Page 89 of Victorious: Part 2
Phoenix looks between Cedar and Meadow, then back at me, his thumb stroking along my cheek as though he can’t stop touching me.
“You sure about this, Clo? Because once we do this, there’s no going back. No pretending it was just Vegas madness.”
“I’m sure,” I say, steady and certain. “Are you?”
He smiles, and I see the answer in his eyes before he even speaks.
And then he pulls me into another kiss. This one is softer, sweeter, like sealing a deal with something sacred.
When we break apart, Meadow is already on her phone, her fingers flying. “I’m looking up Elvis chapels. Oh, my goddess, there are so many options. Do you want classic Elvis or young Elvis? Vegas Elvis or Hawaiian Elvis?”
“Any Elvis.” I laugh, feeling both giddy and terrified, but more alive than I’ve felt in months. “As long as he can legally marry us.”
“How old are you two anyway?” Cedar asks, suddenly caring about our ages.
“I’m twenty,” Phoenix states. “Clover’s nineteen.”
Cedar and Meadow exchange a knowing look, one that I’ve seen many times before when it comes to my age.
Everyone always thinks I’m too young.
Too stupid.
Too naïve.
To know what I want in my own life.
But I want this.
I wanthim.
Shit, maybe our crazy plan is suddenly coming undone.
Chapter Twenty
CLOVER
My stare focuses on Cedar, almost begging for him to see that even though I’m nineteen, and yeah, probably a little too drunk, Phoenix is it for me. I bite down on my bottom lip, giving him puppy dog eyes, and Cedar shakes his head, a bright smile crossing his face, and claps his hands together as if he’s moving this thing right along.
“Well…” Cedar says with a grin that’s pure mischief, “… lucky you can get married at eighteen in the state of Nevada. Otherwise, we would have had to pretend you were both twenty-one. I know a guy who could have made you both fake IDs, but that’s beside the point. Let’s have some fun.”
I knew I liked these guys!
What follows is the most beautifully chaotic hour of my life. Meadow, despite being three sheets to the wind, somehow transforms into a wedding planner extraordinaire. She disappears into the bedroom and emerges with an armload of dresses.
“You can’t get married in jeans,” she declares, holding up option after option. “This is your wedding day… well, night. Wedding night! You know what I mean.”
The dress she finally settles on is this flowing cream-colored delight that somehow manages to look both ethereal and elegant. It’s a little loose on me, but Meadow pins and tucks with the focused determination of someone who’s found their life’s purpose.
“You look like a fairy princess,” she chimes, tears already starting to form in her eyes as she steps back to admire her work. “Cedar! Come see how beautiful our bride looks,” she calls outlike a proud parent.
Meanwhile, Phoenix and Cedar have apparently bonded over the shared experience of impending matrimony while drunk. I hear them in the other room, Cedar giving Phoenix what sounds like a pep talk about marriage and love and seizing the moment.
When I finally emerge from the bedroom, Phoenix’s face goes completely still. The expression that crosses his features is so intense, so full of love and wonder and pure devotion, that it nearly knocks me off my feet.
“Clover,” he softly says, and even through the alcohol haze, everything he feels is written plainly across his face. “You’re… fuck! You are themost beautifulwoman I’ve ever seen.”
Meadow immediately bursts into another river of tears. She’sclearlyan emotional drunk. “This is so perfect. Youtwoare so perfect. Cedar, look at them.”
