Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

“Mason, let’s get married.”

I almost laugh at that. Almost. Except her expression tells me she’s dead-ass serious.

“No,” I state flatly. “And you’re officially cut off.”

Her hands meet the bar top, and she leans into me like she’s about to negotiate this. “One, why not? Two, you can’t cut me off, you’re not the bartender, and three, I’m older than you.”

“What does your being older than me have to do with me cutting you off or anything else?”

“I don’t know,” she rants. “It just sounded good in my head. But you didn’t answer number one. I’m serious. I want us to get married. It’ll be fun.”

I drop my elbow on the bar in front of her and lean in. I get close. Real close. So close our noses practically touch, and I can see every swirl and fleck of green and brown in her drunk eyes. My hand goes to the back of her chair, and I keep her good and locked in place.

“I know why you’re asking. I get it. You want to make him look ridiculous to the press for saying it was a simple misunderstanding, and if you’re married to me, he can’t try to win you back. I get it, Sorel. I kind of like it even.”

“Yes! Exactly. It’s perfect, right? Only I don’t want the press or anyone else to know. Just him. It’ll be a zing he can’t rub off or lie away.”

“But being married means we’re married. As in legally bound to each other.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not looking to saddle you with a long-term commitment here. There will be no white picket fence or two-point-five kids for us, though maybe I’ll get a dog. I’ve always wanted one.” She shakes her head. “I digress. We’ll get it annulled after a couple of weeks once Brody stops trying to fight city hall in the media. I promise it won’t disrupt your life or your bachelorhood.”

My bachelorhood has become a joke thanks to her, but that’s hardly the point. She’s only partially making sense, which is yet another reason why I say, “No.”

“Oh, come on.” She pouts, slouching dramatically. “I thought you were the fun and adventurous guy.”

I grin. “That doesn’t make me stupid, princess. I’d get my ass kicked by your family if I married you.”

“Is the big, tough football player afraid of my cousins, father, and uncles?” she mocks.

I nod. “Yes. Absolutely. Because I’d kick my own ass for this.”

“I just said I don’t want anyone to know. That means they won’t know. Genius, right?”

“Except I don’t keep things from my guys. That’s not how we roll. Plus, it’s marriage, Sorel. As in, you’d be my wife and I’d be your husband. It’s the same thing you almost did this morning with love on the brain. Annulling it or not, it’s still a real thing, and I’m not sure annulments are as simple as you’re making them out to be.”

“They can’t be that difficult. Celebrities have them done with the same frequency as plastic surgery and rehab. Besides, that’s what makes it so perfect. You’re my friend. Friends get married all the time, and having love on my brain didn’t exactly help me this morning. If anything, it hurt, and how much could I have been in love with him anyway if I haven’t even shed a tear over him? Let’s do it, Mason.” She tugs on my shirt. “Let’s get married. I want to. I want to erase everything that happened this morning, and this is the perfect way. We’re here in Vegas.” She pans her hands around us. “I want to be this Sorel. The one who runs out on her wedding and the asshole she was about to marry and hops on a plane to Vegas on a whim. I don’t want to be smart, sensible Sorel. That’s all I ever am. I’m thirty-five, and I’ve never lived. It’s been college, med school, residency, attending physician, and Brody. Blah.” She throws her hands up, and I have to save her from falling off the chair. “Ah! Oh, shit. Thanks for the save there, QB. Anyway, my life has been boring, and what do I have to show for it? I’ve been safe. I’ve been so safe, and I still got screwed over. I want to carpe diem. I want to take risks and do stupid things. I want to look back on my life when I’m a hundred and fifty and say look at that. Look at the wild thing I did once.”

I’m running out of arguments. Maybe it’s the tequila and the drinks before that talking, or maybe it’s that she trusts me and wants to marry me that’s softening me, but I’m pretty much putty in her hands and have been for a year. I haven’t been able to look at another woman since she walked into my life. I want to make her happy. Isn’t that what I said about this from the start? That I was going to take her out of her shell. Or maybe Katy said that, but she was right. Plus, I kind of like the idea of marrying her even if it’s just a revenge wedding and a temporary gig. It binds her to me in a way. It puts me in her life as more than simply her friend.

