24. Dex

Chapter twenty-four

Dex

V egas isn't the most low-key place for a spur-of-the-moment wedding, especially with Rhys James in tow, but if Britta wants her family at our wedding, I'm not gonna tell her no. Even if I may not make it out of Vegas alive if her brothers get a hold of me.

Aside from Archie, Britta, and me, Rhys and Stella are the only two who know this marriage is a business arrangement. You can't keep something like that from your best mates. Rhys rolled his eyes, but understood better than I'd expected. Stella twists in her chair, bobbing with the energy of Italo Ferreira nine Red Bulls into the World Finals. I'm not sure if she's excited about Britta and me or because she's on a private plane with Rhys James. Probably the second, but she still found time before we boarded to pull me aside for a hurt her and you die talk.

"I wasn't keen on this idea in the beginning, but Vegas might actually be better," Archie says from the leather captain's chair across from me. Britta is to my side, across the aisle. If I want to look at her, I have to turn my whole body, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to.

"How so?" Rhys asks.

"We can make a bigger deal of it." Archie's eyes dart from Britta to me. "Still small and quiet, but it will look more realistic to the press and Immigration if we have Britta's family there."

"How will the press know?" Rhys asks, looking ready to jump off the plane even though we're already in the air. He's been burned by the media too many times—we all have, really. That's the reason Frankie's not here right now.

"Marta will have to alert them after the fact. That is, if we keep all of us being in Vegas—especially Rhys—under wraps long enough that the news doesn't get leaked before the ceremony," Archie twists open the cap of his water bottle with a calmness I envy. My hands are shaking so hard I don't dare try. "We have to treat this wedding as though it's the real thing," he finishes, then takes a long sip.

"I don't even have a dress," Britta says with a nervousness that makes me feel less self-conscious about my own nerves.

"Did you bring the green one? You could wear that." I'd love to see her in that again.

"I brought it, but it's not white." Britta chews on her thumbnail, her brows drawn together in a tight V.

"You're too pale to wear white," Stella offers helpfully, with absolutely no anxiety. In fact, I hope some of her excitement will rub off on me. "The green will be gorgeous. Dex, if you'll give me access to your social media accounts, as soon as the ceremony is over, I'll post about it. We'll control the news from the very beginning by releasing pictures of the wedding with a caption about marrying the love of your life in an impromptu ceremony."

She leans forward to look at Rhys, who's on the other side of me, next to the window. "You'll need to be in the pictures. Then the focus will shift from Dex and Britta to you officiating. That will ease some questions people might ask over the next few days and also mitigate any suspicion that could arise later when Dex applies to become a national. His mate officiated ; that's good cred."

This is a Stella I haven't seen before, and one who's not fangirling over Rhys anymore. Not that I know her well, but she's young and usually shows her age. Now she's all business, and I wonder how Rhys is going to take it.

He tenses, and I wonder if he's going to tell her no way. He's not used to being talked to the way Stella just spoke—as though he's not a certified rockstar who needs to be tiptoed around because of his fragile ego.

I love the guy, but I have suspected over the last few years that he's surrounded himself with a team of people who are more interested in keeping him happy than they are in giving him sound advice that he might not like. I've never said as much, of course, but watching how this has unfolded so far has only confirmed those suspicions.

"You okay with that, mate?" I ask him. Maybe I'm just as bad as his usual entourage. But I also respect that his schedule isn't his own. It's packed tight, and it wasn't simple making time to be by my side today. That took major rearranging and made some people unhappy. I don't want him to regret his decision to be here.

His mouth twists to the side as he looks past me to Stella. Seconds pass before he speaks. "Yeah. That'll work." He sits back and closes his eyes, then says, "Tell me if you want to post stuff on my accounts too."

Stella pulls back in surprise, but I can tell she's trying to hide it. "Yeah, that'd be great. Don't you think, Archie? Makes the wedding even more believable. Is there any way we can get Frankie to come? We could do a whole Surf City High reunion and wedding party post."

