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She’d stared at him blankly, waiting for the punch line, certain it had to be some kind of joke. He’d assured her that it was not. Kenna needed money for her sister’s surgery; he wanted access to his trust fund; a quick ceremony in Vegas would give them each what they desired.
They’d been friends for so long that she sometimes forgot about the drastic differences in their backgrounds and social status. Which was ironic, considering that it had been such an impediment to their friendship in the beginning.
Aside from the fact that Daniel’s family owned Garrett Furniture, his maternal grandfather, Jake Willson, had made a ton of money in real estate in the sixties. He’d spent as much of it as he could in his lifetime, left a substantial amount to his only child and put the rest into trust funds for his three grandsons.
Kenna’s initial response to Daniel’s proposal had been equal parts intrigue and revulsion. She liked the idea of earning the money, but the method he was suggesting made her wonder if she’d be selling herself, à la Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He immediately assured her that he was looking for a temporary marriage in name only—just one year out of her life in exchange for one hundred thousand dollars.
Or $273.97 per day to wear his ring on her finger.
She’d finally said yes.
Now as the taxi pulled up in front of the Courtland Resort & Casino, Kenna tried not to gawk. She’d never been to Las Vegas. In fact, she’d never ventured any farther from her hometown of Charisma, North Carolina, than Daytona Beach, Florida, so she experienced a little bit of culture shock just looking around.
The opulence of the luxury hotel was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Glossy marble floors, life-size statues, spectacular waterfalls and exotic flowers. It was like a tropical paradise inside a hotel lobby that was probably bigger than any other hotel she’d ever stayed in.
Check-in was expedited, no doubt by Daniel’s platinum credit card, and although they each had only a small overnight bag, the desk clerk called for a bellman to assist with their luggage. The man, whose nameplate identified him as Alex, led them briskly down a wide corridor to a bank of elevators.
Each door of the elevator had an ornately scrolled C etched into the polished surface, and the doors opened without a sound. She stepped inside and noted there were specific buttons for Spa and Casino, but Alex pressed 7 and the elevator began its ascent. The ride was as smooth as it was quick, and then she was stepping out into a long hallway. The gold-and-cream decor continued here, from the patterned carpet beneath her feet and luxurious silk on the walls to the sconces that illuminated their path and the elaborately framed artwork along the way. The bellman slipped a key card into the slot of Room 722, and the lock released with a quiet click.
The first thing she noticed, with no small amount of relief, were the two queen-size beds that Alex informed her were custom luxury mattresses triple-sheeted with five-hundred-thread-count linens. The tablet on the bedside table controlled the lighting, the forty-inch flat-screen LCD TV, the iHome music system, programmable coffeemaker and draperies.
“Draperies?” Kenna echoed, not sure she’d heard him correctly.
In response to which he picked up the tablet and tapped the screen a few times, which caused the thick brocade curtains to slide across the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“Wow.”
He smiled kindly. “Is this your first trip to Las Vegas, ma’am?”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Then we hope it’s the first of many,” he said. “And if there’s anything at all we can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Alex opened the drapes again, and she moved closer to the window, taking in the view of the Strip. Even this early in the day, the streets were bustling with activity. She couldn’t wait to see it at night, lit up as it always was in the movies.
“The directory on the tablet has all the information you will require about the hotel—our three restaurants, spa services, shops and, of course, the casino.”
He opened another door to reveal an Italian marble bath with deep soaker tub, separate glass-enclosed shower, double sinks, exclusive designer toiletries and thick Egyptian cotton towels on heated bars.
Daniel pressed a folded bill into his hand.
“Thank you very much, sir,” Alex said, making his exit.
Kenna turned in a slow circle in the middle of the room, still trying to take it all in. “How long are we staying?”
Daniel chuckled at her obvious pleasure. “I only booked one night, but we can extend that, if you want.”
“I want.” She dropped onto the closest bed and let herself sink back into the mountain of pillows. Then she sighed. “Unfortunately, I have to work on Monday—and so do you.”
He shrugged. “I could finagle a few extra days...if it was for a honeymoon.”
