Page 87 of Victorious: Part 2
Clearing the emotion from my throat, I somehow find my voice. “M-my turn,” I manage finally, though my voice breaks. “Phoenix, truth or dare?”
“I think I’ve been honest enough for one night,” he quips, but there’s a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Dare.”
And that’s when the idea hits me.
It’s completely insane, definitely the result of too much whiskey and the intoxicating atmosphere of Vegas, and the fact that Elvis is literally singing about ‘blue suede shoes’in the background like some kind of cosmic sign.
Phoenix always said his mom loved Elvis.
Maybe this is her way of giving us her blessing.
“I dare you…” I say, my heart pounding and my words slightly slurred, “… to marry me.”
The words hang in the air like a challenge, like a prayer, like a question I didn’t know I was ready to ask.
Phoenix’s eyes go wide, though they’re a little unfocused from the alcohol. “What?”
“You heard me.” And suddenly, I’m not kidding around anymore.
The dare was just the excuse.
What I feel behind it is deadly serious, even through my drunken haze.
“I dare you to marry me. Tonight. In Vegas. By Elvis, if we can find one.” I gesture wildly toward the speaker, where Elvis is still crooning. “It’s like a sign. Your mom loved Elvis, right? She’stelling us this is meant to be.”
Then, before I can second-guess myself, I push off the plush velvet couch in the Bellagio suite and, rather ungracefully, drop to one knee in front of him.
I wobble.
Hard.
“Whoa, shit!” I giggle, tipping sideways, but Phoenix catches me by the elbows before I face-plant into the carpet.
“Careful, Clo,” he murmurs, trying not to laugh but failing.
I steady myself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the coffee table, blinking up at him as solemnly as my tipsy brain will allow. “Wes Evans,” I slur sweetly. “Will you do me the questionable honor of marrying my ass tonight before I sober up and realize this was a terrible idea?”
He stares at me, stunned into silence.
Then his mouth curves slowly.
And I know I’ve got him.
“Clover…” Phoenix says carefully, his words more deliberate now, the way people speak when they’re trying not to sound drunk. “We’re all hammered.”
“So?” I protest, swaying slightly as I stand up. “Maybe that’s what we need to be brave enough to do this?”
“A marriage based on a dare and too much whiskey?”
“A marriage based on the fact that we love each other,” I urge, surprised by how certain I sound despite the alcohol buzzing through my system. “The dare and the whiskey are just the excuse to stop overthinking it.”
Meadow gasps, literally covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my goddess, this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“It’s also completely insane,” Phoenix points out, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks stunned, maybe, and something else I can’t quite read.
“So?” I challenge. “When has anything about us ever been sane?”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I practically see him thinking through all the logical reasons why this is a terrible idea.