Archie, Rhys, and I shake our heads at the same time, and Archie answers firmly, "Frankie won't be there." He pauses, and his next words come out less tense. "But I agree on everything else. If we play up the details, we take control of the story from the beginning."

"I'll have my manager send over my login info," Rhys says, his eyes still closed.

"You don't know your own logins?" Stella blurts. "That explains a lot," she adds, mostly to herself.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rhys's eyes fly open, and he leans across me to see Stella again.

"It means your accounts are boring. They don't feel personal at all. I suspected you weren't the one posting. Now I know." Stella meets Rhys's gaze, refusing to back down from the truth about the social media personas he counts as one measure of his success.

"Boring? You think you could do better?" He's offended, but I hear something else too. It sounds like… curiosity. Definitely not the usual boredom that edges his voice so often these days.

"Yeah, I do. I run Georgia Beck's personal and professional sites, and I've increased her engagement by two hundred percent in the past eighteen months. And you know what never got out? That she and Zach were in a fake relationship when her show started. When you take control of your own story, you're the one who gets to tell it, not the media." Stella taps Britta's leg and points to Rhys. "Trade Britta places so I can show you what I'm talking about."

Rhys's eyes narrow and Archie and I look at each other, both holding our breath. Then, to our surprise, Rhys unbuckles his seatbelt and follows Stella's order.

Britta scoots by Rhys in the aisle, clinging to the back of the seats as she moves. She's wearing loose jeans and a Taylor Swift concert tee, but not from the Eras tour. Something older. Probably from before Britta started taking care of her mom.

Her legs brush my knees as she slides by me on the way to Rhys's seat, and her shaking is visible. Suddenly, the plane hits bumpy air, and she ends up in my lap instead of her seat, her long legs dangling over the armrest and my arms wrapped around her waist. Her shirt is soft and worn, and her hair—pulled up like usual—smells earthy and citrusy.

"You okay?" I should help her stand, but I keep my arms around her. Who knows when I'll have the chance again once we say I do, and the no touching rules are in effect.

"Fine," she force-laughs, her cheeks pink. "Sorry about that."

Archie offers her a steadying hand until she sits in her seat, and a rush of jealousy hits me with the force of a surprise windstorm. Before I can stop myself, I'm shooting a glare Archie's way. He gets to touch her, help her, settle her in, but I can't for fear I'll break one of her rules.

In a matter of seconds, his expression shifts from confusion to surprise before landing on a smug smirk, like he knows something I don't.

"Are you as nervous as I am?" Britta leans close to ask. "I mean, it would be weird if we weren't, right? Even if this isn't for real."

Archie raises an eyebrow. We've known each other long enough that I can read the question on his face. He's wondering if I want this to be real.

I'm not going to answer that, but I will answer Britta's question.

"I'm a bit toey." I catch Archie holding back a laugh, and my face heats.

"I should have added another condition to our agreement: you have to explain what all your Australian words mean." Britta nudges me with her elbow while clutching the armrest, and I'm reminded how hard it's going to be to follow her no touching rule.

"Toey means nervous or anxious," I say.

"That's one definition," Archie mutters under his breath, and I send him a warning to keep his mouth shut.

Luckily, Britta either doesn't hear or ignores him, because she doesn't ask what the other meaning is. My face would be even warmer if I had to explain the innuendo. Totally inappropriate for what else I might be nervous about on our wedding day, considering we won't be having a typical honeymoon.

Unfortunately.

Britta is a stunner. I hadn't really thought through what the next three years will be like married to her without any of the benefits of marriage. And I won't be dating anyone else, not that I want to.

Suddenly, the reality of what we're doing hits me hard. A year of no-dating was difficult. But three years of celibacy? No kissing even, while I'm married to a woman I'm seriously attracted to? That might be harder than training for the Olympics. It might be an Olympic event itself. If I win, I should get more than a gold medal. I should get a Vibranium medal.

