Page 80 of Stick Work

You can’t have that, dude.

She tilts her head. “We better get going,” she says. Stepping away, she grabs her purse and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. “All set?”

I take a breath and shake off the tsunami of emotions crashing over me. “Let’s do this.”

I open the door, place a hand on the small of her back, and we head toward the elevators. The hotel is insanely packed for New Year’s Eve. It takes multiple tries before we finally squeeze into an elevator car, pressed close together. When we spill out into the lobby, I pull her against me, guiding her through the swarm of people until we reach the ballroom.

I scan the room, spotting my family. Mom waves us over, and I steer Taylor toward our seats. She keeps her left hand subtly hidden, her fingers curled inward. I watch Mom and Dad closely, waiting for any sign that they know, but they’re too busy telling us about their winnings at the casino. I guess Grandma didn’t tell them.

At the front of the room, I spot Easton and Rip talking in hushed tones. There’s an electric nervousness about Easton, the kind I couldn’t relate to—until last night. That jittery, on-edge mix of excitement and knowing you might be doing the only thing you’ve ever done right, in your entire life.

The music starts, and we all stand. One by one, the groomsmen escort the bridesmaids down the aisle. The music shifts, and the beautiful wedding march fills the ballroom. A hushed gasp rolls through the room as Jenny steps in, her arm looped through her father’s.

Taylor rises on her toes and whispers in my ear, her breath warm against my skin. “She’s stunning.”

I grab her hand without thinking, lacing our fingers together as Jenny and her father pass by. My gaze drifts to Easton, who looks like he’s about to burst with anticipation.

But then?—

My stomach drops. My grip on Taylor’s hand tightens. Because it’s not just Easton standing under the arch, waiting for the bride.

It’s Rip.

Standing there. Poised. Composed.

Like he’s about to officiate this wedding.

23

Taylor

“Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod,” I whisper for what feels like the millionth time as I hug my purse to my stomach, the one now carrying the very real, very legal proof that Elias and I are—indeed—married.

From the airplane seat beside me, Elias takes my hand. His grip is warm and steady, calm to the storm raging inside me. I know he has to be freaking out inside too. How could he not be? But somehow he’s keeping it together, like the anchor that he is, holding me in place when I feel like I’m orbiting outer space.

Who the heck knew Rip had taken an online course and could actually, legally, marry people. Certainly not me. Or Elias. Not even Grandma, who, when we asked, swore up and down that she had no idea either, and we believe her. God, I’m still wearing her ring.

When Elias’s parents spotted it, we naturally had to explain the whole situation. Their initial shock turning into something that resembled delight. While it’s incredible that they see me as a life partner for Elias, I’m not who they think I am. We sold them that I’m an up-and-coming future Hollywood actress, someone important and worthy of the family. Not a girl who simply wants to open a dance studio for kids. Which will never happen.

Could this be any more messed up?

Yes, it could because after we talked to Rip and looked up the laws, we couldn’t run out and get an annulment. Not after we’d sealed the deal. We could lie, but I’m so sick of the damn lying. My brother is either going to lose his mind or think this is all ridiculously hilarious. God, let it be the latter.

Aren’t you a tiny bit happy about this, Taylor?

I press my lips together, swallowing down the words before they spill from my lips. “Ohmigod,” I mumble again.

A flight attendant walks by, and before I can even think to ask, Elias orders me a glass of wine and a whiskey for himself.

“Listen,” he begins softly, his voice smooth but firm after our drinks arrive. “There’s nothing we can do right now. Just try to breathe and relax. Maybe read a book, or get some sleep. I promise you. I’ll figure this out when we get home.”

Nodding, I take a small sip of the wine, but it only worsens the churning in my stomach. His hand touches mine, a soft brush of his thumb over my fingers. I exhale, letting his steadiness soothe me. Because underneath the panic, beneath the utter insanity of this situation, there’s a whisper in the back of my mind that I don’t want to hear.

You don’t hate the idea of being married to Elias.

My heart stutters. My breath catches, and before the thought can really take hold, I press my hands over my ears like a stubborn child, humming softly, trying to drown out the truth.

Because, if I let it in, if I even entertain it for a second longer, I might never want to let it go.

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