Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“He’s actually my best friend,” I say, the correction slipping out before I can stop it. But when I glance at Asher, other words slip out too. “Isn’t he hot?”
Mrs. Matrimony smiles knowingly. “It’s a good thing you feel that way about your soon-to-be husband—we all need a hot friend in our bed, don’t we?”
Marital advice from Mrs. Matrimony, but I don’t bother to correct her this time. There’s no point. Asher and I are here, honoring our playful marriage pact and having the biggest adventure of our lives. Besides, people seem to like to give us life tips. Me, I understand. I scream hot mess. But he’s got his act together, so who knows why we’re a magnet for it?
Before she takes me away though, Hitch calls out, “You got a special song, lovebirds? If not, I can play my cover of ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love.’”
It’s adorable that Hitch has recorded the Elvis tune, but that song feels like it belongs to other couples. To couples who spend a year planning a wedding, to men who drop down on one knee in Paris, to women who cry real tears at a proposal—not to partners in crime having an adventure just for one night.
I’ve got some more playful options on the tip of my tongue, like “Accidentally in Love” or “We’ve got Tonight,” so I turn to Asher to toss them his way. He looks so good, in his jeans and Henley, that my pulse kicks a little faster. But he’ll look good in a tux too, and that’s when I know our song isn’t either of those.
I know what our song is. “‘The Way You Look Tonight,’” I say.
His lips quirk up in a grin. “Perfect.”
And briefly, I wonder why it’s so perfect to him, but the thought falls from my head when Mrs. Matrimony leads me to a mirrored door that opens into a large wardrobe. This must be the bridal suite. It’s full of gowns with sequins, satin, and swishy fabrics, and behind the closed door Hitch calls Asher away to another part of the chapel. I take a deep breath, running my fingers over the clothes, letting the messy joy of the moment wash over me.
Fifteen minutes later, I feel kind of beautiful in this soft white dress that clings to my curves and my pink boots, but I stop at the chapel door as my thoughts start to clear. Am I drunk? No. I’m definitely not. But I’m tipsy still. Definitely.
And even so, I want to do this. Life is for the living. I’ve been chasing my dreams ever since my mother shared her dying wish with me: Follow your dreams.
I don’t know if I ever dreamed of getting married, but I’ve always dreamed of squeezing every drop of richness and sweetness out of life, every single day.
This has to count, right?
As “The Way You Look Tonight” plays over the sound system I tell myself it doesn’t matter that I’m blurring the line between best friend and husband. The song is both perfect and perfectly ephemeral. Like tonight.
This is a moment that will inspire a painting, a story, a memory I can call upon later when I’m feeling blue and need to believe in hope again. I can capture the way I feel on a canvas when I return home. That’s what Asher gave me so many years ago when we became friends, and that’s what he gives me every day.
With my heart full, I step down the aisle toward my temporary husband, letting myself soak in the joy of this moment—nothing more, nothing less.
13
WAIT FOR IT
Asher
Standing in front of the gleaming white altar, I’d like to say I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.
But I can. This feels like an inevitable adventure for us. Like that marriage pact was never merely an offhand comment made at her brother’s wedding. It was a real promise that if she ever needed a husband, I’d step up.
But she wanted an escape from the frustrations of her career, if only for a night.
And this wedding is just that. The chapel is a blend of old Vegas glamor and kitschy charm. Red velvet drapes frame the walls, and gold accents shimmer in every corner. It’s the kind of place where anything can happen, and probably often does.
Mrs. Matrimony fusses over Maeve one last time, making sure the Marilyn Monroe-style dress is perfect on her. Spoiler alert: It is. Maeve looks stunning. Better than she did in the vest, and that’s saying something.
“You’ll look fabulous in those pictures, doll,” Mrs. Matrimony whispers to my temporary bride before stepping back to join Hitch.
Now dressed in an Elvis jumpsuit because, of course, it’s Vegas, Hitch adjusts his oversized sunglasses. “Ready to make it official, lovebirds?” he asks, sounding like the King as Frank Sinatra plays softly in the background.