“I know, but you wore one. For this.” Her brow furrows and I can see what she’s not saying. For me.

That prick really did a number on her, didn’t he?

“Well, if you have to wear a dress, then it’s the least I can do.”

“True. Yes. But . . . thank you.” She smiles softly and moves to the wall of windows that overlooks the Strip down below.

It’s weird—I barely know this woman yet I feel close to her. Maybe it’s because she’s endearing. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to worry about impressing her as this is simply business. Or maybe it’s because we’re both about to be thrown into the same fire and so we share a mutual bond no one else might understand. Whatever it is, the feeling has me walking over to her, standing beside her, and linking my fingers with hers.

I don’t know if I expect her to yank her hand back, but I’m relieved when she doesn’t.

“How did we get here, huh?” I murmur.

“By plane,” she says and we both bark out a nervous laugh at the ridiculous comment. “Sorry. I crack jokes when I’m freaking out. Which I am by the way—freaking out. It’s not you though. It’s . . . everything else.”

“But it is me. I’m the reason you’re here.”

“Yes, but I like you. It’s the everything else that’s daunting.”

“Define everything else?”

“What is my mom going to say? To think? How is my life going to change? What if we fumble when we kiss at the altar and people can tell it’s the first time we’ve ever done it? I’ve told everyone—well, my friends and family—that I’ve sworn off men for a year because of Paul, and now I turn around and get married?” She blows out a shaky sigh that ends in a self-deprecating chuckle and then throws her hands up. “What if, what if, what if?”

I nod slowly. I know she can see it in her periphery, but she doesn’t turn or say anything else. “For the record, I’m freaking out too but am well aware being unpredictable is part of my nature. Wanting to get anywhere near a justice of the peace for a wedding is not however.”

“Great, so we’ll both shock the shit out of everyone while having mild heart attacks ourselves.”

I chuckle. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious.”

I squeeze her fingers. “Should we do some shots to ease our nerves?”

“You have alcohol?” She turns to look at me with wide, hopeful eyes.

“In the bag.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I came prepared.”

“Yes. Please.” If relief was audible, it would be those two words. “I’m good with prepared.”