Page 22 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Eighteen

EVA

“ I t’s like you found the least-cheesy wedding chapel in Vegas,” I say softly, glancing around the beautiful room.

It’s draped in white satin, which fans out from the ceiling to the tops of the walls and then hangs down to the floor.

In the center of the peaked ceiling is a gorgeous gold and crystal chandelier.

At the front of the room is a small wooden platform with a wall of beautiful white and pink flowers behind it.

It feels like we’re in a posh wedding tent.

“I didn’t think you’d want a cheesy Vegas wedding with an Elvis impersonator,” Luke says from beside me, his knuckles brushing against the back of my hand where it hangs beside my body. Electricity zips through me at his touch, but I tell myself it’s just nerves.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, and when he looks down at me, slightly alarmed, I rush on.

“It’s just that claiming my baby as yours and lying to our parents.

..it’s a lot . Are you positive you want to take that on?

You don’t have to. Being my best friend is one thing, but raising a kid together—that’s way more than anything you signed up for as my friend. ”

“Pretty sure it’s exactly what I signed up for when I suggested this,” he says, turning toward me and pulling me closer with a hand that lands on my hip. “There’s no world in which I’m not taking care of you in whatever way I can.”

“Luke.” His name is a whisper when it falls from my lips.

This is so far above and beyond best friend responsibilities.

But it’s also right in line with his tendency to take care of everyone.

Someday, we’re going to delve into where that need comes from.

“Maybe...I feel like maybe I’m asking too much of you in this arrangement. ”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” He rests his other hand behind my neck, and everything about this moment feels like it would be the perfect first kiss. Oh shit. We’re going to have to kiss at the end of the ceremony.

We’ve been so focused on the details of this marriage, my move to Boston, and a new coach, that I didn’t spend any time thinking about the ceremony itself. Oh my god, I didn’t even get him a ring!

Is this what they mean when they talk about “pregnancy brain?” This feeling—the overwhelming number of thoughts that enter my head at once, combined with the inability to focus on one of them for any length of time—is happening a lot lately. And the forgetfulness is unreal.

“Hey,” he says, his hand squeezing the back of my neck so I’ll look up at him. “You’re freaking out right now, and I’m not sure why.”

“I...I didn’t even remember to get you a ring. Luke,” I say with a sad laugh. “What kind of a future wife am I? ”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter before he says, “I took care of it. And you’re the perfect future wife for me .”

I try not to let that statement go to my heart or my head, because I know he really means this arrangement is perfect. I’m about to ask him again if he’s sure, when the officiant who we’d briefly met in the lobby walks through the doors.

“Oh, look at you two lovebirds!” His voice has a friendly lilt that makes me smile, even as a knot of nerves grows tighter in my stomach.

“Can hardly keep my hands off her,” Luke jokes. At least, I think he’s joking, because he drops his hands and takes a step back.

“Hey, it’s your wedding night. You shouldn’t be able to keep your hands off your beautiful bride. Love the green, by the way,” he says, looking me up and down. “And the matching nail polish, that’s killer.”

I laugh, relieved that he’s here to break a bit of the tension that I feel heightening between Luke and me. Or maybe it’s only heightening within me, because Luke seems perfectly at ease.

What are we doing?

Luke takes one look at me and says to the officiant, “My bride’s a bit nervous. Do you think we could have one more minute together before we do this?”

The guy glances at his watch. “We have this space booked in ten-minute increments, but sure, if you don’t mind an even quicker ceremony. I’ll step out into the lobby. You just let me know when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, man,” Luke says. Once the door is shut behind him, he turns to me. “Talk to me, Evie. Are you having nerves because this, right now, is finally real? Or are you thinking we shouldn’t go through with it?”

Why does he seem so fucking relaxed, when I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin?

“I’m just having some big emotions about this,” I say, forcing myself to slowly exhale so I can calm my body down from the state of anxiety that’s got a stranglehold on me. “I’m afraid you’re going to regret tying yourself down to someone who’s pregnant.”

He cups my face in his hands. “I’m not worried about that in the least.”

