Total Trainwreck

by Evie Claire

  “You’re exactly right. It is an impossible reality. Nothing is real in my life with her. With you, everything’s real. You can’t be bothered by what other people say about us. You have to know in here—” he takes my hand and places it over my heart “—that what we have is infinitely better than anything I’ve ever had.”

  I nod, knowing he’s right, but still remain uneasy with the thought.

  “What do you want? How can I prove it to you? Once Heather’s gone do you want a huge L.A. wedding with a thousand guests we don’t give two shits about? A horde of paparazzi proclaiming you queen for actually getting me to the altar? Drones flying overhead? A moment sucked of every intimacy possible?”

  “Hmm...” I initially perk up at the thought, imagining the knife that would twist in Heather’s side. Everyone knows an overhyped Hollywood wedding is nothing more than show. Having the world in attendance doesn’t guarantee a happily-ever-after. I shake my head. “No, I’d only want me and you there.”

  “Then what is it you want?”

  “I want us to share something that’s all ours. Something to remind me of our reality any time this crazy world we live in makes me doubt. Something to hold onto.”

  “Carly Klein, I love you. Isn’t that enough?” The wounded look haunts him again. It shatters my heart because I know I’m the reason for it. This is so not how I pictured starting our vacation.

  Afraid a verbal answer will expose my lie, I rest my cheek against his shoulder once more, nuzzling into the familiar warmth. With a simple nod, I place a gentle kiss against the sinew bulging between his neck muscles. “You’re always enough,” I answer in a whisper. That part is true. He’s more than I’ve ever hoped for. The rest, well, I’ll have to find my own peace with that.

  * * *

  “You. Are. Insane.” I speak slowly, unable to fathom how the words find their way out of my mouth. Covered in the delicate warmth of a lazy island breeze, I’m frozen in place, unable to believe what’s just crossed his lips. Normally, this would be jump for joy kinda news. We aren’t normal.

  “Just hear me out.” His grimace turns into a hopeful smile that damn near breaks my heart. He takes my hand and leads me from the kitchen, down the hall.

  “Oh, I’m all ears. Please, tell me exactly what you hope to accomplish with this new lunacy of yours.” We open the door to Heather’s bedroom. Only, it’s not her bedroom at all. It’s completely redecorated. A new sea-grass bed sits in the middle of the room on a giant sheepskin rug, catching gentle ocean whispers from every direction. Gone are her massive chests overflowing with clothes, a simple reclaimed wood armoire in their place. Even the artwork is new—not a single Heather headshot to be found. I’m confused until I remember the state of destruction I left the room in.

  “Do you like it?” Devon asks, hope still lighting his smile.

  “Don’t change the subject.” I pull my hand away and cross my arms.

  “Okay.” He doesn’t even flinch, immediately heart-attack serious. “Marry me. Today. Say yes because it’s what we both want, even if no one else wants it for us. Because this will be the thing we share that is all ours.”

  I mean, really? The word marry melts me in a million ways. His reason for asking wrecks me in a trillion more. It’s all I can do to say no, but one of us has to be a rational human, and that sure as shit isn’t him right now.

  “Devon, if it were just me and you, there would be zero question. But that’s not our reality. How can we possibly ignore everything else? Heather hasn’t agreed to terms. Mr. Moretti has yet to produce anything. America still thinks you’re half of HeaVon.” I throw my hands in the air and slap them against my thighs. “Do you want me to go on? Because I can think of at least four hundred million reasons why this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

  I’m sad and pissed, a most volatile combination. How dare he offer me something I desperately want but can’t possibly have? Marriage is so out of the question right now it never popped up on my radar, but now that I know it obviously has on his, and there’s no way in hell it can happen, I’m seconds away from flying into a blind-rage kinda mad at him.

  “You’re missing the point entirely.” He’s so calm and self-assured it unnerves me further. I stalk to the other side of the room so I don’t hit him, because his last comment makes my fist itch. “Marry me here. On our island. You, me and a priest. No license. No record. No proof of what we’ve done. This is only for us.”

