The swelling in his throat made his voice husky. “I can see that. Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

She pressed her palms to the lapels of his suit coat. “I don’t know anything about being a wife. Are you sure about this?”

“Sixty percent.”

That made her smile, the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, a smile so beloved he had to clear his throat before he could speak. “How about this for a plan?” He brushed his thumb against the corner of her mouth. “Once we get through the next couple of hours, we’ll pretend tonight never happened. We’ll live together, go about our lives, and never mention the word marriage again.”

She beamed up at him. “You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, then.”

He took her hand and slipped it through his bent elbow. “Pretend it’s a bad dream.”

“Not bad at all,” he thought he heard her whisper.

He led her across the living room to the terrace door. Together, they stepped out into his fairyland of a rooftop garden.

A softly glimmering crystal chandelier hung from the center of a white canopy swagged with dozens of strands of twinkle lights. Flowers in big gold urns showcased all the colors of fall: plum dahlias, burgundy roses, green hydrangeas, and orange calla lilies. The guests, seated in gilded Chiavari chairs, turned as they entered, and he heard more than one sigh of relief followed by a piercing wolf whistle from Jonah. Piper managed a wobbly smile. He’d flown Amber in on a private plane from Houston as a surprise. She waved at Piper and began to sing “Come Away with Me” in her exquisite coloratura soprano.

Twists of brown and mulberry velvet ribbons marked the makeshift aisle, and the chandelier made her rhinestone headband glitter in her dark hair. She was so caught up in Amber’s solo that she didn’t notice who waited for them at the front of the aisle, not until the final chorus faded and he began to lead her forward.

Her fingers dug into his arm. “You didn’t!” she whispered.

“We needed somebody to marry us,” he whispered back.

“But...”

The last notes of the song faded away. He cupped his hand over hers as it rested in the crook of his arm and led her the rest of the way down the aisle to the place where Phoebe Somerville Calebow, the owner of the Chicago Stars, waited to marry them.

***

“I warned you from the beginning that I’m a user,” Piper told her husband that night as she lay in his arms, all woozy and satiated from their lovemaking.

“How long do you think it’ll be before I outlive my usefulness?”