Page 40 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)

PHOENIX

The Next Morning

The soft weight of Clover’s head on my chest, her brown hair spilled across my skin like silk, is how I wake. For a moment, I simply lie here, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with the lingering traces of last night—champagne, desert air, and something that’s purely her.

My wife.

Jesus Christ, that’s going to take some getting used to.

The makeshift cactus ring catches the morning light streaming through the cheap hotel blinds, and I can’t help but smile.

We actually did it.

We got married by Elvis in a fucking Vegas chapel, and somehow it doesn’t feel crazy.

It feels…

… right.

Clover shifts against me, her breathing still deep and even.

She’s beautiful like this, peaceful and unguarded, her face soft with sleep.

I could watch her for hours, memorizing every freckle and curve of her lips.

But then her phone starts ringing, shrill and insistent on the nightstand.

I grimace at the noise, the sound instantly hurting my already pounding head.

Clover groans, burying her face deeper into my chest. “Make it stop,” she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep and what I’m guessing is one hell of a hangover.

But the damn cell keeps ringing.

“Clover,” I say softly, running my hand through her hair. “Baby, your phone.”

“Don’t care,” she mutters. “The world can wait. I feel like shit.”

The ringing stops for about five seconds, then starts again.

So, whoever is calling isn’t giving up.

“Fuck,” she groans, finally lifting her head. Her hair is a beautiful disaster, sticking up in every direction, and her makeup is smudged under her eyes.

She’s never looked more gorgeous.

Clover reaches for the phone, squinting at the screen. “It’s Rhyan,” she mumbles, her voice still rough. “At… oh God, it’s seven in the morning. Why is she calling me at seven in the morning?”

The phone keeps ringing.

“Answer it,” I urge. “She’ll just keep calling.”

Clover sighs, hitting the speaker button and letting the phone drop back onto the bed between us. “Rhy, this better be life or death because I feel like I got hit by a truck full of tequila, a bucket of salt, and a supermarket worth of limes.”

“Clover Marie Cadell!” Rhyan’s voice explodes through the speaker, so loud that I wince and instinctively reach for the gun under my pillow. Old habits. “What the actual FUCK is happening on your Instagram right now?”

Clover sits up so fast it makes her head spin—I can tell by the way she immediately grabs her temples. “What are you talking about?” she groans, her face instantly turning pale like she wants to puke.

I rub her back for her, knowing exactly how she feels.

We definitely drank too much last night, and I know that’s probably affecting her sugar levels this morning. So I slide out of bed to get her a juice box.

“Your Instagram! The posts from last night? Are you seriously going to tell me you got married in Vegas and didn’t think to mention it to your best friend?”

I pause at the refrigerator, my eyes wide, whatever color was left drains from Clover’s face as she stares at her phone. “Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh—”

“So it’s real?” Rhyan shrieks, and I have to resist the urge to cover my ears. “You actually married Phoenix? In Vegas? By Elvis? With celebrities as your witnesses.”

I grab the juice and rush back to bed while Clover scrambles for her phone, frantically scrolling through her Instagram feed. Her eyes go wide as she sees what Rhyan is talking about.

Photographs of us from last night.

The chapel.

The rings.

Cedar and Meadow.

Us looking ridiculously happy and drunk on love and champagne.

All of it.

Posted for the world to see.

For her brother to damn-well see.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, her hangover forgotten in the face of panic. “I posted all of this? When did I… oh, God, I remember now. After we got back to the penthouse, before we came home to—” She cuts herself off, her cheeks suddenly flushing pink.

I lean over to look at the phone screen, and there we are, Mr. and Mrs. Evans.

Looking drunk and happy and completely fucking smitten with each other.

The pictures are actually beautiful, capturing something real and raw between us.

But they’re also evidence of what we did . Evidence that Maverick is going to see.

“Clover,” Rhyan’s voice comes through the speaker again, softer now. “This is real, isn’t it? You really married him?”

Clover looks at me, and I see the exact moment she decides not to lie.

Not to make excuses or pretend it was just Vegas madness.

“Yeah,” she says, looking down at the cactus ring on her finger. A slow smile spreads across her face, like the memories are flooding back. “Yeah, it’s real.”

“Oh. My. God!” Rhyan screams so loud that we both wince. “I can’t believe yo—” She cuts herself off. “Wait! Has Maverick seen these yet?”

