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I didn’t have the energy to try on the wedding dress yesterday—and Mom knew better than to force it—so she said she’d stop by after brunch with it and a few cocktail dresses she’d brought for me. I needed to be mentally ready to deal with that.

I’d hung up and put away all of Slash’s things from his suitcase and had just finished changing into my favorite pair of jeans—that only had one bullet hole in the lower left leg—when my cell rang. I picked my phone off the bed where I’d left it.

“Hello?”

“Lexi?” a slurred voice asked. “Hi.”

“Elvis? What’s wrong? You sound weird. Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Why would you even slay that?”

“Because you’re slurring your words?” I felt a twinge of alarm. “Didn’t you go to brunch with the others? Where’s Gwen?”

“I told Gwen I wanted to rest, so she went without me. But I didn’t want to rest. I stayed in the room because of the surprise.”

I sat down on the bed. “What surprise? What are you talking about, Elvis?”

“I think you should come see for yourself.”

I immediately stood up, in full-blown alarm mode now. “Are you in your room?”

“I am. It’s Room 950.”

It was just one floor down. He and Gwen must have been given the suite directly below us. “Okay. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right there.”

I clicked off my phone and tossed it on the bed. I snatched the room card off the bureau as I dashed out of the room and took the stairs, two at a time. I had to knock several times before Elvis finally opened the door. He ushered me in with a grandiose sweep of his arm.

I didn’t move and just stood in the hallway, staring at him, incredulous. “Are you drunk?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you smell like a bar, and you can barely stand. What are you doing?”

He leaned against the door, but it was more like he was holding himself up. “I’m getting ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“You’ll see.”

Their suite was a mirror of ours—a living room area with a couch and a chair facing a large-screen television, as well as a small coffee table. To the right was a small rectangular dining table with four chairs directly across from a small kitchenette. The bathroom was a little farther up on the left. Four more steps from the bathroom took you into a separate bedroom with another television.

Elvis took a couple of unsteady steps toward the dining table and managed to make it into one of the chairs…barely.

I followed him to the table. “Elvis, what are you getting ready for?”

“The big proposal.” He put his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands. “Almost dying twice in twenty-four hours convinced me I had to do it sooner than later. So, sooner it is. I have the ring with me, so…why not?”

“You’re going to propose to Gwen?” I repeated in surprise. “Right now?”

“Right now.” He paused. “Well, not exactly right now, because she’s not here. However, when she gets back from lunch…I’m doing it. I really am.”

I wasn’t sure if he were trying to convince me or himself. “Okay, Elvis. You’re going to propose to Gwen. So, why am I here?”

He rubbed his temples. “I’m scared.”

I sighed and sat in the chair next to him. “Why are you scared?”

“You want me to count the ways?” He waved his hand around, counting with his fingers. “I’m not good enough for her. I’ll be a terrible husband. I won’t be a good father. All the above. Take your pick.”