, and it took a moment to register what was inside it. She wasn’t sure if she was seeing things or if that was a . . .

  She gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth as her eyes widened to saucers.

  “Julia, the night we met, you were behind your bar serving me a drink,” he said, and there was no more anger in his voice, only some kind of certainty. “And that night became the start of this love. So it only seemed fitting to ask you this question here.”

  She gawked at the glass and she was sure now—there was ice in the drink, all right. A huge, gorgeous, blindingly beautiful, perfectly-cut diamond ring. For the briefest of moments, she felt nothing. Then, like a dam bursting, she felt everything—hope, love, wonder, and unmitigated joy. She managed to tear her eyes away from the ring to look at him, to gaze into his deep brown eyes that were filled with love. “I don’t ever want this love to stop,” he said. “I want it for all time. Forever. I meant every word I said earlier tonight. Will you do me the great honor of marrying me, Julia?”

  She couldn’t speak at first. She simply swallowed and nodded, as if that would keep the tears of joy at bay. But it didn’t work. In a second, they were sliding down her cheeks. She was sure she’d be a blubbering mess soon. She trembled from head to toe and shook with happiness. “I already gave you my answer. And it’s yes. It’s only yes. It’s always yes,” she said, and he reached across the bar to cup her cheeks in his hands. She moved closer, offering her lips for a first kiss as his fiancée. It wasn’t their first time kissing, of course, but it felt like a first time. Because it was the first time with this promise. She melted as he kissed her. Her heart took flight. Hell, she might have even launched a fleet of hot air balloons from all the happiness surging through her. Started a parade. Lit up a summer sky with fireworks.

  Soon, there was clapping and cheering, and even a few wolf whistles from the line of patrons down the bar. They broke the kiss, and the bartender waved happily. “She was in on it. I arranged it with the bar in advance,” he said, then fished inside the glass for the ring. Wiping it quickly with a napkin, he walked around the bar, dropped down to one knee, and asked for her hand. “Marry me,” he said, and she could hear the certainty in his voice.

  “Yes. A thousand times yes.” He slid the ring onto her finger. It sparkled like all the stars in the sky. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, and that word felt like a cruel understatement to describe this jewel. The ring’s beauty was more than the size, more than the sparkle. It was what it represented. Him. Her. Them.

  He stood and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her hair, her lips, her cheek. Kissing away the tears once more. Only these were good tears. The kind you wanted to shed. Longed to shed. The night they met, she’d never expected anything more than one night; she’d never envisioned that she’d fall so madly and truly in love, that one night would lead to many, would lead to a life together.

  “Julia,” he whispered, tugging her closer, so she could tuck her face in the crook of his neck.

  She kissed him on his neck, then his jaw, and pulled back to look at him. “For the record, and just so you know, I thought you were seriously asking me when we made love earlier. You also need to know, I also seriously meant it when I said yes then. So you got two proposals and two yeses, Mister.”

  He grinned at her. “I was seriously asking, but then I felt like an ass for asking like that.”

  “It was actually kind of perfect for us,” she whispered.

  “And so is this.”

  “And I also was just about to ask you before you asked me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You were?”

  She nodded. “Yep. Right before you walked behind the bar.”

  “Were you going to get down on one knee too?”

  She shrugged. “I hadn’t really mapped it out that far. All I knew was I wanted to marry you and I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

  His eyes twinkled, a sparkle in them that seemed to say he had an idea. “You know what? I don’t want to wait any longer. What do you say we get married this weekend?”

  She couldn’t contain the grin, and didn’t even try to. “Why I thought you’d never ask.”

  * * *

  Over sushi and more kisses, calls were placed, information was looked up on phones, pictures of the ring were texted, and decisions were made.

  When they left the restaurant, he arranged for a limo with the parking attendant. They were driven along the Strip, enjoying it in the way that lovers did: up and down, inside and out, hot, wet, hard, and most of all, full of passion. Deep, true and endless passion.

  “This will be one of our last times making love as Julia Bell and Clay Nichols,” she whispered to him as they finished another round in the car, the neon lights of Bally’s flickering outside, illuminating the night sky.

