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Elias

A fter we found Grandma in her room last night—acting like she hadn’t just bolted after catching the bouquet—Taylor and I returned to our suite. And then we spent the night worshipping each other’s bodies, consummating our marriage in ways that didn’t just feel just physical.

She was right. There was something magical about it, despite the fact that it wasn’t real. Every touch had meaning. Every kiss held weight. And the ring on her finger, still snug against her skin, carried an intimacy I hadn’t expected. More than once, I let myself pretend. Pretend it was real. Pretend she was mine in every way, for always. Dangerous thinking, I know. But the truth is, I love this woman. And that’s troublesome in so many ways.

Now, morning light spills through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks over tangled sheets and warm, bare skin. I’m in no hurry to move, my body spent, but perfectly content. But the second Taylor opens her eyes, she’s going to need coffee. I roll over and quietly call room service. When I hang up, I turn back and find her watching me, a sleepy, small smile playing on her lips.

“Good morning, wife,” I tease, my voice rough from sleep, or lack thereof. For the briefest second, her smile falters. I almost apologize, almost tell her I’m kidding, but then her hand slides over my chest, settling right over my heart.

“Good morning, husband.”

Jesus. That has such a goodring to it.

She chuckles and glances down at her hand, twisting the ring around her finger. “I guess as long as I have this on, we’re still hitched, huh?”

Last night, we managed to break apart the cheap plastic ring. But Grandma’s isn’t coming off anytime soon. She frowns, tugging at it. “I thought by this morning the swelling would be down, but nope.” She shifts, kicking at the blankets. “We even had the air conditioning on full blast.” A sigh escapes her lips as she runs a hand over her face. “I feel like I’m swollen everywhere.”

I roll into her, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “You look amazing and we’ll get the ring off when we get back to Boston, and the colder weather. I’m sure Grandma won’t mind if we keep it for a little while longer.”

“Of course not. She wants us to keep it forever.”

She’s not the only one. But I keep that to myself.

“Happy New Year’s Eve,” I whisper, needing something else to think about.

Her eyes widen. “Oh, right. I’m so excited for tonight.” She stretches, legs tangling with mine as she kicks the sheets away. “A wedding, champagne, fireworks on the rooftop. It doesn’t get any better than this.”

“You’re right,” I murmur. “Though I’m not sure I’d chooseVegas for a wedding.”

“You would if your grandfather owned the joint,” she teases. “Especially when it’s as luxurious as this.”

I chuckle, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Can’t argue with that. But again not my first choice.”

She comes closer, putting her cheek on my chest. “What would be your first choice?”

“I’d want something quieter, less showy, more intimate with just close family and friends.”

“That actually sounds amazing.” She lifts her head to see me. “Any particular location?”

“Santorini, maybe. As the sun sets. Maybe even on a night cruise. Did you know Tanner and Maeve got married there?” A small smile touches her mouth before she lays her head back down. I run my fingers through her hair as she gives a small, contented sigh. “What about you? Destination wedding or home? Big or small?”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it. But it definitely has to be somewhere warm, so Santorini does sound nice to me. I’ve never been there. It’s actually on my bucket list. I’m just not sure it’s where I’d want to get married. I guess I don’t know where I’d want it to be.”

Her words once again remind me she’s young and has a life to live.

Head lifting, she moves away, and scrunches her nose. “I needcoffee,” she blurts out, changing the direction of the conversation.

I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her against me. “It’s on the way. Along with breakfast.”

“Really?”

I lovehow the simplest things make her light up.

“Really,” I confirm.

“You’re so…sweet.” Something shifts in her expression; it softens as she turns introspective. Her fingers trace lazy circles against my chest, and for a moment, she just looks at me.

“Last night…” she starts, voice barely above a whisper. And in her eyes, there’s something that almostteases me into believing shewantsthis.

Wants me.

Even if she did, it wouldn’t change reality. I can’t be the guy to keep her from her dreams. From living. Fromexperiencing life before settling down. It’s not what she truly wants. And one day, when she realizes that, she’ll regret choosing me.

“Magical,” is all I say and she smiles.

“Right.”

She lifts her head and glances toward the door, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “How much time do we have before room service?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Babe, you’re insatiable.”

She gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Are you complaining?” Then she rolls her eyes with a playful huff. “Jeez, we’ve only been married a few hours, and the spark is already gone. I heard this could happen, but so soon? Tragic.”

Groaning, I grab her and roll her beneath me, her laughter turning into a soft gasp as I settle between her legs. Her body molds to mine so perfectly it almost makes my chest ache.

“Elias,” she whispers, and just like that, the teasing fades into something deeper, something that hits me right in the center of the chest. Her gaze is full of warmth and intimacy as she traces her fingers through my hair, her touch so tender it leaves me aching.

I swallow hard, my voice rough. “You want me again, T?”

“You know I do.”

And as I push into her, it’s not just her body that welcomes me, it’s every part of her. The way she clings to me, the way her breath catches, the way her lips part on a quiet moan. Her heat doesn’t just surround me. It owns me, claims me, pulls me in like she never plans to let me go. And God help me, I want to hold onto this forever.

