A Wife for One Year

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.