Page 18 of Easton

I’m standing at the altar in a cute little redwood chapel on the southern end of the Strip waiting for my soon-to-be bride to walk down the aisle.

The music begins, and shit, here she comes.

This is so real.

My heart is pounding.

But I’m smiling, too, as I watch Claire come toward me.

Damn, she looks beautiful in her simple but pretty long white sundress. Her chestnut-brown hair is down, which is the way I like it best, as it shows off the reddish undertones in her soft, bouncy curls.

When she reaches the altar, she stops and smiles.

The minister has us face each other, and we join hands.

We then recite our vows, which feels surreal.

It goes so fast, and as we slip the simple platinum bands we picked out earlier onto each other’s fingers, I take her to be my wife, and she takes me to be her husband.

We’re then pronounced as married.

Wow.

The minister says, “You may kiss your bride,” and our lips meet in an uncertain but very chaste kiss.

It’s done—Claire is now my wife.

“No, Mom,” I repeat for the fifth time, feeling more and more exasperated. “Easton and I havenotbeen secretly dating for the past ten years. And no, I am not freaking pregnant!”

“Then why did you run off to Las Vegas to get married and not even tell me?” she whines. “Even if it wasn’t the wedding I’d hoped for you, I would have liked to have at least been there to witness it.”

“I know, I know,” I say soothingly. And damn, I do feel kind of bad. “I’m sorry. It was just sort of a last-minute decision. Two old friends reuniting and realizing we have a spark. We figured, ‘What the hell. Let’s do something crazy and spontaneous for once in our lives.’”

“Well, it certainly is both of those things,” my mom murmurs, still sounding miffed.

Not only is she upset, but skepticism is creeping into her tone.

She knows me and is aware I’m not Miss Spontaneous.

Though I guess now I’d be Mrs. Spontaneous.

Yikes, that sounds so weird.

Being a married woman is going to take some getting used to. Even if it is just a farce.

I sigh.

I’d like to tell my mom the truth, but Easton and I agreed we should pretend we have a real marriage for everybody. That waywe won’t get tripped up, and no one will give away our secret.

My mom is quiet, too quiet.

Damn it, I know she’s catching on.

Sure enough, after clearing her throat, she says, “I know why you really did this, Claire. And I’d like to slap your father for requiring such a thing to access your trust fund.”

I sigh again. “Mom, there’s more to it than just that.”

Okay, there’s really not, but I’m trying to keep up appearances here.

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