If only I could.

But I can’t.

We move together, each taking and giving as the world fades away, and in no time at all her climax pulls at her. Her nails scratch along my back and I welcome the sensations, hoping they leave marks, so I can revisit this moment later. As she clenches, it pulls an orgasm from me, and I let go, filling her with my seed. Panting, I press my forehead to hers and when I can finally speak, I say, “Was that enough spark for you?”

She shifts, trying to glance between our bodies, a grin on her face. “I think I might be smoking.”

I laugh as someone knocks on the door. “Damn, that was fast.”

“Are you talking about room service or you?” she chuckles and pulls the blankets up to cover her face. I tug them off.

“Hey.”

“I told you,” she says, looking so playful and content it fucks with my heart. “Sometimes fast has its place.”

I honestly have no idea how I was so fast, considering how many times we made love last night.

Made love.

She points, going full-on boss lady and I love it. “Now get me my coffee.”

“Demanding woman,” I grumble, and jump to my feet. I grab our robes and toss one to her. She stands, slipping into it before disappearing into the bathroom. Meanwhile, I put mine on and saunter to the door, pulling it open to find a young guy with a cart. He’s smiling, trying to play it cool, but I can see the excitement in his eyes. He’s not doing a great job of hiding it. Grandma would probably see through him in a minute. It’s a wonder she can’t see through me, and this ruse. Then again, what would she see when she looks at me? A man who’s crazy about the woman on his arm? Yeah, probably.

“Where would you like this, sir?”

“On the table.” I step aside as he wheels the cart in, carefully setting the table for two. Domed plates on placemats, carafe in the center. Definitely five-star service. I find my wallet and hand him a generous tip.

“Thank you, sir.”

I glance at his nametag before he’s about to turn. “Hey, Liam. Would you like an autograph?”

His eyes go wide and he glances at the open door. “We’re not supposed to…”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

He giggles, actually giggles like a kid meeting their favorite superhero, or their favorite hockey player and it’s kind of adorable. “Do you have a pen and paper?” He nods quickly, hands both over and I sign. “Selfie?”

“Seriously?”

“Again, our little secret.”

He practically bounces as he pulls out his phone. “I grew up in Boston,” he explains. “Sometimes I get back for games.”

“Fantastic. Did you know Rip Hart is here too? And Roman Marinelli?”

He nods quickly. “I saw Rip earlier. He was walking around the ballroom. Seemed to be talking to himself. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I didn’t say hi or anything.”

What the heck is Rip doing lurking in the ballroom all the time? For a fun-loving, smart-ass kind of guy, he sure is taking this wedding seriously. And considering he did an amazing job fake-marrying us last night, it makes you wonder who the guy really is deep down.

“If I’m with him and see you around, I’ll call you over. You can’t get into trouble for that right?

“Not if you initiate it.”

Just then the bathroom door creaks open. Liam’s eyes go big. “I better go.” He waves his phone. “Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.”

Before he darts out the door, he says, “I uh, knew this was your room, and added a few extra things to the menu and the coffee is hazelnut vanilla coffee. I heard all the guys drink it.”

I grin at that. “Thanks, bud.”

“Bud,” he repeats under his breath, giggling again and I turn to see Taylor watching me with a knowing smirk.

“What?”

“You’re so good with your fans, Elias.”

“Oh yeah, and how am I with my wife?”

“Well, your wife has no complaints…until now.”

I take one look at her big, expectant eyes and instantly know. “Coffee taking too long?”

She chuckles. “Right.”

I pull a chair out for her. “Sit, my lady.”

She plops down, wiggling happily as she pulls the dome off her plate. I pour us both a big mug of coffee, adding a splash of milk to hers. The second she takes s sip, she lets out a little moan of appreciation, and damn, I’d do anything to make her this happy every day.

“Hazelnut vanilla. I hope you gave him a big tip.”

“I did.” I sit across from her and take the dome off my plate. She waves her fork over the table.

“Did you think I was going to wake up ravenous?”

“Didn’t you?”

She grins and stabs a home-fry. “Yes.”

I nod toward the door. “He also added a few extra things.” I playfully blow on my fist and buff it against my shoulder. “Perks of an NHL player.”

“Lucky guy.”

I stare at the woman I’m in love with. “Yeah, I am.”

Her head lifts and our eyes meet and lock for a moment. Is she feeling this too?

Her gaze drops and she reaches for the syrup, drenching her pancakes.

“Would you like some pancakes with your syrup?”

She looks at me like I might have a hockey stick growing out of my brain. “Don’t you know that pancakes are just a transport mechanism for syrup?”

“I do now.” I drench mine as well and moan as I take a big bite. She wiggles happily again and we eat in silence, simply enjoying the food, the coffee and each other’s company.

“What should we do today?” she asks, breaking the quiet.

“We have until after dark.” I refill our cups with coffee watching the steam curl in the air. “How about we go hit up some machines, walk the strip, see what kind of trouble we can get into?”