  I check my anger long enough to actually process what he’s saying. Foreign marriages aren’t recognized on American soil. On the privacy of our island we can do whatever we want and no one will know unless we want them to. An old Sardinian priest wouldn’t have a clue who we are. It’d be our secret, which in some strange way makes it mean more. A secret marriage to the Sexiest Man Alive? I should be all high-fiving, hell yes, but I’m not.

  “Then what’s the point? It only gives me a taste of something I may never actually have.” I hang my head and chew my lip to stop its quivering, once again reminded of how badly our reality sucks.

  “Sunshine...” His voice breaks over the word. “I realize we can’t get married for real.” He takes my hands in his, pulling them into his chest. “Yet...” he adds as an afterthought. “But you obviously need something from me you can hold onto. A promise that I’m in this for good. I’ve never said ‘I do’ to anyone. I’ve never wanted to. Until you.”

  His face is so full of faith, hope and love, I realize I don’t have a choice. Not really. Even if, in the back of my mind, those four-hundred million reasons are yelling no, that’s not the word that comes out of my mouth, because in my heart I do want this. Him. Me. It’s all I want. And on our island I can have what I want. I can have everything I want.

  Slowly, I start nodding. Once, then twice. A third time with a smile breaking over my face. A fourth time and he lifts me over his head, spinning me around like a crazy man in love. Good god, yes! We are insane. We’re as crazy as they come. But that’s what loving a man like this does to a girl like me. Rationality flies out the window as he carries me into the walk-in closet. It’s the first place I ever dreamed of a happily-ever-after with him. The first time I ever dared to imagine what it would be like to walk a red carpet by his side. I am still held aloft by his strong arms when his lips find mine. Our teeth clink together, neither of us able to wipe the smile off our face long for a proper kiss.

  He sets me on my feet. The once overflowing closet is empty, nothing but naked hangers and bare shelves. He’s totally moved her out. Not a trace of Heather remains. With a perma-grin still plastered in place, he turns me to the far wall.

  A full-length lace sheath dress falls elegantly to the floor from a padded satin hanger. Beside it, a lace-trimmed veil and a pair of killer blue Louboutins. Wait...what?

  “How could you pull this off?” I ask, still dumbly staring at the hanging haute couture.

  “Ernest is very resourceful given a few hours. It doesn’t hurt to have one of the wealthiest Mediterranean ports a short flight away, either.” I keep forgetting Devon doesn’t dwell in the same reality as the rest of the world. What he wants, he gets.

  I spin wildly only to find him on one knee, a blood-red velvet box clutched in his hand. A box like that only comes from one store...Cartier. I nearly lose my footing.

  “Carly Klein, will you marry me?” he asks, nerves halting his words. It’s beyond everything. The box pops open to reveal a thick, pavé diamond LOVE cuff. A price upon request piece that’s blinding exquisite. You can’t walk into a store and buy one...unless you’re Devon Hayes.

  This. This bracelet will be the part of us I hold onto. When our crazy world makes me question what we have, I’ll cling to it and remember.

  “Yes, Devon Hayes. I’ll marry your insane ass!” I fly into his arms, certain I am the luckiest woman alive.

  C
hapter Twenty

  The dress and fingertip veil are beyond gorge, covered with snowflake-delicate lace. The simple fluted gown fits me like a second skin, thanks to wardrobe department measurements, I’m sure. Jane kneels to steady the cobalt blue Louboutins for me. I slip into the handmade French shoes and straighten a solid four inches taller. Adjusting my skirt over the shoes, I turn back to the mirror. The dress was hemmed to accommodate the heels. The tiniest tip of blue peeks out from under the lace. I step back and admire the overall effect, smiling giddily, wringing my hands together and clenching my teeth out of sheer nervousness. How all this was pulled together I haven’t a clue. But today is my wedding day. My wedding day. To Devon Hayes. The Sexiest Man Alive.

