Page 31 of One Pucking Heart

She chooses a purple marker and starts making bullet points on the paper. The people and organizations she’ll help pour out of her as she writes.

When we’re done, we’ve finished off a bottle of wine, laughed, and she’s filled the entire poster board with good causes.

“Oh, one more,” she says before writing Make a donation to the Cranes in Beckett’s name.

“I think the Cranes are doing just fine. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

She holds my stare. “Job security.”

I laugh. “I, too, am doing just fine there. They’re not going to trade someone so good.”

Now it’s her turn to laugh. “And humble.”

Standing, I grab the empty bottle of wine and head for the kitchen. “Now, that is something I’ve never claimed,” I call over my shoulder.

“Alright, fine. Well, with or without the Cranes donation, I’d say this is a pretty awesome list.”

Returning to the table, I peer over her shoulder. “I’d say so, too.”

There’s so much I want to talk to Elena about. First being whether she thinks her daughter will hate me forever. But the air surrounding us now is positive and light, and I want to keep it that way. This little activity performed exactly as expected. Tomorrow is the big day, and even though the wedding isn’t real to us, I want it to be a good day. There are only so many times in one’s life when they get fake married.

Elena thinks we’re going to tie the knot at the courthouse in town, but she doesn’t know me at all if she thinks I’d allow that. The wedding may be for show, but hell if I’m going to get married in a courthouse. No, I have something so much better planned.

* * *

“Vegas? You’ve got to be kidding me?” Elena’s puffy eyes, swollen from sleep, shoot daggers where I stand in her doorway having just rudely woken her up.

“Not kidding in the slightest. We’ll be there for the weekend. Pack for three days with long sleeves for inside the air-conditioned casinos, a bathing suit, and lightweight attire for when we’re outside. You know how Vegas is.”

“No, I don’t know how Vegas is, Beckett. I’ve never been there, and you’re telling me with zero notice that we’re flying out shortly? I don’t even know if I have a bathing suit.” She jumps from her bed. “I have some professional attire for work, scrubs, and like three casual outfits. I don’t have a lot of Vegas-appropriate clothes, Beckett.”

“That’s fine. We’ll shop for new items when we’re there. My treat. Vegas has great shopping.”

She paces at the foot of her bed. “Why are you just telling me this now? Why not give me a heads-up?”

“Because I didn’t want you to overthink it and refuse to go. I know this wedding isn’t real, but it’s still a first for both of us, and a courthouse is not acceptable. I’ve planned everything for us to have a fun, carefree wedding weekend. It’s going to be a blast. Stop worrying. Pack whatever you want, and we’ll get the rest there. I’ll treat you to a shopping spree, Pretty Woman style. You have seen that one, right?”

Her face falls. “Of course I’ve seen it, but she was a prostitute, Beckett. What are you saying here?”

The utter distrust and confusion on her face causes me to laugh. “I wasn’t implying that you’re my whore, Elena. It was just a reference to a fun shopping day, gifted by your friend and soon-to-be fake husband. That’s all. Now hurry up, we have to go,” I tease, quickly shutting the door to drown out Elena’s protests.

In an hour’s time, the driver texts me to let me know he’s out front. “Our driver’s here. You ready?”

Elena has come to terms with our Vegas wedding over the past sixty minutes. Though she tries to hide it, I think she’s excited about it.

“Our driver?” she asks.

“Yeah, our ride to the airport. Let’s go.” I shoot her a smile and offer to take her small bag, but she declines.

She gasps when she sees the black limo waiting for us. The driver, dressed to the nines, holds the limo door open for us. “You got us a limo?” she whisper-shrieks after we slide into the back of the long vehicle.

“Of course. You think we’re going to start a wedding weekend in anything else?” I retrieve the bottle of champagne from the bucket of ice. “Champagne?”

She blinks slowly. “No. It’s seven in the morning. I want coffee.”

I hit the intercom button and address the driver. “We’d like to make a Starbucks run on the way.”

Our driver responds, “Yes, sir.”

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