A Harmless Little Plan (Harmless #3)(49)

It’s intense and painful, authentic and hopeful. If he means it – truly means it – then I’m the luckiest woman in the world.

Really.

Because what man talks like this?

“I want to marry you,” I say slowly, my thoughts falling in line with my mouth, “because I’ve loved you since we met when I was in high school. And I don’t care about beating Mom and Daddy at their own game, or making you my next of kin. Those are bonuses.”

His lopsided smile makes me want to kiss him again. My shoulder screams when I twist in a funny way. I gasp from the sudden pain. He frowns.

“You okay?”

“Just pulled something in my shoulder.”

“Let’s get to Vegas. Get the license. Find a chapel. And get you to bed.” He clears his throat with meaning. “To rest.”

I laugh. All the earlier churning inside, the worry and the flashbacks that plagued me when I thought about being intimate with Drew, have somehow faded. They’re not one hundred percent gone. They’re not. And yet, they have less power.

They’re less immediate.

Drew is safe. More than safe. In the unbridled comfort of his words, his actions, his unwavering commitment to me, he’s creating a space for me to unfurl.

I’m grateful.

And I’m responding.

As we pull back onto the highway, Drew’s phone buzzes. He grabs it and answers, pulling it to his ear. Then, as if second-guessing himself, he puts it on the console and presses speakerphone.

“Hey Gentian. You’re on speaker.”

“Oh, uh, hi Lindsay.”

“Hi Silas!”

“What’s up?”

“Your cover story is starting to slip. Mrs. Bosworth is upset that Lindsay didn’t invite her to the shopping trip you told them you were taking her on. Says she should have been consulted when it comes to selecting outfits for Lindsay’s potential public appearances.”

“Translation,” I say. “Mom has nothing better to do and is pissed I skipped out on my psych eval.”

Silas coughs into the phone and says, “You said it, Lindsay. Not me.”

Drew should laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he speeds up slightly, pushing the speed limit.

“Stall as much as you can. We need about three more hours. Two to get there, one to get the license and get married,” Drew tells Silas.

“Got it. I’ll do my best.”

Click.

“Really? It only takes an hour to get the license and get married?”

“If the line isn’t long. Half an hour to get the license, then go find a chapel.”

“Will Elvis marry us?”

“You want that?”

“Could you imagine the look on Mom’s face if I show up with wedding pictures with Elvis as the minister?” I can’t stop laughing at the idea, giggling so hard my bruised ribs start to hurt.

Drew laughs, a deep rumbling of amusement. “That makes me want to do it.”

“Do they have Elvis drive-thru chapels? Kill two birds with one stone?”

Drew grabs my hand. “It’s good to laugh with you.”

“So that’s a yes? Drive-thru chapel with Elvis?”

“Anything you want, baby. Anything you want.”





Chapter 19





Drew



In our one and only wedding photo, Lindsay and I are in the backseat of a pink Cadillac, with Elvis at the wheel.

When we get back home, I’ll have it framed and it will sit in a place of honor on our mantel. For now, it rests on my phone in digital form, ready.

Getting the license, going to the chapel, finding the place with an Elvis impersonator was easy. Kitschy and fun as we rushed to beat the clock.

And then the true spiritual moment happened. I don’t remember what we said to each other, but until the day I die, I’ll remember how Lindsay looked at me. A cord, a line, a tightrope stretched between us, reaching back to the past and extending forward to the future, connecting our two lives into one.

I didn’t think I could love her more.

I was wrong.

While I could have done without Elvis crooning “Love Me Tender” in the background as Lindsay and I said our vows, when all was said and done, it was a fine wedding.

Lindsay is now Mrs. Andrew Foster.

I’m her husband.

And we’re about to not have sex on our wedding night.

“Where are we staying?” she asks as we drive to the Strip. I pull into a private garage, tires squealing on the painted concrete floor. I slow down.

“I booked us a room under an assumed name.” I point to the hotel’s sign.

She laughs. “Mom thinks this place is gaudy and tacky. Perfect!” I’m not sure how Monica got “gaudy” from the most expensive hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. Then again, Lindsay’s mother lives in a world of her own making.

Thank God her daughter is in Realityland, where I can be with her 24/7.

I chose this place with some hesitation. It’s big and glitzy, with people watchers everywhere. On the other hand, the resort is accustomed to hiding celebrities. Security in this hotel has a protocol. We’re Will and Helen Jones from Tulsa, Oklahoma.

It doesn’t hurt that one of the assistant directors of security was in my unit in Afghanistan on my first tour.