Exposed

by Tracy Wolff

  “What?”

  “Having someone who knows what you’re going to do before you do it?” I can’t help thinking of Ethan, of how he anticipates what I need and gives it to me before I even know that I need it.

  Tori, as always, seems to know what I’m thinking. “Well, not when you’re talking about that whole Vulcan mind-meld thing that Ethan does. That’s hot. Weird as fuck, but very hot.”

  Because it’s her, and because I feel like I’ve pushed her far enough, I go with the subject change. “Ugh. Will you please stop lusting after my fiancé? Please. I beg of you,” I tell her as I shut the door and start changing out of what will be my wedding gown in just a few hours.

  “Now where’s the fun in that?” she teases.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was my job to entertain you,” I snipe back.

  “Umm, that’s always been your job. Why do you think I keep you around?”

  I lift my hand above the top of the dressing room door so Tori can see me flip her off. Of course, she just laughs, but then so do I. Tomorrow is soon enough to start worrying about all the problems Ethan, Tori and I have among us. For now, for tonight, I’m just going to let them all go and enjoy myself.

  After all, Tori’s right. If this is the only wedding we’re going to have between us, then we’re going to enjoy the hell out of it.

  Chapter 8

  “Hey, isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony on their wedding day?” Chloe asks as she walks out of the bedroom and into the living room of our suite at the Atlantis. “We probably should have thought of that.”

  I hear her words, but for long moments they don’t register. How can they when I’m too busy staring at my soon-to-be-wife in her wedding gown. I haven’t seen her since she and Tori took off for shopping and beauty treatments and while she’s always beautiful to me—always beautiful period—right now that beauty is almost otherworldly.

  I don’t know if it’s the way the dress hugs every one of her curves or the way her miles of hair are arranged in some kind of updo that holds her curls away from her face while still letting them cascade over her shoulders. Or maybe it’s the way she’s smiling, so openly and joyfully that she glows with it. Whatever it is, she takes my breath away. But then, that’s nothing new. She’s been doing it since the moment I first saw her in line at the smoothie bar in Frost Industries’s cafeteria.

  “Ethan?” Her smile starts to fade, the happiness being replaced by an uncertainty I can’t stand to see. “Is something wrong?”

  “You’re gorgeous,” I tell her, crossing the small distance between us to cup her face in my hands and press kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth. “Absolutely stunning.”

  “Hey!” Tori squawks from somewhere in the background. “Don’t touch! Do you know how long it took the makeup artist to get her makeup perfect?”

  I ignore her, focusing instead on the verdant green of Chloe’s eyes. “Don’t worry about old superstitions,” I tell her, in between pressing more kisses into her skin. “From here on out, we make our own luck.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me, too.” I step back, hold my arm out to her. “Shall we go?”

  This time, she’s the one who doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she closes those gorgeous eyes of hers, takes a deep breath. Then she takes another one and another one. A little niggle of worry starts at the base of my spine—I want this, want her, so badly that I can barely breathe with it. But not if she’s not ready for it. Not if she’s the least bit uncomfortable with the idea of being tied to me for the rest of her life. Despite everything she’s been through in her life, she’s still so young.

  I clear my throat, start to speak, but then she’s opening her eyes. Stepping forward. Winding her arm through mine. “I can’t wait,” she tells me.

  “To get married?” I ask as I lead her toward the door.

  “To be your wife.”

  I nod, but I don’t say anything else. I can’t with the knot that’s suddenly taken up residence right in the center of my windpipe.

  The stretch limo I hired at the airport is waiting for us in front of the hotel and Chloe gasps as Geoffrey holds the door open for her. “When did you do this?” she demands, whirling back around to look at me.

  “Do what?” I answer, feigning confusion.

  “Oh my God!” Tori cackles as she follows Chloe. “Did you buy out every floral shop in Vegas?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I climb in after them, then give a satisfied nod to Geoffrey. The kid followed my directions to a T.

