Page 7

I ’ m not kidding around or joking. I am dead serious when I ask Claire to marry me. I made a promise to my friend, and I intend to keep it.

That is, if she wants me to.

But seeing as her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly agape—I think she’s in shock—I clarify, “Um, you wouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Like, this would be a marriage of convenience, so to speak.” I blow out a breath and continue, “I mean, I think we’d have to live together for it to look real, but you could have your own bedroom and bathroom and stuff. I’d certainly not expect anything from you, Claire. Like in a physical sense. We’d still be just friends.”

She snaps out of her state of shock or whatever it was, but what’s wild is I swear I detect a flash of disappointment in her eyes.

Is it disappointment that we’d remain just friends?

Nah, it can’t be that.

I’m just imagining things.

In the midst of my overanalyzing, I hear the softest “Yes.”

“Wait, what?” I blurt out, holding my breath.

I’m equal parts surprised she’s agreeing so quickly and elated that she is.

I thought it would take more convincing. She must really need that money.

Or maybe, just maybe, marrying your best friend from the past isn’t such a bad option.

But to be sure I heard her correctly, I ask, “You will? Marry me, that is.”

Smiling, she nods. “Yes, I will marry you, Easton Sonden. As long as you’re completely sure you want to do this.”

“Oh, I do,” I assure her. “I definitely do.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Chuckling, I say, “Boy is your dad going to be shocked.”

Grinning mischievously, she replies, “Telling him is going to be so much fun.”

We share a laugh, and then we spend the next hour or so figuring out how we want to work this out.

In the end, we decide a quick Las Vegas wedding is the way to go.

Hell, I’m ready to fly up there tonight. But Claire suggests we wait until morning. She says she wants me to sleep on this decision to be sure this is really what I want to do.

“I’m not going to change my mind,” I assure her.

But I ultimately agree to wait, simply because I want her to have the same option—to sleep on this decision.

After all, it is a big one.

But one I’m willing to make.

Damn, my seventeen-year-old self would be so excited.

But you know what?

My twenty-seven-year-old self is pretty pumped up right now too.

Claire doesn’t change her mind.

And neither do I.

We fly up to Las Vegas in the morning, and after a quick stop at the Clark County Marriage Bureau to obtain a license, we check into a suite at the Bellagio.

I booked it last night, making sure that there are two bedrooms.

The plan is to stay one night and fly back to Phoenix in the morning. Right now this is all just between us. No one else knows what we’re doing.

We agreed we want it this way. We can tell our parents, friends, and, of course, my new team after we’re officially married.

And that’s about to happen.

I’m standing at the altar in a cute little redwood chapel on the southern end of the Strip waiting for my soon-to-be bride to walk down the aisle.

The music begins, and shit, here she comes.

This is so real.

My heart is pounding.

But I’m smiling, too, as I watch Claire come toward me.

Damn, she looks beautiful in her simple but pretty long white sundress. Her chestnut-brown hair is down, which is the way I like it best, as it shows off the reddish undertones in her soft, bouncy curls.

When she reaches the altar, she stops and smiles.

The minister has us face each other, and we join hands.

We then recite our vows, which feels surreal.

It goes so fast, and as we slip the simple platinum bands we picked out earlier onto each other’s fingers, I take her to be my wife, and she takes me to be her husband.

We’re then pronounced as married.

Wow.

The minister says, “You may kiss your bride,” and our lips meet in an uncertain but very chaste kiss.

It’s done—Claire is now my wife.