A Beautiful Wedding (9 page)

“We’re in Vegas.”

Travis’s head popped up and he flipped on the lamp. Once the last twenty-four hours finally set in, his hand emerged from under his pillow and he hooked his arm around me, pulling me
beneath him. He nestled his hips between my thighs, and then bent his head down to kiss me; softly, tenderly, letting his lips linger on mine until they were warm and tingly

“I can still get you eggs. Want me to call room service?”

“We actually have a plane to catch.”

His face fell. “How much time do we have?”

“Our flight is at four. Checkout is at eleven.”

Travis frowned, and looked over at the window. “I should have booked an extra day. We should be lying in bed or by the pool.”

I kissed his cheek. “We have classes tomorrow. We’ll save up and go somewhere later. I don’t want to spend our honeymoon in Vegas, anyway.”

His face screwed into disgust. “I definitely don’t wanna spend it in Illinois.”

I conceded with a nod. Couldn’t exactly argue that. Illinois wasn’t the first place that came to mind when I thought
honeymoon
. “St. Thomas is beautiful. We
don’t even need passports.”

“That’s good. Since I’m not fighting anymore, we’ll need to save where we can.”

I smiled. “You’re not?”

“I told you, Pidge. I don’t need all that when I have you. You’ve changed everything. You’re tomorrow. You’re the apocalypse.”

My nose wrinkled. “I don’t think I like that word.”

He smiled and rolled onto the bed, just a few inches from my left side. Lying on his stomach, he pulled his hands under him, settling them under his chest, and he lay his cheek against the
mattress, watching me for a moment, his eyes staring into mine.

“You said something at the wedding . . . that we were like Johnny and June. I didn’t quite get the reference.”

He smirked. “You don’t know about Johnny Cash and June Carter?”

“Sort of.”

“She fought him tooth and nail, too. They fought, and he was stupid about a lot of stuff. They worked it out and spent the rest of their lives together.”

“Oh yeah? I bet she didn’t have Mick for a dad.”

“He’ll never hurt you again, Pigeon.”

“You can’t promise that. Just when I start settling in somewhere, he shows up.”

“Well, we’re going to have regular jobs, broke like every other college student, so he won’t have a reason to sniff around us for money. We’ll need every dime. Good thing
I still have a little left in savings to carry us through.”

“Any ideas where you’ll apply for a job? I thought about tutoring. Math.”

Travis smiled. “You’ll be good at that. Maybe I’ll tutor science.”

“You’re very good at that. I can be a reference.”

“I don’t think it’ll count coming from my wife.”

I blinked. “Oh my God. That just sounds crazy.”

Travis laughed. “Doesn’t it? I fucking love it. I’m going to take care of you, Pidge. I can’t promise that Mick will never hurt you again, but I can promise that
I’ll do everything I can to keep that from happening. And if it does, I’ll love you through it.”

I offered a small smile, and then reached up to touch his cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he said right back. “Was he a good dad . . . before all that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I thought he was. But what does a kid know about being a good parent? I have good memories of him. He drank
for as long as I can remember, and gambled, but when his luck was up, he was kind. Generous. A lot of his friends were family men . . . they also worked for the mob, but they had kids. They were
nice and didn’t mind Mick bringing me around. I spent a lot of time behind the scenes, seeing things most kids don’t get to see because he took me everywhere then.” I felt a smile
creep up, and then a tear fell. “Yeah, I guess he was, in his own way. I loved him. To me, he was perfect.”

Travis touched his fingertip to my temple, tenderly wiping the moisture away. “Don’t cry, Pidge.”

I shook my head, trying to play it off. “See? He can still hurt me, even when he’s not here.”

“I’m here,” he said, taking my hand in his. He was still staring at me, his cheek against the sheets. “You turned my world upside down, and I got a brand-new beginning .
. . like an apocalypse.”

I frowned. “I still don’t like it.”

He pushed off the bed, wrapping the sheet around his waist. “It depends on how you look at it.”

“No, not really,” I said, watching him walk to the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in five.”

I stretched, letting all of my limbs spread in every direction on the bed, and then I sat up, combing my hair out with my fingers. The toilet flushed, and then the faucet turned on. He
wasn’t kidding. He would be ready in a few minutes and I was still naked in bed.