  “I am one hundred percent okay with that,” he said. “But maybe we should cap it off with a quickie by the Welcome to Vegas sign?”

  She winked. “You are my naughty, dirty, delicious man.”

  “I am, and I always will be,” he said, and soon he was taking her by this icon of the city, moving quickly, the risk of getting caught part of the thrill. But they had luck on their side now, and they got away with it scot-free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Sunday, 11:49 a.m., Las Vegas

  A pile of white tulle, lace, silk, organza and satin littered the couch in the dressing room of the bridal store inside the Caesar’s Palace shopping mall. The shop attendant had helpfully corralled all the simplest dresses in Julia’s size, but none of them worked. They were all ready-to-wear, designed for a quickie Vegas wedding, but they weren’t right for her.

  “I can’t get married in any of these,” Julia said, her lips curving in a frown as she surveyed the heap of cast-aside choices.

  “Obviously,” McKenna said, rolling her eyes from her perch next to the detritus of wedding gowns. The dresses, though gorgeous, were all simply too much. Too much skirt, too much trim, too much flare. Julia’s style had never been showy. Sure, she liked to dress sexy, but she preferred a neat, clean look.

  “Why is it obvious?”

  “Because you were never meant to be married in a bridal gown, dork,” McKenna said with the same sassy confidence she displayed on her fashion blog when she dispensed clothing advice.

  McKenna and Chris had landed in town an hour ago. Clay had arranged for the private jet to pick them up in San Francisco and bring them to Vegas for the wedding. Julia didn’t want to get married without her best friend—her sister—by her side.

  By nine that morning, the bride and groom had already obtained a marriage license. God bless the state of Nevada—no waiting period needed, and the county’s marriage bureau stayed open every day, including weekends and holidays. By ten, they’d found a justice of the peace online who was available that afternoon. That wasn’t difficult either—in Vegas, they were practically on call, ready to perform ceremonies like doctors delivering babies.

  Julia narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean? I’m not classy enough to be a bride?”

  McKenna laughed and shook her head. “Hardly. What it means is your style is not typical bride.”

  “What’s my style then?”

  Her sister smiled knowingly. “Chic. Maid-of-honor chic.”

  Julia parked her hands on her hips. “You’re the maid-of-honor,” she said.

  “I know. But I also know fashion, and I know you looked too stunning for words at my wedding, so . . .” McKenna let her voice trail off.

  “So . . . so what?” she asked curiously, motioning for her sister to give up the goods. “I love that dress, but I don’t have my maid-of-honor dress with me. I didn’t know I was going to get married this weekend. And besides, it’s black. So what do I do?”

  “You might not have your maid-of-honor dress, but I do,” she said, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Or maybe just a really tasty tuna. McKenna tapped her overnight bag that was still with her.

  “But the dress is with me in New York,” Julia said, pointing in the general direction of the east coast.

  “True. And that’s why it’s a good thing I know the owner of Cara’s Bridal Boutique where we got your dress. Because I called her this morning and asked if she had your maid-of-honor dress . . . in white.”

  Julia’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you serious?”

  Her sister unzipped her bag, reached inside and carefully removed a beautiful, simple and alluring dress, the replica of what she’d worn before, but this time in its opposite shade. The shade of her wedding day.

  “I knew you wanted to try to find something, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t like anything you found shopping, so I made a pit stop before we caught the flight. Just in case. Try it on.”

  Julia slipped the dress over her head, then let the material fall down her body, over her hips, and her legs. It felt familiar and new all at once, from the hug of the silk, to the way it moved like water against her skin, to the smooth, soft feel of the straps on her shoulders. It showed just enough skin to be sexy, and covered enough to be classy.

  She twirled once in front of the mirror. “This is the dress.”

  McKenna launched herself into Julia’s arms, hugging her tight. “Let’s go get a ring for your man now. You only have one more hour before we have to get you to the church.”

  Julia scoffed. “Church. Right.”

  “It’s kind of like a church for you, though,” she pointed out.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It kind of is.”