She holds her hand out to examine her ring, turning it to catch the light coming in through the curtains. “We’re already in enough trouble. I need to get this off without destroying it, or my knuckles before your parents see it.” She reaches for her coffee, then freezes mid motion. “Do you think Grandma told your parents about what happened last night?”

I shrug. “It was fake. What’s to tell?”

“Still, she could have.”

“Even if she did, my parents aren’t going to think we’d really got married like that.”

Genuine worry flickers across her face. “You don’t think they’ll be mad that I’m wearing this, do you? I mean, I don’t know a lot about superstitions, but I’m sure the girl you’re not really marrying should not be wearing the family ring. Isn’t that like super bad luck or something?” She tugs on it again, frowning. “Maybe we can find a jeweler and see if he can get it off.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

She pinches her cheek. “Why am I so swollen?”

“We could take a swim later. The cold water might help.”

Her eyes narrow. She points her fork at me, accusation in the air. “So you’re saying I am swollen.”

I laugh, shaking my head at her dramatics. “Babe, no. You’re beautiful as always, but the heat could be messing with your fingers.” I wink. “Or maybe all the sex.”

Without missing a beat, she says, “I actually think sex helps alleviate swelling.”

I grin. “It certainly does for me.”

She looks at me, blinking before the meaning lands, then boom, she bursts out laughing.

“Oh, Elias,” she says, trying to pull herself together. “I’ve underestimated you. Maybe you’ll get your own show here after all.”

“Smart ass.”

“But seriously,” she says, puckering her lips in thought. “We need to get this off.”

“We will.”

With that, we finish eating, and take our time in the shower, maybe too much time, and then finally head down to the main level. The moment we step off the elevator, something flickers at the edge of my vision. A blur of movement. A rush of white. I turn instinctively, and Taylor does the same. I freeze trying to process what I just saw. Taylor grips my arm and I turn to her.

“Was that…”

“Roman?” she finishes, confusion all over her face. “I think so.”

“Was he chasing…”

“A bride?” she finishes, this time I see intrigue. “I think so.”

We stare at each other, wide eyed. “Should we be worried?”

She lifts her finger, wiggling that damn ring. “We have enough to be worried about.”

I exhale. “Right. Whatever Roman has going on, he’ll have to figure it out on his own.”

With that, we step out into the Vegas sunshine, letting the warm air wrap around us. Taylor lifts her face to the sun, soaking it all in before we head back to snowy Boston tomorrow.

We walk the strip, stopping at souvenir shops, snapping pictures, soaking up the chaotic energy of the city. We wander into multiple jewelry stores, but they’re all packed. Neither of us wants to waste our limited time waiting in line, so we decide to stick with our backup plan—a cold midnight swim after the wedding and fireworks.The ring will come off one way or another.

Now here we are back in the suite, with Taylor standing before me, adjusting my tie with delicate precision. Her fingers skim my collar and shoulders and I don’t even hide the thickening of my dick in my unforgiving dress pants.

“You look so handsome,” she says quietly, her hands brushing imaginary lint from my shoulders.

I take her hand, giving her a slow spin, drinking in her beauty. The silky cobalt blue dress, the one we picked out together back in Boston, clings to her in all the right ways.

“You are so gorgeous, T.”

She smiles, running her fingers through her hair, but my eyes zero in on the ring, the way it catches the light…the way it belongs on her finger for real.

You can’t have that, dude.

She tilts her head. “We better get going,” she says. Stepping away, she grabs her purse and I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. “All set?”

I take a breath and shake off the tsunami of emotions crashing over me. “Let’s do this.”

I open the door, place a hand on the small of her back, and we head toward the elevators. The hotel is insanelypacked for New Year’s Eve. It takes multiple tries before we finally squeeze into an elevator car, pressed close together. When we spill out into the lobby, I pull her against me, guiding her through the swarm of people until we reach the ballroom.

I scan the room, spotting my family. Mom waves us over, and I steer Taylor toward our seats. She keeps her left hand subtly hidden, her fingers curled inward. I watch Mom and Dad closely, waiting for any sign that they know , but they’re too busy telling us about their winnings at the casino. I guess Grandma didn’t tell them.

At the front of the room, I spot Easton and Rip talking in hushed tones. There’s an electric nervousness about Easton, the kind I couldn’t relate to—until last night. That jittery, on-edge mix of excitement and knowing you might be doing the only thing you’ve ever done right, in your entire life.

The music starts, and we all stand. One by one, the groomsmen escort the bridesmaids down the aisle. The music shifts, and the beautiful wedding march fills the ballroom. A hushed gasp rolls through the room as Jenny steps in, her arm looped through her father’s.

Taylor rises on her toes and whispers in my ear, her breath warm against my skin. “She’s stunning.”

I grab her hand without thinking, lacing our fingers together as Jenny and her father pass by. My gaze drifts to Easton, who looks like he’s about to burst with anticipation.

But then?—

My stomach drops. My grip on Taylor’s hand tightens. Because it’s not just Easton standing under the arch, waiting for the bride.

It’sRip.

Standing there. Poised. Composed.

Like he’s about to officiatethis wedding.