She shook her head regretfully. “I can’t.”
He stretched out beside her, linked their fingers together. It was an easy, companionable gesture that nevertheless stirred something inside her. “You can’t take a few extra days...or you can’t marry me?”
“I can’t take even one extra day.” She squeezed his hand. “But I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t planning to go through with the wedding.”
She could almost see the tension leak out of his body. She knew his eagerness to tie the knot had nothing to do with love or happily-ever-after but was an indication of how much he wanted to accept Josh Slater’s business proposition. For a five-million-dollar investment, he could be his friend’s partner in the ownership of a professional stock car racing team under the banner of Garrett/Slater Racing.
“Are you sure?” he asked, giving her one last out.
She nodded. “Let’s do it.”
His brows lifted. “Do it?”
Belatedly she remembered that they were lying side by side on a queen-size bed, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“Get married,” she clarified, ignoring the awareness that hummed through her veins.
“Now?”
“Isn’t that why we’re here?”
“Sure,” he agreed. “But we only got off the plane half an hour ago. I thought you might want to relax a little, maybe indulge in some of the hotel spa services.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to relax until this is done,” she admitted.
“The wedding or the year?”
She managed a smile. “The wedding,” she said, though she suspected the truth was both. The wedding was just a ceremony—a legal formality. Being married, presenting herself to their friends and families as Daniel Garrett’s wife for the next twelve months, was going to be the true test.
“Did you want to at least go shopping first?”
“Shopping?” She looked at him blankly.
“The bellman mentioned there were shops downstairs, and since we’re getting married, I thought you might want to wear something a little more weddinglike.”
She glanced down at her white capris and sleeveless blue top with the ruffled placket, but shook her head.
His brows lifted. “No dreams of walking down the aisle in a white dress?”
She didn’t let herself regret that she wasn’t going to have the wedding she’d dreamed about since she was a little girl, because this wasn’t a real wedding. “I don’t want to pretend this marriage is something it’s not.”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to have to do,” he reminded her gently.
“For everyone else,” she acknowledged. “But not between us.”
He shrugged. “Okay, then. Let’s find a chapel.”
He released her hand to pick up the tablet and found a link to a list of wedding venues—the number of which was astounding. And then there were countless ceremony options: traditional or themed, including disco, rock ’n’ roll, country and western, pirates, vampires and even zombies.
“Kenna?” he prompted.
“I’d have to say it’s a definite no with respect to pirates, vampires and zombies.”
“How about walking down the aisle with Elvis?”
She shook her head. “Is there anything a little more...normal?”
He scrolled through a few more pages. “How about ‘Traditional Elegance’?” He read from the description: “‘This package offers a ceremony in our traditional chapel, with wedding music, bride’s six-rose bouquet, groom’s matching boutonniere, ten ceremony photos on CD, complimentary limousine service for the bride and groom to the marriage license bureau, and a witness, if required.’”
“That sounds good.”
“Except that we were supposed to call at least forty-eight hours in advance to inquire about availability.”
“Call,” she suggested. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
He sent her a slow, heated look that had no doubt caused numerous women to tumble into his bed. Thankfully, a decade of watching him in action had immunized her to his charm and techniques. Mostly, anyway.
She smacked him in the arm. “Stop turning everything I say into a sexual innuendo.”
“Stop saying things that sound like sex,” he countered.
“You’re a guy—everything sounds like sex to you.”
“Probably true,” he acknowledged unapologetically.
She looked at him now, her expression serious. “I know you want to get married, but are you sure you want to marry me?”
“I don’t really want to get married,” he reminded her. “But since that’s what I have to do, I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone else.”
“A year is a long time to go without sex,” she pointed out. “Especially for a man with a hedonistic reputation.”
“My reputation is somewhat exaggerated.”
“Somewhat?”
“Maybe the real issue isn’t my reputation but that you don’t think you can hold out that long. Because if you’re suggesting an amendment to the terms of—”
“No,” she said quickly, deliberately ignoring the leap of her pulse in response to his provocative statement.