I squint. “On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you?”

She tilts her head and pinches her eyes shut. Her body sways as if the room tilted the wrong way when she did that, and once again I put my hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“I might be like a six or a seven. Definitely not a ten.”

“Ten, and you’re in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.”

She snorts and holds her hands out wide before she alternates touching the tip of her nose with each pointer finger. She misses twice and pokes herself in the eye. “Ouch. That hurt. Yeah, I’m probably a seven. But I still really, really want to get married. Please, Mason. Help me walk on the wild side and stick it to my ex at the same time. I know you want to.” Her eyebrows bounce suggestively, and I can’t help my chuckle.

“You’re serious?”

She sits up a little straighter because she can tell I’m melting like an ice cream in the Vegas sun. “Like a preacher on Sunday.”

I squint at her. “No.”

“What?” she squawks, her hands flailing about as she searches around the bar as if to find someone to commiserate with, like, can you believe this guy? “I so thought I had you there. What can I do to get you to say yes? Unless.” She fake sniffles, giving me the saddest of sad eyes. “You don’t want to marry me.”

I fold my arms and lean back against the bar. “Nice try, princess. That’s not it.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “See! You do want to do this. There’s nothing holding us back.”

“You can’t marry someone you’ve never kissed before. That’s against the law here in Nevada. So, you see, we can’t get married.”

“Argh.” She grabs me by the back of the head and slams my face to hers. Our lips mash together, and our teeth smack painfully, but that only lasts a half-second until my brain catches up to the fact that Sorel is kissing me. I don’t even care about the reason for it. I didn’t think she’d do it. I thought that would be the thing that had her retreating.

But since this might be my only shot, my hands capture her face, and I tilt her jaw so I can deepen the kiss. Her lips are soft and warm and sweet, but as I begin to part her lips, she pushes me back.

“There. We kissed.” Only her eyes are dark, and she’s staring at my lips as if she wants another taste. A deeper taste. It’s what I want too, and like a magnet, I lean back in, but she holds me at bay. “Save it for the wedding, baller. I’m a lady on the streets and a hopeful freak in the sheets.” Her eyes widen, and she sits up straighter. “Oh, that can be a fun part of this. Sexy lessons. Searching for my unrealized kink. I must have one. Everyone does, right? Serena used to tease me that I’m a secret dirty slut, but thus far I haven’t been, and it’s yet another disappointment in my life.”

Jesus, this girl. “We’ll table that discussion until you’re sober, even if there is nothing I want more than to help you explore your every fantasy and kink and turn you into the dirty slut you’ve always wanted to be.”

“You do?”

How can she be dumbfounded by that? I drag my thumb along her cheek and stare straight into her eyes. I’m desperate to kiss her again, especially with all this talk of sexy lessons and kink and wanting to be a dirty slut, but I hold back. For now. Because she’ll only ever be a dirty slut for me. That I can fucking guarantee.

“You really want to do this? You want to get married to me? As in legally binding married.”

She beams a smile that is the equivalent of the first light of dawn after a sunless winter. “Yes.”

I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I fucking shouldn’t!

“Okay. Let’s do it. But when you’re sober tomorrow and regret having my ring on your hand and my last name as yours, please remember I said no at least twice and tried to talk you out of it.”

“Fritz-Reyes has a nice ring to it. Speaking of, let’s go shopping! And not yellow gold. Ugh! I can’t believe that asshat did that.”

She jumps out of her chair and stumbles on her feet, and I think she was right about this being the best dumbest idea ever. There is no way getting married in Vegas to my friend, my best friends’ cousin, and my former teammate’s ex-fiancée won’t come back to bite me in the ass. She’s lucky I love her.