  Every surface in the back of the limo is blooming in shades of bright red, inky purple, happy yellow. Hundreds upon hundreds of roses, lilies, and dahlias are stacked up on the seats, the floors, stuffed in the door compartments and the shelf under the back window. And clutched in Chloe’s arms is a bouquet made up of dozens of deep purple calla lilies.

  “Thank you!” she tells me, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed as she leans down to smell the flowers. “I love them. They’re gorgeous! Perfect! Amazing!”

  Nowhere near as gorgeous as she is. It’s such a cheesy line that I don’t say it, but I can’t help thinking it. Her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks flushed, and she’s never been more stunning to me than she is here, now, in this moment.

  She’s going to be my wife.

  She’s going to be my wife.

  Though I’ve wanted it from almost the first week I met her, though I’ve worked for it, pushed for it, nearly begged for it, I can still barely believe that it’s happening. That she’s going to be mine forever.

  “We’re only doing this once,” I finally manage to squeeze past the tightness in my throat. “I want it to be as perfect for you as it can be.”

  “It’s already perfect,” she tells me. “I have you. That’s all that matters.”

  So maybe I’m not the only one with a plethora of cheesy lines running through his head. Except it doesn’t sound cheesy when Chloe says it. It sounds wonderful.

  Tori obviously doesn’t agree, because she’s gagging even as she reaches for the bottle of champagne that’s chilling in the bar’s built-in ice bucket. “Come on, you guys. There’s only so much a girl can take before she slips into a diabetic coma.”

  Chloe laughs, but doesn’t say anything else as she holds out a hand for the glass Tori hands her.

  I accept a glass as well, start to take a drink. Tori stops me with a, “Not so fast, Frost. If this is the only wedding my best friend is going to have, we’re going to do it right. I’m the maid of honor and I need to deliver the toast.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to happen after the wedding?” Chloe asks, but I notice she doesn’t take a drink.

  “Too much tradition is a bad thing,” Tori tells her with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, I’m making up our own traditions here.”

  I have to admit, I like the sound of that. I want to make up a hundred different traditions with Chloe, want to repeat each and every one of them for many years to come.

  “Okay. I’m ready.” Tori holds her glass up, then waits impatiently until Chloe and I do the same. “You know, Ethan, I’ve been for you and against you at different times in the last few months. You’re perfect for my best friend—you make her laugh when she never used to laugh. You make her walk around the apartment in a daze when she’s usually the most focused person in the world. You make her shine when, for too long, all she did was hide. For all those reasons, and a million more, I will forever be grateful to you. But you’ve also hurt her these last months. You’ve also made her cry. And maybe this isn’t the time for me to say this, but to be honest, I don’t really give a shit. Hurt her like that again and I’ll chop your body into such tiny pieces that even the fish won’t want them.”

  “Tori!” Chloe gasps, glaring at her friend, but I just laugh and cover her free hand with mine.

  “She’s right,” I tell her. “I would expect nothing else from you
r best friend.”

  Tori grins, lifts her glass even higher. “All right, then. Cheers to the two most kickass people I know. Be good to each other and may your life together be filled with as much love and laughter and light as you two bring to the world.”

  “Tori.” This time Chloe sounds choked up. But Tori’s having none of it. She clinks our glasses together and all but shouts, “Drink up!”

  We do, amid much laughter. And then the car is pulling to a stop in front of The Little Church of the West wedding chapel and Geoffrey is opening the door.

  I climb out, then turn to help Chloe out as things seem to—simultaneously—slow down and speed up. I lead her into the gleaming chapel with its wooden pews and surprisingly tasteful décor and give the chapel manager the fake name I’d made the appointment under when I’d called earlier to set it up. Her eyes widen a little bit when she takes in the real name on my ID and the marriage license I’d acquired while Chloe was shopping. But she doesn’t say anything about it, just casts nervous looks at me through her lashes as she finishes filling out the paperwork.

