Soon, she was mere feet away, and he realized he was still wearing sunglasses. Quickly, he grabbed them, and tucked them inside his suit jacket. He wasn’t going to be that guy who got married in shades. There. Now she could look in his eyes, just as he could in hers. She stood in front of him, the Purple Snow Globe around her neck, the ring on her finger.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she whispered.
“Lucky me.”
The justice of the peace cleared her throat as Brent, Chris and McKenna gathered in a small semi-circle beside them, the water behind them. Julia gave the flowers to her sister, and Clay took Julia’s hands in his. Her touch sent a charge through him. Holding her hand was still such a thrill, and always would be.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in this great city of weddings and pairings to join together Clay Nichols and Julia Bell in marriage, which is an institution ordained by the state of Nevada and made honorable by the faithful keeping of good men and women. Marriage is founded upon sincerity, trust, and mutual love,” the justice-of-the-peace said, rattling off words she’d surely said thousands of times before. The words both mattered and didn’t matter to him. They could be married by a sea captain, a minster, a rabbi, even by someone who snagged his license on the Internet. He didn’t care. All that mattered were the I dos.
In other words, please be true. In other words, in other words, I love you . . .
The justice-of-the-peace spoke more, but Clay couldn’t focus because he was looking in his bride’s eyes, the beautiful green eyes that he loved, and that shined back at him with such heart, love and truth. He wanted to remember this moment for the rest of his life—standing under the high heat of the desert sun, without a cloud in the bright blue sky, Frank Sinatra crooning through the water, throngs of tourists passing by, and the love of his life facing him, about to become his for all time. And he was hers. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest with joy.
The justice-of-the-peace turned to him. “Do you, Clay, take Julia to be your lawful wedded wife?”
There had never been an easier question to answer. “I do.”
“Will you love, respect and honor her in all your years together?”
Or an easier promise to make. “I will.”
She turned to Julia. “Do you, Julia, take Clay to be your lawful wedded husband?”
“I do,” she said, keeping her gaze locked on him.
“Will you love, respect and honor him in all your years together?”
“I will.”
“The rings, please.”
Clay turned to Brent, who handed him the band that they’d picked up that very morning.
He slid a slender, platinum ring onto her ring finger, nestling it close to the diamond that barely matched her beauty.
She placed a ring on his finger. “Now you’re mine,” she said playfully.
“Always have been, always will be,” he said.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
He cupped her face, brushing his fingertips gently down her cheek, wanting to savor the seconds before he kissed her for the first time as her husband. “Hello, Mrs. Nichols,” he said, loving the way her new name sounded on his lips.
“Mrs. Nichols would very much like a kiss,” she said, and he dropped his mouth to hers, kissing her softly, tenderly as the fountains finished playing their song, and she became his wife outside, under the sun, capping off a weekend that had gone so wrong, but had now turned into the most right thing in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunday, 8:23 p.m., somewhere over the middle of the country
He closed out the email as they flew through the night, en route to New York. “That’s done. Grant is taking care of everything.”
“Is he?”
“He used to be a sports announcer. He still has contacts at the Giants, so he’s calling in a favor,” he said, referring to the client he’d wrapped up the deal for on Friday. The very same client who’d said he’d do anything Clay needed. He didn’t normally like to call in favors from clients, but he’d learned the hard way that it was better to keep a mobster on your good side. By this time tomorrow, that’s where Charlie would be.
Julia rested her head on his shoulder. “I think that’s a mighty clever solution you came up with, Mr. Nichols, though I do hope we have no more trouble from mobsters.”
He wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “That seems a bit crazy to wish for, doesn’t it?”
She laughed. “Yeah, it does.”
A new email landed in his inbox. This one was from Brent. The subject line was Check out this post . . .