Page 36 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)

What I feel behind it is deadly serious, even through my drunken haze.

“I dare you to marry me. Tonight. In Vegas. By Elvis, if we can find one.” I gesture wildly toward the speaker, where Elvis is still crooning. “It’s like a sign. Your mom loved Elvis, right? She’s telling us this is meant to be.”

Then, before I can second-guess myself, I push off the plush velvet couch in the Bellagio suite and, rather ungracefully, drop to one knee in front of him.

I wobble.

Hard.

“Whoa, shit!” I giggle, tipping sideways, but Phoenix catches me by the elbows before I face-plant into the carpet.

“Careful, Clo,” he murmurs, trying not to laugh but failing.

I steady myself with one hand on his knee, the other braced on the coffee table, blinking up at him as solemnly as my tipsy brain will allow. “Wes Evans,” I slur sweetly. “Will you do me the questionable honor of marrying my ass tonight before I sober up and realize this was a terrible idea?”

He stares at me, stunned into silence.

Then his mouth curves slowly.

And I know I’ve got him.

“Clover…” Phoenix says carefully, his words more deliberate now, the way people speak when they’re trying not to sound drunk. “We’re all hammered.”

“So?” I protest, swaying slightly as I stand up. “Maybe that’s what we need to be brave enough to do this?”

“A marriage based on a dare and too much whiskey?”

“A marriage based on the fact that we love each other,” I urge, surprised by how certain I sound despite the alcohol buzzing through my system. “The dare and the whiskey are just the excuse to stop overthinking it.”

Meadow gasps, literally covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my goddess, this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“It’s also completely insane,” Phoenix points out, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks stunned, maybe, and something else I can’t quite read.

“So?” I challenge. “When has anything about us ever been sane?”

He stares at me for a long moment, and I practically see him thinking through all the logical reasons why this is a terrible idea.

We haven’t been together long enough.

My brother will actually murder him—slowly, painfully.

We’re in the middle of a dangerous situation with the club.

We’re both probably a little too drunk and definitely high on the weird magic of Vegas.

But then something shifts in his expression, and the moment he decides to stop thinking and start feeling, his eyes begin to sparkle back at me.

Maybe it’s the alcohol.

Maybe it’s the Elvis song that’s now moved on to “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

Or maybe it’s just that sometimes the heart knows what it wants even when the brain is too drunk to argue.

“Fuck it,” he says, pulling me up abruptly, and I sway just slightly, the room spinning around us in soft, dizzy circles.

“Really?” I murmur, blinking up at him, barely able to keep up with the sudden shift from teasing to full-blown reckless magic.

“Really.” His hands frame my face with a gentleness that anchors me.

There’s nothing clumsy about his touch. Just steady, warm, and achingly sure.

“But I want to be clear about something, Clo. This isn’t just about the dare or the whiskey.

This isn’t just about Vegas or the moment or any of that.

If we do this, if we actually get married tonight, it’s because I love you.

Because I can’t imagine my life without you in it. ”

My breath catches, and tears blur my vision all over again. But these aren’t uncertain tears. They’re everything. Hope. Relief. Love so deep it makes my chest ache.

“I love you too,” I whisper, the words falling out in a rush. “So much it scares me sometimes.”

“Good,” he murmurs, leaning in, his forehead resting against mine, our noses brushing. “Being scared means it matters.”

And then he slams his lips to mine.

The force sends my inebriated head into a spin.

Or maybe that’s just him.

God.

This kiss is intense. It’s not about lust or teasing or even urgency.

It’s deep and consuming, a slow burn that ignites something in the center of my soul and spreads outward like the burning whiskey we’ve been drinking.

His lips move against mine with a hunger that’s somehow reverent, like he’s memorizing me.

My taste, my shape, the way I sigh when his thumb strokes along my jaw.

His hands slide to the back of my neck, threading into my hair as he pulls me closer, grounding me in the middle of all this glorious chaos.

I kiss him back with everything I have.

Because this isn’t just a kiss.

It’s a vow.

It’s yes.

It’s an I’m in this, no matter what.

His mouth parts slightly, and the kiss deepens, slower now, like we’ve got forever to say everything we can’t find words for. Our bodies sway with the music in the background, Elvis crooning about always being on my mind, and it all feels like destiny, like we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my heart pounding, my lips tingling, and I know without a doubt that I’ll never forget this moment for as long as I live.

Meadow lets out a shriek that jolts me back to the room. “This is happening. Cedar, they’re getting married. Tonight. We have to help them plan. This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Cedar rises, steadying himself against the chair with a grin. “Well, I’ve seen a lot of things, but I’ve never been a witness to a dare-induced drunk Vegas wedding.”

“Is that a yes?” I ask, grabbing his arm for balance. “You’ll be our witnesses?”

“Are you kidding?” Cedar’s eyes are bright with excitement. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. This is gonna be epic.”

Phoenix looks between Cedar and Meadow, then back at me, his thumb stroking along my cheek as though he can’t stop touching me.

“You sure about this, Clo? Because once we do this, there’s no going back. No pretending it was just Vegas madness.”

“I’m sure,” I say, steady and certain. “Are you?”

He smiles, and I see the answer in his eyes before he even speaks.

And then he pulls me into another kiss. This one is softer, sweeter, like sealing a deal with something sacred.

When we break apart, Meadow is already on her phone, her fingers flying. “I’m looking up Elvis chapels. Oh, my goddess, there are so many options. Do you want classic Elvis or young Elvis? Vegas Elvis or Hawaiian Elvis?”

“Any Elvis.” I laugh, feeling both giddy and terrified, but more alive than I’ve felt in months. “As long as he can legally marry us.”

“How old are you two anyway?” Cedar asks, suddenly caring about our ages.

“I’m twenty,” Phoenix states. “Clover’s nineteen.”

Cedar and Meadow exchange a knowing look, one that I’ve seen many times before when it comes to my age.

Everyone always thinks I’m too young.

Too stupid.

Too na?ve.

To know what I want in my own life.

But I want this.

I want him.

Shit, maybe our crazy plan is suddenly coming undone.