California Nights: Rich Boys of California Duet

I had my fucking priorities straight, and then some.

“It’s time, man.”

I nodded, exhaling in a loud huff. I stood up straight and headed over to the wide lawn, where about fifty chairs had been set up in front of a gazebo. It was the same spot Nevada and Clay had been married at, just minus about four hundred guests.

We were having a small wedding, which was fine by both of us. My girl was shy. She didn’t make friends with every person she met. I liked that just fine too.

I stood and waited, not seeing anything, slightly terrified that she might realize I wasn’t good enough for her. That she might not show up.

The music started and I saw Nevada and Becky walk down the aisle. Then Frannie appeared. Time seemed to stop as I stared at the angel floating down the aisle towards me.

Her dress was simple but beautiful, flowing layers of white silk that hugged her torso and belled out over her hips. Her hair was up with a simple wreath of flowers in her hair. She wore her bridesmaid gifts from Nev and Clay. Her hair was half up and half down, spilling over her shoulders like rubies. Her beautiful face was somehow, even more spectacularly pretty with a touch of something around her eyes and her lips stained a deep berry red.

But it was the look in her eyes that made me forget to breath.

I’d been nervous and insecure. But I’d been wrong.

Frannie didn’t have any doubts. She was sure. I could tell because all the love in the world was shining out of her eyes at me.

She came closer and my uncle and dad stepped back, handing her over to me. I stared into her eyes as the ceremony began. It was simple, with a poetry reading and straightforward vows instead of anything religious.

When it came time for Frannie to answer I held my breath but she didn’t hesitate. Her voice was sweet and clear and true as she said ‘I do.’

Then it was my turn.

“Do you take this woman to have and to hold, to cherish and honor, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

“I do,” I said, staring into her pretty brown eyes. Then it was over. The judge pronounced us man and wife, and said I could kiss the bride.

I tipped her chin up and stared into her eyes, then I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. The kiss was sweet, long, deep and a little dirty. When I lifted my head I paused to whisper into her ear.

Her eyes were wide as we walked down the aisle.

No doubt she was thinking about what I just said.

Two sentences. Two promises.

I hope you got enough sleep last night, sweetheart. Because your sweet ass is mine now.

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Becky

Frannie’s wedding was so beautiful, I couldn’t stop crying. I’d definitely had a little too much champagne during the reception, which probably wasn’t helping.

Clay’s friends Brett and Peter had been hitting on me all night. Usually attention from cute, rich guys made me feel good about myself. But tonight, it was doing the opposite.

Seeing the way Jace looked at Frannie… I wanted that. I didn’t want to settle for less. Even if there was a huge pot of gold that came with it.

It was a weird feeling. For the first time in my life, I wanted more.

“Here,” I looked up to see the groom’s uncle holding out a bottle of water. “You look like you need this.”

He sat down beside me and wordlessly handed me a clean, white handkerchief. I took it and dabbed at my eyes, wiping away the remnants of the subtle eye makeup that had been so artfully applied earlier in the day.

“Thank you,” I said, handing it back to him. He stared into my eyes and he took it, folded it carefully and put it back in his pocket.

“What is a beautiful girl like you doing crying out here all by herself?”

I blinked, staring at him. He thought I was beautiful? Most guys my age said ‘hot or ‘faceable.’ I wasn’t sure I’d ever been called beautiful before.

And I could tell he meant it.

“Not dancing?” I said, changing the subject.

He lifted his leg a bit, showing me the special shoe he wore to keep his gait even.

“I’m none too graceful out there,” he said with a faint irish lilt in his gravelly voice. “But you are.”

He frowned, his handsome brow wrinling as the blue of his eyes seemed to darken.

“Did one of those young bucks sniffing around do something to make you cry? Because I will gladly hand them their asses. Been wanting to all night,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“I didn’t like the way they were looking at you,” he muttered, as if it was something he didn’t want to admit.