  “You look gorgeous.” Jane hands me a glass of champagne and tilts her flute in tribute. Out of sheer habit I take it. Half the glass slips past my lips before I remember. Shaking my head, I hand it back. He wants me sober. I want me sober. I turn again to the mirror, totally drunk on my reflection and giving zero fucks about it. Because let’s be honest, if a girl can’t be self-obsessed on her wedding day, when can she be? I’m straightening my lipstick when it hits me.

  The bubbles flood my stomach and immediately sour. I grab my gut and double over. My throat tightens. Saliva floods my mouth. I slap a hand over my face to keep from blowing and dash to the bathroom. Jane’s right behind me. She pulls my hair and veil out of the way. I fall to my knees and hug the porcelain bowl. My body convulses and I spew champagne into the water. Then proceed to dry heave until there’s nothing left. The cool porcelain feels good against my blazing-hot cheek. I rest there, head on the seat, arms around the bowl, collecting my thoughts. What the hell? Once the nausea subsides, something else grips my stomach. Dread.

  I sit back on my heels, starring at the toilet and shaking my head. Dread turns to terror. It’s hard to breathe. The dress strangles me. I pull at the strands of seed pearls around my neck.

  “Jane, I can’t do this.” I’m babbling as fast as words can flow.

  “Yes you can.” Jane is calm and unruffled, dampening a washcloth and dabbing my lips.

  “No I can’t. Alcohol never makes me puke. This is some kind of omen.” I don’t argue when she pulls me from the floor and sits me in a chair beside the bathtub.

  “Calm down, Cold Feet.” She arranges my veil back into place. “It’s nerves.” She massages my shoulders, coaxing them from a high and tight position by my ears. “You love him.”

  I nod.

  “He obviously loves you.”

  I nod and smile.

  “That’s all that matters today.” She crosses her arms and leans against the countertop, nodding her head to emphasize her point. “This marriage isn’t official. No prenup filed at the courthouse. No marriage license listed in public records. TMI isn’t hiding in the bushes. Drones aren’t flying overhead. The beach will be deserted except for you, Devon and an ancient priest. No one will ever know what you’ve done.” Her look is steady and assuring in a motherly way.

  I pull at my pearls again and stare at the blue Louboutins and handmade lace. She’s right. I’m being a total wuss. No one will ever know because there will be zero proof of what we’re doing. I find my backbone and straighten at the thought.

  “Now, let’s fix this.” She circles a finger around the makeup malfunction my toilet hugging created.

  “I’m marrying Devon Hayes,” I say under my breath. “I’m marrying Devon Hayes today.” My affirmation grows louder, sitting down in the makeup chair Jane guides me to. “Mrs. Devon Hayes,” I say, and immediately gasp. With wide eyes, I find Jane’s gaze in the mirror. Together we squeal like little girls.

  * * *

  I stand on the edge of the beach under cover of a lush tree canopy, trying to breathe normally like I’m not freaking the fuck out. There’s a white sand path tracing through the underbrush, strewn with tropical petals. In my hands, I clutch a bouquet of orchids and ferns close to my belly. Where is he?

  The sun prepares to depart the horizon. Lanterns line the path, lighting my way through a falling dusk. Nerves grip my stomach, but I push my feet forward. I’m halfway down the path, walking slowly on my tiptoes because walking in sand is damn near impossible in three-inch heels. I round a small turn in the path and he pops into view, splendid and perfect in a dove-gray suit. A smile breaks over his face, wide and toothy, stretching from ear to ear. I freeze, taken aback by his rugged beauty. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve this fairy tale. I decide I’d better hurry before someone else realizes this.

  I pick up the pace, and immediately my heels sink like I’m walking in quicksand. I stumble, unbalanced by the shifting terrain. Devon moves to help me, but I quickly right myself. I take another step and the heel sinks again. Fuck this.

  In one quick motion, I hike up my skirt and flick my foot to the side. A blue designer shoe sails into the woods. One more awkward showgirl kick and the other joins it. Devon laughs and holds his hands out for me. Oh, who cares? No longer restrained by the heels, I run the rest of the way down the path and into his arms.

