“This will be one of our last times making love as Julia Bell and Clay Nichols,” she whispered to him as they finished another round in the car, the neon lights of Bally’s flickering outside, illuminating the night sky.
“I am one hundred percent okay with that,” he said. “But maybe we should cap it off with a quickie by the Welcome to Vegas sign?”
She winked. “You are my naughty, dirty, delicious man.”
“I am, and I always will be,” he said, and soon he was taking her by this icon of the city, moving quickly, the risk of getting caught part of the thrill. But they had luck on their side now, and they got away with it scot-free.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sunday, 11:49 a.m., Las Vegas
A pile of white tulle, lace, silk, organza and satin littered the couch in the dressing room of the bridal store inside the Caesar’s Palace shopping mall. The shop attendant had helpfully corralled all the simplest dresses in Julia’s size, but none of them worked. They were all ready-to-wear, designed for a quickie Vegas wedding, but they weren’t right for her.
“I can’t get married in any of these,” Julia said, her lips curving in a frown as she surveyed the heap of cast-aside choices.
“Obviously,” McKenna said, rolling her eyes from her perch next to the detritus of wedding gowns. The dresses, though gorgeous, were all simply too much. Too much skirt, too much trim, too much flare. Julia’s style had never been showy. Sure, she liked to dress sexy, but she preferred a neat, clean look.
“Why is it obvious?”
“Because you were never meant to be married in a bridal gown, dork,” McKenna said with the same sassy confidence she displayed on her fashion blog when she dispensed clothing advice.
McKenna and Chris had landed in town an hour ago. Clay had arranged for the private jet to pick them up in San Francisco and bring them to Vegas for the wedding. Julia didn’t want to get married without her best friend—her sister—by her side.
By nine that morning, the bride and groom had already obtained a marriage license. God bless the state of Nevada—no waiting period needed, and the county’s marriage bureau stayed open every day, including weekends and holidays. By ten, they’d found a justice of the peace online who was available that afternoon. That wasn’t difficult either—in Vegas, they were practically on call, ready to perform ceremonies like doctors delivering babies.
Julia narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean? I’m not classy enough to be a bride?”
McKenna laughed and shook her head. “Hardly. What it means is your style is not typical bride.”
“What’s my style then?”
Her sister smiled knowingly. “Chic. Maid-of-honor chic.”
Julia parked her hands on her hips. “You’re the maid-of-honor,” she said.
“I know. But I also know fashion, and I know you looked too stunning for words at my wedding, so . . .” McKenna let her voice trail off.
“So . . . so what?” she asked curiously, motioning for her sister to give up the goods. “I love that dress, but I don’t have my maid-of-honor dress with me. I didn’t know I was going to get married this weekend. And besides, it’s black. So what do I do?”
“You might not have your maid-of-honor dress, but I do,” she said, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Or maybe just a really tasty tuna. McKenna tapped her overnight bag that was still with her.
“But the dress is with me in New York,” Julia said, pointing in the general direction of the east coast.
“True. And that’s why it’s a good thing I know the owner of Cara’s Bridal Boutique where we got your dress. Because I called her this morning and asked if she had your maid-of-honor dress . . . in white.”
Julia’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you serious?”
Her sister unzipped her bag, reached inside and carefully removed a beautiful, simple and alluring dress, the replica of what she’d worn before, but this time in its opposite shade. The shade of her wedding day.
“I knew you wanted to try to find something, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t like anything you found shopping, so I made a pit stop before we caught the flight. Just in case. Try it on.”
Julia slipped the dress over her head, then let the material fall down her body, over her hips, and her legs. It felt familiar and new all at once, from the hug of the silk, to the way it moved like water against her skin, to the smooth, soft feel of the straps on her shoulders. It showed just enough skin to be sexy, and covered enough to be classy.
She twirled once in front of the mirror. “This is the dress.”
McKenna launched herself into Julia’s arms, hugging her tight. “Let’s go get a ring for your man now. You only have one more hour before we have to get you to the church.”
Julia scoffed. “Church. Right.”
“It’s kind of like a church for you, though,” she pointed out.
“Yeah,” she said. “It kind of is.”
* * *
Brent was in charge of backup music, so Clay reminded him one last time. “No funny stuff,” he warned, lowering his sunglasses to give his brother a sharp stare as he cued up the song on his phone.
His brother held up his hands as if to say who, me?
“Yes, you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten all the stunts you pulled when we were growing up. Besides, if we have the timing right, we don’t even need the song.”
“No stunts at your wedding. I promise. I’m just glad I got an invite.”
Clay clapped him on the back. “Not just an invite. You’re the best man,” he said, then pulled his brother in for a hug. “I love you, bro.”
“Even though you had a crazy weekend in my town?”
“I’m having the best weekend ever in our town,” he said, as they pulled apart. A horn honked loudly from the Strip, not far from them.
His brother wiped a hand across his forehead, and Clay tugged at his own shirt. The sun was high above and was practically shooting balls of fire at them. But it was August in Vegas, so that was that. Besides, a man needed to get married in a suit, no matter the weather, so Clay had on his suit from the flight on Friday, freshly pressed. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt, and his purple tie. He ran a hand down the tie; he might retire it after today. This tie had given him so much already; it might be time to hang it up and thank it for its run. He didn’t want to take any more chances with it.
He looked at the time on his wrist. Twelve-forty. Five minutes if they wanted to make the timing work.