Page 90 of Bitter Beats

“Mckenna?” Mav’s head pops out of the bathroom door.

I wave away his concern. “I broke a lamp.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he laughs. The sound is big and boisterous and…fucking hilarious.

Falling back to the mattress, I clutch my stomach as the insanity of the moment catches up to me. I roll onto my side and laugh with him. My cheeks ache, and tears pinch the corners of my eyes.

“I broke the fucking lamp,” I repeat.

Mav stands beside the bed and gently pulls me up. Looking into my eyes, he sighs reverently. “Fuck, I love you, Mckenna.”

His words rock through me. I grin, happier than I’ve felt in years. “Say it again, Maverick.”

“I fucking love you,” he repeats, holding my face and looking into my eyes.

“You’re too good for me,” I tell him.

He tosses his head back and laughs again. “I never knew you to be this funny.”

“I’ll keep you on your toes,” I promise.

“I’m counting on it.” He helps me stand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Yes. We’ve got somewhere to be.” I’m sure of it now. “And I love you, too.”

Mav beams at me. He pulls me closer for another kiss. Then, he slaps my ass lightly, and I squeal.

I clean myself up, get dressed in my emerald-green cocktail dress, and make Maverick Tate mine.

The limousinethat picks us up is stocked with champagne. Mav looks sharp in a velvet purple blazer, complete with a floral pocket square, and gray slacks. He exchanges a handful of words with the driver before sliding into the back seat beside me. We pop a bottle of champagne, turn on some throwback tunes, and collapse in a heap of laughter.

“I gotta make a stop,” Mav informs me.

“Now?” I look outside the window as Vegas passes by. “But the chapel closes at 3 AM!”

“We have time,” he assures me, pulling up his contact list on his phone. “God, I can’t wait to make you my wife.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you wanna do this, baby. You’ve got a spontaneous streak, just like me.”

Then, he’s muttering hello into his phone. As Mav talks, I help myself to a second glass of champagne, which quickly devolves into a third.

The bubbly, on top of the drinks I consumed at dinner, distorts my reality into a slow-motion series of events, dipped in gold and edged in excitement.

The stop we make to a jewelry store—Cartier? Chopard?—is glittery. The champagne flute I’m handed there is divine. But not as good as the taste of Mav’s kisses. They’re crisp and sweet, like chocolates filled with rosé.

Mav whisks me to a florist next and I don a flower crown with gorgeous white flowers and gold accents, making the green in my dress even more regal. The florist presents us with more champagne as she pins a boutonniere to Mav’s blazer.

“You look gorgeous!” a passerby calls out as we locate the limousine.

“Thank you!” Mav and I both respond. When we look at each other, I hunch forward as laughter grips me. Mav spins me up into his arms. He cradles me against his chest, and I feel the elusive sense of safety that’s been missing from my life for too long.

I can trust him. I can count on him.

His arms are strong and steady, and in their embrace, I feel unshakeable.

He carries me the rest of the way to the limo, depositing me gently in the back seat.

“You’re supposed to do that later. Afterwards. For the threshold,” I tease, pointing at him. My words slur together making me grin harder.

“I’ll do it again. And again. Every day,” he swears. He places a hand over his chest, as if he’s taking an oath.

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