CHAPTER 68

Six days until the wedding

It's hollowly familiar, the feeling of being under the cool sheets in silence. The beating of my heart is a quiet reprieve from the world of chaos where people scream my name when I never asked them to, where executives in cars worth more than the house I grew up in want my time.

But for a few months, I grew accustomed to waking up next to the woman I fell for before I knew what love meant.

We went to bed together last night, and the next time I woke, it was still dark and her side was empty. Thankfully, this morning, light is streaming around the edge of the curtains, and I know without looking that I'm not alone.

Emily's on her side, facing me. Her face is relaxed in sleep, her lips parted, her red hair a silky mess strewn across the white pillow. Lashes a few shades darker than her hair kiss her cheeks, the faintest dots of a few freckles from the scant sun in New York across her tiny nose. Her shoulder, bare above the blankets except for a skinny purple strap, rises and falls with her slow breath.

I want this wedding. I want my fiancée in a dress designed to rob me of my soul. Want her swearing herself to me.

But the world has grown bigger since we were teenagers. We've both changed too.

I went from not wanting children to wanting them with her. And it's important for me to provide for them, to be more than my parents were. Pulling in crowds is fleeting, and it's not the life I want to live forever even if I could.

Still, those concerns feel miles away as I skim the back of my hand over that pale shoulder. The callouses on my fingers mean I don't feel her the same, but they're part of me. Part of us.

My palm slips beneath the sheets to find her waist between her panties and tank top, skimming up her ribcage. "Morning, Six."

The words are a whisper across her skin. My hand finds her hip as I brush my lips over her cheek.

She shivers. After a moment's hesitation, she moves closer, not away. My arousal presses against her, and she rubs softly on my shaft.

I brush the hair from her face, dropping kisses along her jaw and her throat while she sighs.

The clock on the nightstand says it's after eight. Normally, she'd have been up long since given she's on New York time.

And that reminds me Eddie and Haley will be here soon.

Ignoring that reality, I move over her and slide a finger between her thighs, beneath the panel of her thong that's already damp.

Emily blinks up at me, sleepy. Her breathing goes shallow, as if even half-awake, she knows my touch and what I'm going to do to her, and she spreads her thighs. It's humbling, the way she wants me.

"Don't move," I murmur. "Don't change a damn thing."

I memorize the look of half-woken desire in her eyes before I drag the fabric to the side and sink into her. She's tight and slick. Just like the rest of her, her body is the perfect combination to bring me to my knees.

Her back arches, her nails digging into my forearms. I thrust into her again and again, building a rhythm she chases with her hips in slow, languid moves.

Emily's close-I know from the little sounds I've heard her make in every corner of our New York apartment, once or twice backstage at her show, and everywhere in between.

She comes first. I make sure of it.

I brush my lips across her temple. "Go back to sleep."

I pad to the shower.

We have a big day ahead of us.

I clean up, dress, and head to the gourmet kitchen. While coffee brews, I check in on work things for the tour. There's a gig beneath the gig that no one talks about, and that's what takes the sweat and blood and tears. It's not the thousands of hours slaving for your craft, it's the next thousands traveling, working with studios and venues and marketing, connecting with fans.

I look through some of the merch they studio sent-T-shirts, a tour poster with a rose superimposed on part of the image.

Fans love my tattoos, but they don't know what they're all for. The compass, the ship, the rose. Maybe they can guess. But when anyone asks in interviews, I need to have some privacy.

The vine roses curling down my left hand, for instance. The hand that got fucked up when we were mugged one night in New York. I've made my peace with it. I used to think it was my tour that did that, and in part, it was.

But the tour was only the backdrop for me learning to live with it. She helped me-her presence, her absence. It always comes back to her.

Emily's the rose overtop, bridging the scars.

The one that holds me together.

The doorbell has me jogging to the front door. I open it to reveal Eddie Carlton, irritated half musician and half soccer dad, in jeans and a black T-shirt, baby Mason stirring in the carrier lifted by one tatted arm. His wife capably fixes a stray pigtail on Sophie, a miniature of her mom who nearly reaches Haley's waist now.

"Morning," Haley says cheerfully.

"How was your flight?" I wrap an arm around her, and she returns the hug.

