Page 2 of Edge of Stars

His slight pause has me assuming his default to a wry chuckle. And then:

Do you remember the storage closet? The one we found during our tour?

My lips barely hold in a giggle.

You really think I’d forget it?

I already know how he’s answering that. With a small smirk of his own, coordinating with the sultry heat that rises in his cobalt gaze. The eyes that started so much for me. The intensity that torched my senses before his touch ever did. It’s so easy to remember it all again now, since it was the same look on his face when he first pulled me into the closet during Mother’s tiff with the wedding coordinator during our tour.

Luckily for us, the planner had a stubborn streak as long as Mother’s. Their debate about the all-day rental fee might as well have been a NATO arms summit. In the way of all successful summits, the end came with compromises. Mother agreed to half a day plus set-up time for the camera crews, while Maximus conceded to giving me only three orgasms.

Only three.

The thought forms a much bigger chuckle in my throat, but I disguise it in the nick of time, going for a strangled choke. Kell doesn’t believe the stressed vibe for a second, but Madame’s all in with her concerned rush to my side.

“Oh, darling!” She runs a smoothing hand along the sparkling design of my fitted dress. Her hand presses at the area above my navel. “Are we feeling all right? Jitters are normal, you know. Just as long as they’re only that.”

This time, Kell’s doing the choke-laugh thing, undoubtedly out of memories from the first fitting we had for the dresses. It wasn’t a pleasant time for me, since I was stressed about my shapewear not doing its duty beneath my gown. Concealing a secret baby has to be an ordeal even under typical circumstances, but mine were—and still are—far from that. And every time Madame got me with an alteration pin, which seemed to be a lot that day…

“Yes,” I murmur, forcing out a composed smile. “Only that, Madame. I promise.”

Translation: I promise the nerves won’t eat up my gut until I almost empty my breakfast onto your creation.

The designer lifts her bright-pink lips and pats my hand. “Good. So very good. You truly have nothing to be flummoxed about, dear one. You are stunning. The natural makeup, and the hair in this long pretty style… Why, the devil himself would agree with me, if he dared lurk nearby!”

The blood leaves my face like a thousand balls dumped from a pachinko machine.

“And everyone in that chapel is going to agree with me,” she waxes on, oblivious. “Especially the one waiting at the end of the aisle for you!”

Yes, well… first he’s got to meet me in the storage room.

I keep the thought carefully cloaked—or so I think. While Madame still primps my gown while humming along with whatever the harpist on the patio is playing, Kell eyes me with completely different intent. She’s not laughing about the fitting day memories anymore.

But she’ll have to deal with it.

Maximus and I don’t have a second to waste.

“You know, Madame…” I push to my feet and feign a little wince. “Now that I think about it, I am a little woozy.”

“Oh no,” the designer gasps. “Ohhh no, oh no!”

“It’s all right.” I squeeze the woman’s clammy hand. She clamps back hard enough to gouge the back of my hand with her talon-length acrylics. How the woman does the basics with those things, let alone the intricate work behind her wedding dresses, is a grand life mystery to me. “I think if I can just sneak outside for some fresh air…”

“I can help her.”

My sister’s overly bright line gets her my censoring glance. “I’m fine, okay? I can find—”

“Nonsense.” The last time she drawled that word with such creepy intent, it was to a photographer who thought nothing of suggesting a three-way with the two of us and him. “What’s your maid of honor for, anyway?”

The photographer didn’t get that particular line—but as I remember the glass of old beer and cigarettes that Kell sniffed out on his window ledge and managed to accidentally spill onto his crotch and camera, I give in with a grudging sigh.

Madame Voracity sends a happy tah-tah while heading toward the patio to check on Mother’s and Nancy’s dresses. As soon as we head the other direction and emerge onto a private breezeway, Kell tugs my elbow and hits me with the determined slant of a brow.

“Time to spill, pretty one.”

“You really think I’m pretty? Awww.”

“Knock it off. You can’t afford to be stalling.” She pulls in a prominent sniff. “Your cover story to Madame Voracity was like holding my head under an In-n-Out broiler.”