He just grinned.
“I’m suggesting an amendment to the time frame,” she clarified. “Six months should be long enough to convince people we tried to make our marriage work but realized we were better off as friends.”
“Maybe most people,” he acknowledged.
She knew he was excluding his parents from that list, and she knew he was right. After refusing his request for access to his trust fund only a couple of months earlier, David and Jane Garrett would definitely have suspicions about their son’s sudden nuptials. And while she appreciated that Daniel didn’t like deceiving his parents, she didn’t understand how dragging the deception out over twelve months rather than six made it more palatable to him.
“Call about the chapel,” she decided. “Let’s make sure today is day one of my three hundred and sixty-five as Mrs. Daniel Garrett.”
* * *
Daniel made the call.
Fifteen minutes later they were picked up by a limo that took them to the marriage license bureau, then returned them to the hotel for the ceremony.
When Kenna stepped inside the chapel, her breath actually caught in her throat.
Her groom halted beside her. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s...beautiful.”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“I guess I just thought... I mean, this is an impromptu wedding in Vegas. I expected Elvis in a polyester suit and—”
“You nixed the Elvis idea,” he reminded her. “You wanted something more traditional.”
She nodded, because it was true. But she hadn’t expected something that would look and feel so much like a real church, with classic cathedral ceilings and antique stained glass, floral arrangements on marble columns and flickering candles everywhere.
The officiant started toward them. As he drew nearer, she noticed that he was wearing a clerical collar. Not an officiant, she realized, but a real minister, and his presence forced her to acknowledge the realness of the vows she was about to make.
He welcomed them, introduced himself as Gerald Laughton and inspected their marriage license. He’d just started to give them a brief rundown of the ceremony when a trim woman with neatly coiffed white hair and wearing an elegant rose-colored suit bustled in.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she breathlessly apologized. “I should have been here to greet you, but I got tied up waiting for a delivery from the florist.”
“We weren’t going to start without you,” the minister assured her. Then to Daniel and Kenna he said, “This is Vera Laughton, the chapel administrator, your witness and my wife of thirty-four years.”
After the introductions were completed, Vera took Kenna’s arm and steered her away from the men, toward the back of the chapel.
“We’ve got a schedule to keep,” she reminded them. “So let’s get this started.”
Vera handed Kenna a bouquet of flowers and signaled to a younger man with a camera around his neck. He punched a few buttons on the front panel of an intricate sound system and music began to fill the room.
Not Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” but Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, Kenna realized. She’d always thought it was a much more elegant and beautiful song, as she’d remarked to Daniel when they’d attended his cousin Braden’s wedding several years earlier. Of course, Daniel wouldn’t have remembered that. And even if he had, she would guess that the music had been chosen by the hotel’s wedding coordinator or Vera—or maybe even the last bride who had walked down the aisle in this chapel.
But when Kenna drew in a deep breath and looked down at the hand-tied flowers in her hands, questions swirled in her mind. The website had indicated that the bride could choose between white or red roses, but she was holding a bouquet of soft pink gerberas—her favorite flowers.
In that moment, she knew that Daniel had done this. For her. He’d taken care of the little details to give her, if not the wedding of her dreams, at least one that she would remember fondly. And when she glanced up at the front of the chapel, where he was waiting more anxiously than patiently, she felt her heart swell.
When she’d first met him, back in high school, he’d been breathtakingly good-looking. At sixteen, he’d already been more than six feet tall and broad in the shoulders, but he’d added both muscle and maturity since then, and he was even more attractive now.
He rarely asked anything of her, and she knew he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted Garrett/Slater Racing to become a reality. When she’d agreed to marry him, she’d thought she was doing it for Becca, but she realized now that she would have done it for him anyway. Because he wasn’t just her best friend, he was a good man, and even if she wasn’t in love with him, she did love him.
She started down the aisle toward him, and as her gaze met his, his lips curved. When she reached the front of the chapel, he took her hand and squeezed her icy fingers reassuringly. Or maybe he was holding on to her to make sure she didn’t bolt.