Fitting my dress and his suit in the carry-on proved to be a challenge, but I finally made it work. Travis emerged from the bathroom and brushed his fingers across mine as we passed.

Teeth brushed, hair combed, I changed and we were checking out by eleven.

Travis took pictures of the lobby ceiling with his phone, and then we took one last look around before leaving for the long taxi line. Even in the shade it was hot, and my legs were already
sticking to my jeans.

My phone buzzed in my purse. I checked it quickly.

I breathed a long sigh of relief.

“Who’s that?” Travis asked.

“America,” I said, letting the phone slip back into my purse. “She’s pissed.”

He smiled. “I bet.”

“Where to? The airport?” Travis asked, holding his hand out for mine.

I took it, turning it enough so that I could see my nickname on his wrist. “No, I’m thinking we need to make a pit stop first.”

One of his eyebrows pulled up. “To where?”

“You’ll see.”

“W
hat do you mean?” Travis said, blanching. “We’re not here for me?”

The tattoo artist stared at us both, a little surprised at Travis’s surprise.

The entire taxi ride over, Travis assumed I was buying him a new tattoo as a wedding present. When I told the driver our destination, it never occurred to Travis that I would be the one getting
inked. He talked about tattooing
ABBY
somewhere on him, but since he already had
PIGEON
on his wrist, I thought it would be redundant.

“It’s my turn,” I said, turning to the tattoo artist. “What’s your name?”

“Griffin,” he said in a monotone.

“Of course,” I said. “I want
MRS
.
MADDOX
here.” I touched my finger to my jeans on the right side of my lower abdomen,
just low enough not to be seen, even in a bikini. I wanted Travis to be the only one privy to my ink, a nice surprise every time he undressed me.

Travis beamed. “Mrs. Maddox?”

“Yes, in this font,” I said, pointing to a laminated poster on the wall featuring sample tattoos.

Travis smiled. “That fits you. It’s elegant, but not fussy.”

“Exactly. Can you do that?”

“I can. It’ll be about an hour. We have a couple people ahead of you. It’ll be two fifty.”

“Two fifty? For a few scribbles?” Travis said, his mouth falling open. “What the fuck, chuck?”

“It’s Griffin,” he said, unaffected.

“I know, but—”

“It’s okay, baby,” I said. “Everything is more in Vegas.”

“Let’s just wait until we get home, Pidge.”

“Pidge?” Griffin said.

Travis sent him a death glare. “Shut up,” he warned, looking back at me. “This’ll be two hundred bucks cheaper back home.”

“If I wait, I won’t do it.”

Griffin shrugged. “Then maybe you should wait.”

I glared at Travis and Griffin. “I’m not waiting. I’m doing this.” I pulled out my wallet and shoved three bills at Griffin. “So you take my money”—I
frowned at Travis—“and you hush. It’s my money, my body, and this is what I want to do.”

Travis seemed to weigh what he was about to say. “But . . . it’s going to hurt.”

I smiled. “Me? Or you?”

“Both.”

Griffin took my money and then disappeared. Travis paced the floor like a nervous expectant father. He peeked down the hall, and then paced some more. It was as cute as it was annoying. At one
point he begged me not to do it, and then became impressed and touched that I was so hell-bent on going through with it.

“Pull down your jeans,” Griffin said, getting his equipment ready.

Travis shot a piercing look at the short, muscular man from under his brow, but Griffin was too busy to notice Travis’s most frightening expression.

I sat on the chair, and Griffin pushed buttons. As the chair reclined, Travis sat on a stool on the other side of me. He was fidgeting.

“Trav,” I said in a soft voice. “Sit down.” I held out my hand and he took it, also taking a seat. He kissed my fingers, and offered a sweet but nervous smile.

Just when I thought he couldn’t take the waiting anymore, my cell phone buzzed in my purse.

Oh, God. What if it was a text message from Trent? Travis was already digging for it, grateful for the distraction.

“Leave it, Trav.”

He looked at the display and frowned. My breath caught. He held out the phone for me to take. “It’s Mare.”