"Charter was bumpy as hell," Eddie gripes.

"Sophia's stomach was upset, but we got a cookie when we landed and she's better than ever." Haley shoots her daughter side-eye. "Funny how that works."

I feel Emily's presence behind me before Haley and Eddie lift their eyes.

"Hey, kid." Eddie's voice is warm and gruff at once.

"Dad."

"The grownups should talk. Let's get the kids inside and the bags upstairs first," Haley suggests.

We take care of that, and Emily fixes coffee for everyone, then we take seats around the living room.

Haley shifts forward to the edge of the couch. "Your dad and I are so happy we can be here with you this week."

"Thanks." Emily sets a mug in front of Haley but holds Eddie's away. "You want to tell me when you decided to offer my fiancé a golden investment opportunity the week of our wedding?"

Everyone starts to talk at once.

"How about we take turns?" Haley grabs a tour shirt off the counter. "Whoever's holding the shirt gets to speak." Eddie reaches for it, but Haley holds it away. "Emily, you start."

"Okay." My fiancée takes the shirt and folds it neatly in her lap. "When did you ask Timothy to get involved in this deal?"

Eddie starts to speak, and Haley clears her throat. "Emily, want to pass the shirt?"

"No. Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you think of doing this at a time that wasn't my wedding?"

Eddie gets another shirt. "You were too busy planning your wedding. The last thing you'd have wanted was shop talk."

"Eddie, that defeats the purpose," Haley says, exasperated as she reaches for the shirt and her husband holds it away.

"Labels don't time their sales around weddings, kid. I wish they did."

"But-"

"The company is going into the ground. We have a chance to revive it."

"You have a label!" she exclaims.

"A small one with limitations I ran into pretty damned quick. Space, for one." He turns to his wife, who nods reluctantly. "Can't expand operations if they're gonna eat into my backyard anymore. Wicked is the biggest name in the industry. They've got a reputation-hell, used to even be a good one. And there's a family connection."

Emily looks between us. "So, you needed Timothy's money."

I rise. "I wanted-"

Eddie cuts me off. "You don't have a shirt."

"I'm on the shirt," I interrupt, exasperated. "The shirt is me."

I turn to Emily. "I wanted to be part of this, Emily. I could've said no. I didn't. It's not your dad's or Haley's fault."

My fiancée's stony silence has Eddie jumping in. "The lawyers can handle the heavy lifting. It's just taking a little longer than we thought."

"How long will it take?" she asks tightly.

"Exclusivity lapses Saturday. We can't get a deal locked down by then, everything falls apart."

Emily shifts out of her seat, yanking the T-shirt from Eddie's hand. "Believe me. If you and Timothy spend the rehearsal dinner negotiating terms"-her flashing amber eyes pin me next, and dammit if guilt and arousal aren't a better mix of feelings than I ever guessed-"a lot more than this deal is going to fall apart. Understood?"

I nod, and Eddie does too.

There's no way I'm letting this deal interfere with the most important day of my life.

Haley glances at the clock. "Emily, don't we have to get to a dress fitting?"

Mason chooses that moment to wake up and cry.

Haley lifts him in her arms and walks toward the bedrooms. "Eddie, help me a second."

He follows, and we're alone.

I catch Emily's hand and pull her back until her chest brushes mine. "You know the only thing I care about in this wedding is that it's you and me. If you want me to back out of this deal, I will."

She looks up at me from half-lowered lashes. Her amber eyes glint, accented by the faintest hint of makeup she wears when she's not on stage. "If you say it's almost done, I believe you. And you better be present because I have surprises in store."

I rake a hand through my hair, emotions fighting in my gut. Hurting the woman I love is the worst. I swore I wouldn't do it again-no matter how good my intentions. "All I want to unwrap is you."

"I want this week to be special, for us and for everyone." I press my lips to her temple, and she relaxes into my hold. "I have to go to this dress fitting."

"I want a picture."

"You get nothing." Emily steps back out of my grip.

"Then I'll come with you. That's what changerooms are for."

Her low laugh drags up my spine. "Take those capable hands of yours and put them to good use." She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she backs toward the doorway. "I meant signing papers."

"Sure you did."