  “You look amazing.” I lean in for a kiss but he holds me at bay, shaking his head like this is suddenly taboo. Is he for real going to make me wait? I turn to the priest, wondering how long it’s gonna be until we get there. Whoa. He really is ancient. Standing still, staring out to sea, a soft breeze blowing the thinned white hair atop his head. He doesn’t look at anything. Not me. Not Devon. Not really even the sea.

  Milky clouds cover his once green eyes. The holy man is blind. I turn to Devon and immediately understand. It’s just the three of us on this beach. And the only person to witness our union is blind. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tell anyone for certain who he’s marrying on this beach. Relief settles me. I take a deep breath and Devon’s hand. He tucks his head, silently asking me if I’m ready. I nod and he speaks a word of Italian to the priest.

  He opens his bible, clears his throat and begins. His Italian is strangely accented but beautifully soothing. I try to concentrate on what he’s saying. Really, I do. But I don’t understand a word of it and in a matter of seconds my mind drifts. Who can blame me? I’ve got an ancient priest I can’t understand on one side and the Sexiest Man Alive on the other. Come on. I’m human. My gaze strays to Devon. I sigh and lick my lips.

  Pink fingers of light filter through the forest, spilling over his shoulders and into his salt-and-pepper hair. On the horizon, the sun sets fiery orange and red hot. Our world ignites with surreal color, stoking the fire that burns between us. Devon’s not even looking at me, but I can feel it. Flowing from his hand into mine, reaching from his heart out to mine—an electric undercurrent of pure, unbridled passion and love that neither of us has ever been able to shake. No matter how desperately we should.

  Here we stand, on the same patch of sand where we first fell in love, pledging our lives to each other the only way we can. There’s something epically beautiful in the moment. Something most “official” marriages no doubt miss. Because those are usually overblown displays of cheese ball, store-bought love for a bloated guest list. This is entirely different. A moment stripped down and devoid of everything that doesn’t matter.

  Our love has always been bigger than us. It’s never cared what we wanted or what we were supposed to do or even who we are. Silver screen god. Struggling starlet. Love never cared. Take away everything we are and all that’s left is two broken people who found each other and somehow came together to make each other whole.

  “Ahem.” Devon clears his throat, interrupting my thoughts.

  “What?” I ask, then suddenly remember what I’m doing in a white dress in the tropical woods. “Oh.” I startle and turn to the priest. He’s still staring at the ocean, which is zero help. “I don’t know what he’s saying,” I whisper to Devon sheepishly.

  “He’s asking if you want to marry me.” Devon’s
head tucks down and to the side, an off-kilter move that puts us at eye level. He bites his lip, and I see fear sparking behind navy blue. No doubt my wandering mind put that spark there.

  “Of course I do,” I say quickly as I can, frantically nodding my head.

  “You need to tell him that.” Devon nods at the priest.

  “Yes. I do. I will. Forever.” I answer every way I can think of.

  “The word is si,” Devon offers.

  “Si,” I repeat at the stone-faced man. He doesn’t move. “SI!” I shout as loud as I can, fearing his ears are as used up as his eyes. The priest jumps and drops his bible. Of course this would happen to me. Devon and I are both so on edge we immediately bend to get it for him. We’re so in sync, we move the same way at the same time and end up slamming our heads together.

  We fall back on our heels, clutching our foreheads. Devon ends up with the bible and I hold the priest’s sterling silver place marker. For serious seconds we stare at each other. I worry I’ve ruined this beautiful moment. Until a smile tugs at Devon’s lips. Only we would end up flat on our butts, rubbing our heads at the priest’s feet during our own wedding. Devon’s grin turns into a snorting chuckle. Now I can’t help but laugh either. We scramble to our feet and return the bible and place marker to its rightful owner. I retrieve my orchids from the sand and we straighten once more, both trying desperately to keep the smiles off our faces. The surreal moment has passed. Now it’s just real. Devon’s hand snakes over my lower back, down to my ass on the pretense of brushing sand from the delicate lace. Yeah, right. But there’s no one here to stop us. So I return the favor, brushing his rear end and giving a nice squeeze for good measure. We turn to each other. The priest continues in his foreign language. He pauses again.