Exposed (Ethan Frost 3)

Every surface in the back of the limo is blooming in shades of bright red, inky purple, happy yellow. Hundreds upon hundreds of roses, lilies, and dahlias are stacked up on the seats, the floors, stuffed in the door compartments and the shelf under the back window. And clutched in Chloe’s arms is a bouquet made up of dozens of deep purple calla lilies.

“Thank you!” she tells me, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed as she leans down to smell the flowers. “I love them. They’re gorgeous! Perfect! Amazing!”

Nowhere near as gorgeous as she is. It’s such a cheesy line that I don’t say it, but I can’t help thinking it. Her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks flushed, and she’s never been more stunning to me than she is here, now, in this moment.

She’s going to be my wife.

She’s going to be my wife.

Though I’ve wanted it from almost the first week I met her, though I’ve worked for it, pushed for it, nearly begged for it, I can still barely believe that it’s happening. That she’s going to be mine forever.

“We’re only doing this once,” I finally manage to squeeze past the tightness in my throat. “I want it to be as perfect for you as it can be.”

“It’s already perfect,” she tells me. “I have you. That’s all that matters.”

So maybe I’m not the only one with a plethora of cheesy lines running through his head. Except it doesn’t sound cheesy when Chloe says it. It sounds wonderful.

Tori obviously doesn’t agree, because she’s gagging even as she reaches for the bottle of champagne that’s chilling in the bar’s built-in ice bucket. “Come on, you guys. There’s only so much a girl can take before she slips into a diabetic coma.”

Chloe laughs, but doesn’t say anything else as she holds out a hand for the glass Tori hands her.

I accept a glass as well, start to take a drink. Tori stops me with a, “Not so fast, Frost. If this is the only wedding my best friend is going to have, we’re going to do it right. I’m the maid of honor and I need to deliver the toast.”

“Isn’t that supposed to happen after the wedding?” Chloe asks, but I notice she doesn’t take a drink.

“Too much tradition is a bad thing,” Tori tells her with a roll of her eyes. “Besides, I’m making up our own traditions here.”

I have to admit, I like the sound of that. I want to make up a hundred different traditions with Chloe, want to repeat each and every one of them for many years to come.

“Okay. I’m ready.” Tori holds her glass up, then waits impatiently until Chloe and I do the same. “You know, Ethan, I’ve been for you and against you at different times in the last few months. You’re perfect for my best friend—you make her laugh when she never used to laugh. You make her walk around the apartment in a daze when she’s usually the most focused person in the world. You make her shine when, for too long, all she did was hide. For all those reasons, and a million more, I will forever be grateful to you. But you’ve also hurt her these last months. You’ve also made her cry. And maybe this isn’t the time for me to say this, but to be honest, I don’t really give a shit. Hurt her like that again and I’ll chop your body into such tiny pieces that even the fish won’t want them.”

“Tori!” Chloe gasps, glaring at her friend, but I just laugh and cover her free hand with mine.

“She’s right,” I tell her. “I would expect nothing else from you

r best friend.”

Tori grins, lifts her glass even higher. “All right, then. Cheers to the two most kickass people I know. Be good to each other and may your life together be filled with as much love and laughter and light as you two bring to the world.”

“Tori.” This time Chloe sounds choked up. But Tori’s having none of it. She clinks our glasses together and all but shouts, “Drink up!”

We do, amid much laughter. And then the car is pulling to a stop in front of The Little Church of the West wedding chapel and Geoffrey is opening the door.

I climb out, then turn to help Chloe out as things seem to—simultaneously—slow down and speed up. I lead her into the gleaming chapel with its wooden pews and surprisingly tasteful décor and give the chapel manager the fake name I’d made the appointment under when I’d called earlier to set it up. Her eyes widen a little bit when she takes in the real name on my ID and the marriage license I’d acquired while Chloe was shopping. But she doesn’t say anything about it, just casts nervous looks at me through her lashes as she finishes filling out the paperwork.

Chloe doesn’t say anything as she stands beside me, holding my hand. Tori chatters away, but I don’t hear a word she says, and I get the impression that Chloe doesn’t, either. She doesn’t seem nervous—her eyes are clear, her hand steady in mine. But she seems to be somewhere else and it freaks me out a little.

“If you want to wait over there,” the chapel manager says, gesturing to a row of pews on the right side of the chapel, “the minister will be with you soon.”

“Minister?” Chloe asks, speaking up for the first time since we got out of the car.

“She’s also a justice of the peace,” I tell her as I guide her to a small alcove in the back of the chapel. I’m too keyed up to sit right now. “We didn’t really talk about whether or not you wanted a religious ceremony, so we can choose whichever one you want when she’s ready for us.”

“I want whichever one ties us together most completely,” she answers and for a second I think my heart might actually take flight. It’s certainly fluttering hard enough in my chest.

“Are you sure?” I ask her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into me, so close that her body is flush against mine.

So close that I can feel her heart beating wildly in her chest.