I pause. Freeze. Even as my heart starts to go haywire. I gaze at my princess before me. Love? Do I actually love her? Not just a crush. Not simply an infatuation.

Can you truly be in love with someone when they don’t love you back? I think about this last year. About the fact that I haven’t wanted to be with anyone else. How I kept telling myself that once she got married and I no longer had any shot with her, I’d get back on the horse. How I’d call her to hear her voice when ninety-nine percent of the world texts. I’d find ways to hang out with her just so I could see her and talk to her and be near her. I wake up every morning with her on my mind and fall asleep after jerking off only to thoughts of her.

Yeah, I think I do love her.

Shit. Now I’m really screwed.

I drop some cash on the bar for our drinks and lead the way because if we’re doing this, we’re fucking doing it, and I know exactly what I’m getting her for a ring. It’ll be worth the ass-beating from Owen and Stone. Vander won’t jump in because that’s not his style, but Sorel’s other cousins, her brothers, and likely her dad and uncles will want in on it. They’ll want my blood for sure.

Fuck it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I remind myself. It’s been the motto of my life, but never has it been more relevant than now.

I check the time. “It’s going to be tight.”

She winks at me. “That’s what she said.”

My lips bounce with amusement. “Secret dirty slut indeed.”

With her hand in mine, I lead her out of the casino we’re in and head back toward our hotel. It’s hot as hell out here, even at night, and a sheen of sweat covers me as we walk briskly up the Strip.

“Where are we going?” Sorel asks, struggling in her heels to keep up with my pace.

“Back to our place. I need to change because I’m not getting married in this, but we need rings and to get to the clerk’s office for a license.”

She throws me a side-eye, her smile unstoppable. “You’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?”

“We’ll see.” I call our butler, who picks up immediately. I tell him everything that we need, and he informs me he’ll have it taken care of. The moment we reach our elevator, I spin her around and press her into the wall, crowding her and leaning some of my weight against her. My hands run across her face and play with the strands of her soft, flaxen hair. “You hated the ring Brody got you?”

“I didn’t hate it. I was disappointed. I know that makes me sound snobbish, but he bought me a yellow gold band when my engagement ring was platinum. It clashed. It was thoughtless. That’s what bothered me. It was simply the icing on the wedding cake I never got to eat.”

I shake my head. “Every bride should have the ring they want from their groom. What did you want?”

She nibbles on her lip and shakes her head. “I wanted him to pick out the ring he thought was perfect for me. The one he saw and thought, that’s the one. The band he’d want me to get married to him in and would wear for the rest of our lives. I didn’t care if it had diamonds or was a plain band. Hell, I didn’t care if it was real or fake, but I wanted something that at the very least matched the engagement ring he got me.”

“We don’t have an engagement ring.”

“Mason, I don’t care about the ring. This marriage isn’t like that. You can pull something out of a vending machine off the lobby and I’ll be fine with it.”

My heart thunders because this marriage might not be that to her, but it also might be my only chance to put a ring on her and call her mine. “What’s your ring size?”

“Mason—”

“Tell me, Sorel.”

She stares up at me with wide, pretty eyes. “Five.”

The elevator doors part and our butler is there to greet us. Sorel runs off to get ready, but I tell her to keep on the dress she’s already wearing. Our butler hands her another glass of champagne. Great. More alcohol in her system. I tell him the rings I need him to get for me—because, like she said, I know the ring I want her to have—and that we want to get married on our patio.

I ask him to make it as romantic as possible. This is Vegas. If ever there’s a town I can make ridiculous after-hours requests, this is it. The ceremony needs to be private. I’m not doing this in a chapel downstairs, and I tell him phones and cameras are not allowed anywhere near the ceremony or us. He’s already signed an NDA as part of our stay, and this is what he does, so I know he’ll manage it however we need him to.

Then I go and change into black slacks and a white button-down. Simple and classic.