  Chloe doesn’t say anything as she stands beside me, holding my hand. Tori chatters away, but I don’t hear a word she says, and I get the impression that Chloe doesn’t, either. She doesn’t seem nervous—her eyes are clear, her hand steady in mine. But she seems to be somewhere else and it freaks me out a little.

  “If you want to wait over there,” the chapel manager says, gesturing to a row of pews on the right side of the chapel, “the minister will be with you soon.”

  “Minister?” Chloe asks, speaking up for the first time since we got out of the car.

  “She’s also a justice of the peace,” I tell her as I guide her to a small alcove in the back of the chapel. I’m too keyed up to sit right now. “We didn’t really talk about whether or not you wanted a religious ceremony, so we can choose whichever one you want when she’s ready for us.”

  “I want whichever one ties us together most completely,” she answers and for a second I think my heart might actually take flight. It’s certainly fluttering hard enough in my chest.

  “Are you sure?” I ask her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into me, so close that her body is flush against mine.

  So close that I can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest.

  So close that we’re breathing the same air.

  “Because this is it,” I tell her. “Once you marry me, I’m never letting you go. We may have problems, we may disagree on how to handle things, we may even hurt each other—though I’ll do my best to never hurt you again—but that won’t matter. Because this is forever. I’ll never walk away from you. I’ll never turn my back on you when you need me. I’ll be there for you, no matter what. Be sure, Chloe, be very, very sure. Because once we do this, once we’re married, I am never letting you go. You’re stuck with me for the rest of this life, and for whatever comes next.”

  I don’t know if I’m trying to scare her or reassure her—maybe a little of both as I’m still not sure I’m really the best thing for her—but it doesn’t really matter. Because Chloe’s face is as resolved as I have ever seen it as she murmurs, “And you’re stuck with me.”

  She lifts a hand to my face, pushes a couple unruly locks of hair back from my forehead. “I know it hasn’t been easy getting here. I know some people might say it’s too soon for us to get married, especially with all the problems we still have to work out. But when I look at you, when I see the love you have for me shining in your eyes, none of that matters. The love I have for you is so much, it’s so big, that sometimes I feel like I can’t contain it. I feel like it’s going to burst right out of me, like it’s going to shatter me into a million pieces. And that’s okay, because the only other thing I know with the same certainty that I love you is that, if I do shatter, you’ll be there to put me back together again. No matter what.”

  “I will,” I vow, squeezing her more tightly against me.

  “I know.” She takes my hand, lifts it to her lips and presses a kiss right in the center of my palm. Then, as she curls my fingers over the kiss, she continues, “And I’ll do the same for you. So what other assurances do I need? What other assurances will I ever need?”

  “I—” My voice breaks as I try to get out just a few of the words that are choking me up, battering at me from the inside.

  Just then, the chapel manager comes up to us and says, “She’s ready for you now.”

  I’m still too choked up to answer, so Chloe speaks for us. “We’ll be right there.” Then she’s pulling out of my embrace. Wrapping an arm around my waist. Propelling me gently forward as she whispers in my ear, “You’re the love of my life, Ethan. Let’s go get married.”

  I’m shaky and more than a little overwhelmed as I let her guide me down the aisle. But my steps never falter. Because she’s the love of my life and I will follow her anywhere—even into hell itself.

  —

  The wedding ceremony is pretty much a blur. But that’s fine, because no matter what vows we said in front of the minister, our real vows were exchanged in that alcove before the ceremony ever started.

  Before I know it, we’re pronounced husband and wife—no sexist language in Chloe’s wedding ceremony—and I’m pulling her into my arms for our first kiss as a married couple. I want to take my time, to savor it—to savor her—but Chloe is all but bursting at the seams with excitement as she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me with an enthusiasm that I will only ever be grateful for, even if it ends up nearly knocking me on my ass.

  Tori is laughing at us, a low, rich sound that combines with my own happiness, and with Chloe’s, until the whole chapel is filled to bursting with a pulsing, electric joy that I want nothing more than to wallow in forever.

