Page 10 of Falling for You Again

Uncle Bear taught me to be self-reliant and independent. “A beaver gathers his own wood,” he said. “He doesn’t sit around waiting for trees to drop their branches.”

Ironic that I’m in this situation because of Uncle Bear yet I fall back on one of his Bearisms. Artisant Designs will be mine, and I’m the only person who can manifest the future I desire. The only person who can stand up for what I love most.

“I hope you’re right about this guy,” Emi says.

I fidget with the bangles on my wrist. “I am.” Aaron was the director of acquisitions when we met, but he’s since been promoted to chief operations officer. Forty-plus years after starting the Savant House in a small warehouse near our shop, Aaron’s dad is now the CEO and his mom is president. Aaron told me he and his sister change positions every six to twelve months, learning the business. When his dad retires, which I’m guessing is soon, his mom will be voted in as his replacement, and Aaron will step into her position as acting president. But as the chief operations officer, the acquisitions department reports to him.He might be able to convince his team that Artisant Designs is not an attractive investment, assuming I can convince him.

But what I’m really counting on is the promise he made to me in Las Vegas. Would he follow through?

“I know you’re nervous about talking to him, but you look beautiful,” Emi compliments. “He’d be a fool not to listen to you.”

“Thank you.”

We found our floor-length dresses on consignment. Emi is a knockout in a red, cowl-necked satin gown. My off-the-shoulder silhouette is adorned with shimmery embellishments and a tulle skirt that flares at my thighs, making the dress easier to walk in. We watched a makeup tutorial to do our faces, and my flat-ironed hair cascades down my back in a gleaming sheet of glossy brown. It’s much longer than when Aaron last saw me. And the blush gown not only brings out the rose-gold ends my hairstylist added last week but also highlights the color in my cheeks that I swear has nothing to do with how jittery I feel.

“I’m going to walk around,” I say.

“I’ll get us something to drink.” Emi’s gaze follows a passing tray. “Do you want champagne?”

“Yes.” I squeeze her fingers. “Off to save my future. Wish me luck.”

“You got this. Don’t worry about me. I’ll come find you.”

Emi heads for the nearest bar and I wander the ballroom’s perimeter. I complete one loop without seeing Aaron, and I’m about to make another pass when I notice him. My fingers curl into my palms as energy thrums up my arms.

I take a steadying breath and push through the crowd toward the man I never thought I’d see again. Though his arms are crossed, his posture is relaxed, his feet comfortably braced apart as he leans in, listening to an older gentleman dressed in an impressive tailored tuxedo who has him engaged in an animated conversation. I tap Aaron on the shoulder and square my own.

He turns swiftly with a slightly annoyed expression at being interrupted. “Yes?”

Self-preservation has me lurching back. But I smile determinedly and plow forward. “Hello, Aaron.”

“Meli?” His face opens in shock, and the sound of his voice floods me with memories.

“Hi.” I flutter my fingers in a casual greeting, even though I’m feeling anything but.

“You’re here!” he announces like he’s been expecting me. Then he smiles, and I’m reminded of a sunflower unfurling in the sunlight. It brightens his disarmingly handsome face that has just a touch of wildness. Everything I adored about him that I’ve forced myself to forget falls back into place, and we’re back in Vegas as if we married only yesterday.

Chapter 6

I Do

Hollywood has it wrong. You can’t spontaneously get married in Las Vegas, not like they did inThe Hangover, which Aaron and I quickly discovered. We first needed a marriage license. Also, officiants won’t marry you if you’re under the influence.

Intoxication wasn’t an issue for us. Nothing sobered us faster than Aaron dropping $102 in cash for our license at the Clark County Marriage License Bureau, the only marriage license bureau open from 8:00 a.m. to midnight, seven days a week, including holidays. No exceptions, no appointments needed. Funnily enough, they prefer walk-ins, which worked perfectly for us.

All this valuable information came courtesy of our very knowledgeable, very enthusiastic Uber driver, Calvin, who waited for us during the fifteen minutes it took to procure the license. Calvin also insisted on being our witness. Why pay for one at the chapel when we were already paying him?

Why indeed?

Calvin loved love, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him love had nothing to do with our arrangement.

Aaron and I stared at the marriage license when the clerk handed it over. My heart thumped in my throat. He glanced from me to thelicense in his hands, then back to me. “It’s not official until we say ‘I do.’ There’s still time to back out.”

Our wedding wasn’t until 9:45 p.m. We had over an hour, which gave us plenty of time to change our minds.

“Do you want to back out?” I asked. He’d told me on the ride over that the business meeting he had in Las Vegas was canceled. He didn’t find out until after he’d boarded the plane, and by then, it had been too late to get off. He was stuck in Vegas for the night. But as we stood there, I worried that maybe he was now realizing the magnitude of our dare. If we did this and couldn’t get an annulment afterward, we’d have to go through a legal divorce.

I was sure he was about to change his mind. I was close to doing so myself. But he smiled, a soft upturn of his lips that was as shy as it was reckless. His first smile since we’d filed for the license. “I won’t back out if you don’t,” he said.

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