Page 53 of It Happened in Vegas

Did I? Hell if I knew. The cameras were everywhere, and Sophie was probably being pinned into something white and stunning about now, while producers gloated about ratings and last-minute shot lists.

All I knew was... I wanted her, and that scared the hell out of me. Wanting Sophie wasn’t part of the plan. The plan for this weekend was: stay far away from the crazy people, have fun with Sophie, show off my brews. But she had this way of unraveling all of my best intentions with just one look.

She wanted this wedding for me. She’d benefit from it, too. A part of me wanted to see her succeed as well. A huge part of me definitely wouldn’t mind having her in my bed for ninety days. Then whatever might happen after that remained a mystery.

I couldn’t tell Anthony a thing, sworn to secrecy through our nondisclosure agreement, so I did the next best thing. I lied. Which I’d have to get used to doing for the near future.

“Go through with this? Hell, yeah, I do. Have you seen Sophie? She’s gorgeous and smart. Creative and funny. We get along better than any woman I’ve ever been with.” None of that was a lie. “Of course I want to marry her.”

“Glad to hear it.” He gulped down the Happy Couple Ale. “How the fuck did we get wrangled into the show in the first place?”

“You seem to have made out well with Cassandra,” I snorted.

“Look, I’m sorry if I took her from you. If I’d known you were texting her…”

Funny how time and Sophie took away any desire I once held for Cassandra. “No need to apologize. Just hope you’ll be happy with her.”

“She’s a handful.”

“You’re the right man for the job to tame her,” I quipped. I didn’t really think he was, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

I ran a finger between my neck and shirt. The music started. A crew member stopped by to get us and take us to our places.

“Showtime.” Anthony patted my back and took the beer out of my hands.

Up at the altar, sweat gathered at the back of my neck. The desert air cooled off only slightly at dusk, but the nerves? Full blaze. I tried to breathe through the surreal feeling, standing there in front of half-drunk reality stars and too many camera lenses, about to say vows to a woman who could easily make me forget they were supposed to be fake if I let her.

Unless she didn’t show up. The genuine possibility she’d come to her senses and run wrecked me. Until she appeared.

I saw her face. And her gown. My heart squeezed at the perfect image of the woman who was about to become Mrs. Keaton Kingston.

Sophie walked down the aisle like she owned the damn place, with her head held high despite the snickers from catty women as she passed them by.

Soft tendrils fell around her face from her updo like a breeze had kissed her. A white satin dress hugged her slender body, simple string-like straps holding it in place by the shoulders, leaving nothing to the imagination. She held a simple bouquet of lilies at her midsection.

The minute her eyes landed on me, everyone else disappeared. Even the cameras. I forgot to breath, and I almost forgot what we were doing there.

When she reached the front, I stepped forward, offering my hand as she took the steps. She faltered and reached a hand up to my face. She caressed along my smooth jawline with a horrified look, and she whispered, “What did you do?”

“Oh that? I shaved off my beard. If I’m getting married, then I’m going all the way. Had to present a polished image in this tux.”

“But—but your beautiful beard? That’s part of your brand?—”

“Relax, Soph, it’ll grow back. Don’t tell me you don’t like me now without it?”

“Oh, I like it. It’s hard to say which version of my handsome, I mean husband, I like more,” she giggled under her breath nervously.

I grinned at the way she admired me. “Not your husband yet. We have to get through this first. Don’t jinx it. Nervous?”

“I was until I saw you standing here waiting for me.”

“I was, too, until I saw you gracing the aisle.” Seeing her calmed me. This may be the craziest thing I’d ever done, butat least we were jumping in together. “Hey, beautiful. Let’s get married.”

The officiant cleared his throat and started. He spoke about love and commitment, and legally binding gibberish. All pretend. He knew it, and we knew it. I stole glances at the cast and some of the other people there I didn’t even recognize. They all bought that it was an actual wedding.

Sophie’s hands squeezed mine. I gazed at our connection, the way our hands joined, melting into each other so I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began. One thought stung me more than anything else this weekend—What if I wanted this to be real?

I shoved it aside. Buried it under the reminder that this was temporary. We had a contract. A shelf life of ninety days. Nothing more.

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