  But then it’s time to sign the marriage certificate, with Tori and the chapel manager as witnesses, and to pay for the ceremony. And then we’re done, spilling out into the street that—as night descends—is as brightly and boldly lit as my soul.

  I take Chloe and Tori to dinner at Joël Robuchon, where we all drink too much champagne and order one of every dessert choice on the menu. The restaurant’s very famous chef comes out to greet us and to offer his congratulations on our nuptials. The gleam in his eyes tells me that the jig is up—he knows exactly who I am as does the rest of the waitstaff. In an hour, the fact that I’m a married man is going to be splashed all over Twitter and Facebook—if it hasn’t started already. I probably should have had the celebratory dinner back in our suite at the Atlantis, but to be honest, now that it’s done and there’s no chance of the wedding ceremony being ruined by overeager paparazzi, I don’t want to hide. I want the whole world to know that Chloe and I are married. I want everyone to know how much I love, adore, worship her. And if she’s not ready for all the speculation and press that comes with being Mrs. Frost, then I can protect her until she is—no one needs to even know her name until she’s ready for me to share it with them. After all, what’s the point of having all this money if I can’t use it to take care of my wife?

  My wife. I roll the words around in my mind. Who knew two little words could fill me with such immeasurable happiness?

  After we’ve finished off a third bottle of champagne—and wreaked havoc on six separate desserts—Tori slips out of the booth. “I think it’s about time for me to take my leave.”

  “Don’t you want a ride back to the hotel?” I ask. “The limo is out front waiting for us.”

  “Like I’m getting in the back of that car with the two of you right now,” she answers with a roll of her eyes. “You’ll probably have your clothes off before we hit the first red light.”

  “That’s not true,” Chloe protests with a delightfully tipsy giggle. “We’ve got some self-control. We’ll probably last until at least the second light.”

  Tori snorts. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she says, gathering up her purse and cell phone.

  I put a hand on her forearm. “W
e’re all going to the same place,” I tell her. “It’s no bother. And if it makes you more comfortable, I promise not to do anything more than hold Chloe’s hand.”

  “Hey!” my wife protests a little plaintively. “Don’t I get a vote here?”

  For a moment, just a moment, the mask Tori wears like armor softens and I get a glimpse of the real woman who is Chloe’s best friend. But just as suddenly, her face closes back up. Then she’s leaning forward with a sassy grin, patting my cheek and then Chloe’s. “You guys don’t need me around to cramp your style. Besides, I’m not going back to the Atlantis for a while. I’m going to check out the high-roller tables here, and then maybe cruise over to the Bellagio and New York–New York. Gotta try my luck at the roulette wheel…and maybe a few other things, too.”

  She winks, just in case her meaning wasn’t obvious enough, then disappears in a cloud of perfume and laughter. And I am finally alone—or as alone as I can get—with Chloe. With my wife.

  Yeah, still not tired of saying it. Something tells me I never will be.

  “So, what do you want to do next?” I ask, dropping a credit card into the leather check holder our waiter brought to the table a few minutes ago. “We can check out one of the casinos or I can take you dancing. Or we could go to the Cirque show I got tickets for when we checked in?”

  Chloe laughs, low and sexy. The sound travels down my spine, hits me in the stomach with the force of a freight train. My dick is hard even before she says, “The only place I want to go right now is back to our hotel room. Besides,” she leans forward and whispers in my ear, “with the lingerie Tori insisted I buy today, I’m pretty sure you’ll get more of a show in our suite than anything you can buy tickets to.”

  Fuck. Tori was right. There’s no way I’ll make it back to the hotel without burying myself in Chloe.

  It takes forever for the waiter to pick up our check and return my card—or maybe it just feels like that, considering the fact that my cock is so hard that every second I’m not inside Chloe feels like torture. Finally, finally, we’re free to go. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to pick Chloe up and toss her over my shoulder as I dash through the casino and hotel lobby.