A Beautiful Wedding

“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. mobilism.org

Cops just left. Dad’s @ Tim’s but I told them you guys were in Vegas getting married. I think they fucking bought it.

Srsly?

Yeah! I should get an Oscar for that shit. JS





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.”





CHAPTER TEN


Inked


Abby


“What 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?”