Page 6 of Love ’em or Liam

ME: Colt’s parents are suing for custody of her son.

ME: Remarrying will protect her from that happening.

ROMEO: You bringing them back here to live with you?

ME: Of course. She’s gonna be my fucking wife. I’m not leaving her in Tennessee.

ROMEO: Well, I look forward to meeting the woman who has had you in knots the entire time I’ve known you.

ME: Fuck you. Wait until you meet someone, tough guy.

ROMEO: I meet someones all the time.

ME: Fucker.

But even after I silence my phone, I’m not able to silence Romeo’s voice in my head.

He’s not wrong about how I feel about Wren. How I’ve always felt about her.

In high school, she wasn’t just the girl I loved from afar. She was also one of my best friends. I would have made a play for her back then, but I didn’t have shit to offer her. I knew she deserved better than what I could give her.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I might have had a plan that involved getting my shit together and coming home a hero ready to sweep her off her feet.

Needless to say, that plan died a brutal death when I found out she was married to my other best friend, Colt.

Their marriage just about killed me, but I tried to make my peace with it. I knew he could give the kind of financial and personal stability I never could. I wanted a good life for her. And if he’d made her happy, I would have stayed away forever.

Hell, even when I got wind that he wasn’t making her happy, I stayed away. It wasn’t my place to interfere. Wren has always been strong and single-minded. I knew if she needed my help, she would ask for it. She never did.

Until now.

Now that she needs me, I’ll move heaven and earth to do right by her.

chapter

three

Wren

Today is my wedding day.

My second wedding day, yet somehow this one feels more real than the big church ceremony felt. I stare up at the lit neon sign hanging above the double wooden doors leading into the chapel. Little Chapel of Love blinks back at me in pink and blue.

Tucked just off the Strip, the little white church looks like something from a vintage postcard. It’s a small, white clapboard building with a pitched pink roof and candy-striped awnings.

An instrumental love song drifts from hidden outdoor speakers, cheerful and slightly tinny. It’s definitely trying to give off romantic vibes, though the horns and traffic noises from the Strip still hang in the air.

I smooth a hand down my skirt for probably the fiftieth time. This is definitely not like the dress I wore to my first wedding. That one had been picked out by my then- future mother-in-law. I’d foolishly thought she was helping because she knew I didn’t have a mother to go through all the wedding planning with me.

The signs were there from the beginning, but it took me a while longer to see the level of curation that was going on from the sidelines. So no floor-length white gown today. Nope, I’m wearing a sassy red knee-length dress that hugs my curves and then flares at the waist to a fun and frilly skirt. I’ve paired it with black flats because no one wants to walk in the Vegas heat in stilettos.

Liam texted me he was on the way and that he had my bouquet with him, as well as the rings. My heart feels like a horde of tap dancers has moved into my chest and is rehearsing nonstop. I try some more deep breathing, but I end up holding my breath.

Why am I so nervous?

“Hey Songbird.”

Liam’s voice comes from behind me, and I steel myself before I turn to face him. When I am finally face-to-face with him, I realize immediately that I am not prepared. Not even a little bit.