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It’s a little after five o’clock Vegas time when I wake on Thursday morning. It’s the day before I’m getting married, and I’m warm in my fiancé’s arms.

Time changes are weird, but I’m wide awake and ready to face the day. I take a shower, and Tristan’s sitting up in bed scrolling his phone when I emerge already dressed.

He twists his lips as he looks at me. “I was hoping you’d come out naked.”

I giggle. “I think we’re supposed to wait to have sex until we’re married. Right?”

“Depends which source you’re referencing. I’ve heard staying together the night before the wedding is bad luck, but I’ve never heard it’s bad luck to have a nice round of morning sex the day before.”

“Sorry to tell you this, buddy, but that quickie before the chapel yesterday was your last sex as a single man.” I set my hand on my hip.

He gets out of bed and stalks over to me in just his boxers, and I stare at his body for a beat. God, he’s hot.

And he’s mine . After everything that’s happened, everything we’ve been through…he’s mine.

He takes me in his arms, and I get the feeling it’s going to be hard to stick to my guns on this one. He thrusts his hips to mine, and speaking of hard…

“I’ll go take a cold shower,” he mutters.

I laugh as he heads into the bathroom. I grab my phone off the nightstand and settle into the chair by the window while I wait for Tristan. I see I have a few new messages that came through when I was asleep.

I open the first one, and it’s from Savannah.

Savannah: Heard you’re in Vegas and marrying Tristan this weekend. Didn’t I warn you about that?

My chest tightens and my stomach twists as fear filters through me.

How does she know we’re here? How does she know we’re getting married?

I nearly hop up to interrupt Tristan, but I can wait until he gets out of the shower.

I lift my eyes to the window and look out over the view. The sun’s not up yet, but the sky is starting to get bright. My stomach rumbles with hunger, but I’m in my third trimester of pregnancy. I’m always hungry.

I hear Tristan’s phone buzz over on the nightstand and wonder whether Savannah is texting him, too. I want to check, but I don’t. I won’t be that girl that sneaks peeks at her man’s phone.

I trust him.

He walks through the room with a towel tied around his waist a few minutes later, his hair wet and slicked back and his muscles shimmering as he moves through the room toward his suitcase. I sit back, totally distracted by his body as I watch the show for a second before I remember the text.

“Savannah texted me,” I say.

“Just now?”

I shake my head. “When we were asleep. I just saw it now.”

“What did it say?”

I open my phone and read him the message. “Heard you’re in Vegas and marrying Tristan this weekend. Didn’t I warn you about that?” I glance up at him. “How does she know that? We haven’t told anybody. We haven’t even gotten our marriage license yet.”

His brows draw together, and he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s her gift. She slithers her way in and has people everywhere. She’s probably got somebody at the airport who spotted us, or maybe she knows Gloria from the chapel. She’ll stop at nothing to get what she wants.”

“And she wants you .” I press my lips together.

“She can’t have me,” he murmurs, walking over to me and wrapping his arms around me. He smells like shower gel, and a needy ache presses between my thighs.

I literally just said we need to wait until after we’re married tomorrow.

We can do this. I don’t have to get him naked every time we’re in the same room together.

Even though I want to.

God, this is a weird stage of pregnancy.

“I don’t know if she wants me so much as she doesn’t want anybody else to have me,” he admits. He turns toward his suitcase. He pulls off his towel and tosses it over a chair next to him, and I’m treated to a lovely view of his naked backside. I stare as he reaches into his bag, pulls out some boxers, and steps into them.

He turns back toward me and chuckles at the expression on my face. “See something you like?”

I blink as I try to shake it off. “Yes, but we’re in the middle of a crisis.”

He laughs. “Savannah isn’t a crisis. She’s a headache, but I won’t give her much more credit than that.”

My stomach rumbles again.

“Let me finish up and we can grab breakfast, okay?” He presses his lips to my cheek on his way by. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll be married tomorrow before she can do anything to stop us.”

I hold those words close to my heart, hoping he’s right. But somehow, I know he’s not.

We eat breakfast, and when we’re done, we head downtown to get our marriage license.

All we need is the officiant to name us husband and wife, and we’ll be official.

Does any little girl grow up dreaming of a quickie Vegas wedding?

I didn’t.

But does every little girl dream of the perfect partner standing at the end of the aisle waiting for her?

I did.

From the moment I met him, the face in those dreams was always Tristan. My dreams are literally coming true right before my eyes.

And I won’t let his evil ex-wife be the one who pinches me to wake me up from it.