By the time I’m done, Sorel is by the elevator wearing the white dress that I’m mildly obsessed with as it shows off a hell of a lot of smooth, creamy skin. She’s changed her hair and makeup, fastening shoulder-length hair on top of her head in a simple bun with her heavy bangs still across her forehead and a few whisps framing her face. Her makeup is sweet and shimmery, with pink lips that are so gorgeous I’m counting the seconds until I can kiss them again.

For a moment, I can’t do anything other than take in every perfect inch of her. Nerves tickle me. I’m going to get my heart broken before this is all done.

I swallow thickly and utter, “You’re a goddess.”

“You look great too.” She takes my hand. “Let’s go get married.”

A car is waiting for us out front, and we’re sped down to the county clerk’s office. That doesn’t take long. No more than an hour, and shockingly enough, we’re the only ones here. Sorel thinks this entire thing is hysterical, though she tries to act as sober as she can while they ask us questions. No one seems to be a football fan, or at least they don’t recognize me or my name when we fill out the license form.

I’m jumpy during the short car ride back. My knee bounces and my stomach plays with all the alcohol I shouldn’t have had. I’m not trashed, but I’m not sober either, and I wish I were. Still, I already know I won’t forget a thing about tonight. Especially as we walk into the villa and Sorel gasps.

“Mason,” she utters in a low, shaky breath. “Did you do this?”

Red rose petals are scattered in a concentrated trail guiding us out toward the balcony. Flameless candles line the path. Their glow is the only light in the villa. Two glasses of champagne along with a bottle in a bucket of ice are on the table that leads out to the terrace, and I snatch one for each of us because, at this point, it doesn’t make a difference.

I take a sip and then a big gulp, more of those nerves hitting me. I’m about to marry Sorel Fritz. And though she can talk annulments and revenge, to me, it means more. To me it means everything because even though I told myself all this time it was just a big crush, I think I’ve been in love with her for a while now and never let myself admit it. I called her my instalove, which was more of a joke with my guys, but looking at her now, the joke’s on me.

I empty my glass and set it down on the table. She does the same with hers, her eyes heavy-lidded and glassy. I shouldn’t be doing this. She’s insanely drunk, and I know it.

I debate this. “You can still change your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a downer. It’s been so fun. I want to do this.”

She’s a liar. She just doesn’t know it yet.

I take her hand. “Are you ready to get married?”

From outside, “Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews Band starts to play, and she gasps again, her eyes glassing over. She thinks I’m playing 90s music for her, and I am, but the lyrics are for her too. She doesn’t know it.

“It’s funny,” she muses as we kick off our shoes and walk barefoot along the velvety petals. “I made this whole thing about not seeing Brody before the wedding because it’s considered bad luck. It was because of that I discovered his infidelity. But this, so far, I think seeing you before the wedding is the best luck. And this wedding is already more the wedding of my dreams than the one this morning ever was.”

My chest clenches painfully. “Really?”

“It’s so romantic.” She looks up at me with a drunk, shy smile. “I get it. It’s not real or forever between us. But right now, this is magic, and I’m excited we’re doing it.”

I ignore the part about this not being real or forever between us and walk us out onto the patio. There is an officiant, our butler, and a woman who works for the hotel in guest services, or so her name tag indicates. We go right up to the balcony, the porch also glowing with flameless candles and scattered with rose petals everywhere, including in the dipping pool.

The butler hands us each the rings I purchased and then the ceremony begins.

It’s brief. Not a lot of words are exchanged except the standard fare you see in movies or on TV. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and my palm is sweating against the ring and her hand.

And when it’s my turn to speak, I answer, knowing I mean it. “I do.”

Sorel says the same magic words, and I slide the band I got her onto her finger, and when I’m told I can, I lean in and kiss her.

I kiss my wife.

I kiss her like this is real, with a lot of lips and tongue, a little teasing, and a lot of sweetness. I take her in my arms, dip her back, and kiss her again, much to her amusement, because somewhere in the back of my head, I know this might be the last chance I get before the reality of tonight comes crashing down on us tomorrow.