“How can you not be? You’re not worried that once this baby comes, it’s just going to be a stark reminder of me making a terrible decision?”

His face softens so much he almost looks sad. “Are you worried about that?”

“I don’t know. This is my baby, though. I’m going to love him or her, no matter what. You, however, are always going to know it’s not your child. And I’m just worried that it might be a problem one day.”

Shaking his head, he swallows. “I’ve never been a parent before, so I don’t know what that’s like. But I know that I’m going to love you and that baby, and take care of you both, like you’re mine.”

My throat is so tight I can barely breathe, so something between a sigh and a sob escapes. How is this man so perfect?

The question I really should be asking myself is why he’s willing to do this for me. But the only answer that makes any sense is one that would raise my hopes for something that isn’t possible. So, I put that out of my mind...for now.

“We’ve never even kissed,” I say, suddenly realizing that this seems like something that should have happened before the wedding.

“I love it when problems have easy solutions,” he says, his knuckles meeting my chin as he tilts my head back.

Butterflies erupt in my belly as his head moves swiftly toward me.

His lips sweep gently across mine, and his other hand snakes around the back of my neck, holding me closer as he gently sucks my lower lip into his mouth.

It’s all I can do to hold in the moan as I run my tongue along the line of his upper lip, and he tilts his head slightly, his tongue meeting mine as his mouth parts for me.

My hands wrap around his lower back, and I push up on the balls of my feet, needing to be closer, needing to taste him.

But he just chuckles and pulls back, saying, “We’re in a wedding chapel, Evie. ”

His voice is teasing, like he’s calling attention to how much I clearly want him right now. And I do . But I don’t know what that kiss meant to him.

“I don’t think that’s how you kiss your best friend,” I say, glancing away and hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel after having his lips on mine.

But he guides my face back to his until he’s able to look me in the eye. His breath coasts along my skin as he says, “I think when I marry my best friend, I get to write the rules about how I kiss her.”

A wave of desire snakes up my spine at his words, and I can’t help wondering if that means he plans on kissing me a lot. I sure hope so. But...no, that would just complicate everything.

That was just practice for the actual ceremony, I tell myself.

“You’re positive about this?” I ask .

“I’m positive. Are you?”

“I’m still not sure if what we’re doing is smart or crazy or a combination of both.” I let out a watery laugh. “But whatever it is, there’s no one else I’d rather do it with.”

Luke dips his face down and kisses my forehead before he straightens, reaching behind him and pushing the door open. “We’re ready.”

The officiant wasn’t joking about making this a quick ceremony.

After a few introductory remarks, which I assume are for the benefit of the witnesses sitting behind us, he asks about the rings.

Luke reaches his hand into the front pocket of his suit pants and produces a velvet box.

Taking one ring out, he places it in my right hand.

And when he takes the other out, it’s all I can do not to gasp.

Sweet mother of Jesus. That is not the ring you expect someone to come back from a Vegas wedding with.

It looks like a family heirloom. The center emerald-cut stone must be at least four carats, and the two trapezoid-shaped diamonds on either side are equally impressive in size.

The entire filigree band is encrusted in tiny, sparkling diamonds.

This is the kind of ring you’d expect to see on the hand of a princess or a billionaire’s wife. And that’s the moment it hits me. I’m becoming a Hartmann, and there’s no way a Hartmann would have a normal ring.

He takes my shaking left hand in his, grounding me as he holds the ring around the first knuckle of my finger.

And as he says his vows, I stand there trying not to hyperventilate.

Shortness of breath is a fun side effect I’ve become familiar with during pregnancy, but it’s not the pregnancy that’s causing it this time.

It’s my brain working overtime to process the fact that Luke bought me the type of ring he’d buy his actual wife...because that’s what I’ll be. And it’s like my brain is putting all its energy into understanding this fact and has forgotten to also take care of other functions, like breathing.

When Luke slips that ring all the way onto my finger, without taking his eyes off my face, I take what must be my first breath in too long. At least I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out anymore.

Okay, I can do this.

The officiant starts in with my vows, and I repeat them on autopilot, not even registering what I’m saying because my mind is reeling so fast.

What does that ring mean? Is this real to him?