The smile disappears from Clover’s face instantly as my stomach clenches in anxiety. “What do you mean, has he seen them? How would I know if he—”

“Because I’ve been stalking your Instagram since five this morning, trying to figure out if this was real or if you’ve been hacked by someone with a really fucked-up sense of humor. If I can see them, he can see them. And you know your brother checks your social media like it’s his damn job.”

“Shit,” Clover grumbles, already moving to start deleting the posts. “Shit, shit, shit—”

“Wait!” Rhyan interrupts. “I’m guessing he hasn’t seen them yet. I haven’t seen him or Sadie in the main room this morning. I’m guessing they’re still asleep. I know Sadie was having some stomach issues last night, so they were up late.”

I sit taller hearing my sister is in trouble. “What the fuck, Rhy. Lead with that. What kind of stomach issues? Is the baby okay?”

Clover’s eyes meet mine, both of us tensing.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry, I said that all wrong.

She was just having bad reflux, and we all know how protective Mav can be of the women in his life.

He wanted to take her to the hospital, and Sadie was protesting.

Long story short, he got Dr. Rhodes to come check on her, and he said it was reflux.

Sadie and the baby are both fine. It was a long night.

I’m sorry. But I guess in a way it was a good thing, because it means he and Sadie are both still sleeping, and you have time to fix that account of yours, Clo. ”

I sink my shoulders in relief as Clover squeezes my hand. “Well, thank God she’s okay. And you really think they haven’t seen it?” I ask, not just for Clover, but also for myself.

“Really. You’ve got maybe an hour before he’s fully awake and functional. You can delete everything, and I won’t say a word. Well, except that you looked beautiful and happy. Because you did. You really, really did, Clo.”

I watch Clover’s face as she processes this—the relief, the gratitude, the love for her best friend who’s covering for her.

“Rhyan,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I have questions. Sooo many questions. Starting with…” Her voice drops to a whisper, like she’s worried someone might overhear. “Does this mean you’re not a virgin anymore?”

Clover’s eyes go wide, her face turning bright red. She lunges for the phone, but I’m faster, hitting the end call button before she can stop me.

“Phoenix!” She gasps, mortified.

“What?” I say, trying not to laugh. “She was getting a little too personal.”

“That’s my best friend. She tells me everything about her sex life with Montana, I’m supposed to tell her about—” she stops talking, realizing what she’s saying.

“About what?” I ask, leaning closer. “About how I made you feel? About how you came apart at my touch? About how you said my name when you cam—”

“Stop!” She laughs, covering her face with her hands. “God, you’re terrible.”

“I’m your husband,” I point out, stabbing the straw of her juice box, and hand it to her. “I’m allowed to be terrible.”

She peeks at me through her fingers and reluctantly takes it. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Yeah,” I agree, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “But I like the sound of it. Now drink your juice. You know the alcohol will have affected your sugar levels.”

She smirks, rolls her eyes, then continues deleting the Instagram posts, her fingers moving quickly across the screen while drinking her juice like a good girl. “We should probably get up and shower before Maverick calls to check in.”

“Should we?” I ask, trailing my fingers down her bare arm. “Or should we celebrate our first morning as a married couple properly?”

She shivers under my touch, her breath catching. “Phoenix—”

“What?” I say innocently, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I was thinking of room service. Maybe some champagne. Toast to our new beginning.”

“That’s not what you were thinking,” she says, but she’s not pulling away. A loud, obnoxious suck on her straw tells me she’s guzzling her juice as quickly as she can.

“Prove it.”

She turns to face me, desire clear in her eyes, the way she’s looking at me as if she wants to devour me all over again.

Then she tosses her juice box over her shoulder, a salacious grin crossing her face.

Last night was incredible, gentle, careful, and perfect for her first time.

But there’s something different in her eyes now, something bolder.

“Actually,” she says, her voice husky. “I was thinking about what you said last night. About being gentle because it was my first time.”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” she says, sliding closer, her hand trailing down my chest, “… it’s not my first time anymore.”

“Clover…” I growl, my body already responding to her touch, to the promise in her voice.

“What?” she answers, echoing my innocent tone from earlier. “I was just wondering… are you going to pull my hair and choke me now?”

Fuck me.

I let out a small cough, choking on thin air. The words hit me like a physical blow, going straight to my cock. She’s challenging me, daring me to show her the side of me I held back last night.