I grabbed it from him and would’ve felt relief if it weren’t for the cold cotton swab running over my hip bone. “Hello?”

“Abby?” America said. “Where are you? Shepley and I just got home. The car is gone.”

“Oh,” I said, my voice an octave higher. I hadn’t planned on telling her yet. I wasn’t sure how to break the news, but I was sure she was going to hate me. At least for a
little while.

“We’re . . . in Vegas.”

America laughed. “Shut up.”

“I’m totally serious.”

America grew quiet, and then her voice was so loud, I flinched. “WHY are you in Vegas? It’s not like you had a good time when you were there last!”

“Travis and I decided to . . . we kind of got married, Mare.”

“What! This isn’t funny, Abby! You better be fucking joking!”

Griffin placed the transfer onto my skin and pressed. Travis looked like he wanted to kill him for touching me.

“You’re silly,” I said, but when the tattoo machine began to hum my entire body tensed.

“What’s that noise?” America said, steaming.

“We’re at the tattoo parlor.”

“Is Travis getting branded with your real name this time?”

“Not exactly . . .”

Travis was sweating. “Baby . . .” he said, frowning.

“I can do this,” I said, focusing on spots on the ceiling. I jumped when Griffin’s fingertip’s touched my skin, but I tried not to tense.

“Pigeon,” Travis said, his voice tinged with desperation.

“All right,” I said, shaking my head dismissively. “I’m ready.” I held the phone away from my ear, wincing from both the pain, and the inevitable lecture.

“I’m going to kill you, Abby Abernathy!” America cried. “Kill you!”

“Technically, it’s Abby Maddox, now,” I said, smiling at Travis.

“It’s not fair!” she whined. “I was supposed to be your maid of honor! I was supposed to go dress shopping with you and throw a bachelorette party and hold your
bouquet!”

“I know,” I said, watching Travis’s smile fade as I winced again.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said, his eyebrow pulling together.

I squeezed his fingers. “I know.”

“You said that already!” America snapped.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Oh, you’re talking to me,” she fumed. “You are soooo talking to me. You are never going to hear the end of this, do you hear me? I will never, ever forgive
you!”

“Yes you will.”

“You! You’re a . . . ! You’re just plain mean, Abby! You’re a horrible best friend!”

I laughed, causing Griffin to pull back. He breathed through his nose.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Who was that?” America snapped.

“That was Griffin,” I answered matter-of-factly.

“Is she done?” he asked Travis, annoyed.

Travis nodded once. “Keep it up.”

Griffin just smiled, and continued. My whole body tensed again.

“Who the hell is Griffin? Let me guess: you invited a total stranger to your wedding and not your best friend?”

I cringed, from both her shrill voice and the needle stabbing into my skin. “No. He didn’t go to the wedding,” I said, sucking in a breath of air.

Travis sighed and shifted nervously in his chair, squeezing my hand. He looked miserable. I couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m supposed to be squeezing your hand, remember?”

“Sorry,” he said, his voice thick with distress. “I don’t think I can take this.” He opened his hand a bit and looked to Griffin.

“Hurry up, would ya?”

Griffin shook his head. “Covered in tats and can’t take your girlfriend getting a simple script. I’ll be finished in a minute, mate.”

Travis’s expression turned severe. “Wife. She’s my wife.”

America gasped, the sound as high-pitched as her tone. “You’re getting a tattoo? What is going on with you, Abby? Did you breathe toxic fumes in that fire?”

“Travis has my name on his wrist,” I said, looking down at the smeared, black mess on my stomach. Griffin pressed the tip of the needle against my skin, and I clenched my teeth
together. “We’re married,” I said through my teeth. “I wanted something, too.”

Travis shook his head. “You didn’t have to.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t start with me.”

The corners of his mouth turned up, and he gazed at me with the sweetest adoration I’d ever seen.

America laughed, sounding a bit insane. “You’ve gone crazy.”
She should talk.
“I’m committing you to the asylum when I get home.”

“It’s not that crazy. We love each other. We have been practically living together on and off all year.”
Okay, not quite all year . . . not that it matters now. Not enough
to mention it and give America more ammunition.