My heart pounds harder than it has since the seconds before my score was announced in the last heat of the Finals. I reach for an airbag. I might yak.

"Are you alright, Li—Dex?" Britta puts her hand on my back as I stick the bag over my mouth. "You look a little green."

She rubs my back, which doesn't help with my hyperventilating. She's already breaking her own rule, and we're not even married yet.

I take the bag away from my face and between heavy breaths blurt, "We're not supposed to touch, are we?" The bag goes right back over my mouth when I finish. Depending on her answer, I may actually puke.

"It seemed necessary."

My back goes cold when she pulls her hand back.

I take a few more breaths before I sit up. "It was. Thanks."

This is what both of us want—no distractions. If I'm going to make the Olympic team, this is the perfect arrangement, and not just so I can become an American. With Britta as my wife—even in name only—I won't be tempted by other girls. I won't get sucked into relationships that would shift my focus away from training and winning.

And knowing Britta isn't interested in anything but friendship, with me or anyone else, will keep me from falling for her. No kissing. No touching. No feelings. It's exactly what we both need right now.

The rest of the hour flight to Vegas is pretty quiet, except for Stella outlining for Rhys all the things he could do differently with his social media accounts to combat some of the negative press he's had.

Unsurprisingly, the more Stella talks, the deeper Rhys's scowl grows, but he doesn't stop her, which is interesting.

We land at McCarren airport where we're met by a black Escalade with tinted windows whose driver takes the five of us to the MGM hotel, and through a secret entrance to one of the most-exclusive hotels in the world.

"What is this?" Britta asks, looking at the courtyard and Renaissance-inspired (according to the website—I never learned that stuff) hotel hidden in plain sight.

"The Mansion," Rhys says, smiling for the first time. "Super-exclusive and super-private. The rooms are all villas with butler and menu service. Anything you want, just ask."

"Well done, Rhys." Stella's voice is almost a whisper, and her gaze is glued to the building.

Archie says nothing, even though I'm sure he's the one who pulled strings to get us rooms here. He'll let everyone think it's Rhys's doing, when really, it's for Rhys's benefit. The more Rhys's star rises, the more he values his privacy. I'm not the only one who's aware of what Rhys is sacrificing by being here for my wedding instead of relaxing at home, alone, before his next show. We're still his best mates, no matter how famous he gets, and I'm reminded of how much he needs us as his star continues to rise.

"Does my family know how to find this place? They booked rooms at the MGM." Britta stares at the cool yellowish stone and the pink flowering plants that are a world away from the heat and bright lights of the Strip.

"They have rooms here, too. We'll make sure they're brought here when they check in," Archie says.

"They can't afford this!" Britta panics.

"They're not paying for it," Archie pulls his phone from his pocket and steps away before Britta can argue.

While Archie makes his phone call, we walk inside, where we're met by a man in an understated, but obviously expensive suit.

"Welcome to the Mansion, Mr. James. I'm Marshall. We're so pleased to have you and your guests with us." Marshall stands stiff as a board and speaks so formally that I wish I'd worn something besides board shorts and thongs. "We've booked a one bedroom, two two-bedroom villas, and a four bedroom for your party."

"Is that enough for all of us?" I try to do a quick calculation in my head, but I'm not sure who in Britta's family is coming.

"I apologize. We don't have anything else. We gave you the last and only rooms available." Marshall leads us through a foyer with posh furniture and lots of deep red. He stops in the middle of the room and holds up a key card. "This is for the bride and groom."

He scans our group, trying to pick out who fits the description since none of us are acting like we're in love. Britta and I aren't even standing by each other. Rhys coughs and elbows me forward.

"I guess that's me." I take the key and send Britta a nervous glance. "Ready… babe?"

Britta looks at me like I've lost my mind before remembering she's the bride. "Oh, yeah."

Marshall's mouth curves into something resembling a smile. "Congratulations on your nuptials. Your entrance is down the hall, directly to the right."

I hold out my hand to Britta, hoping this is an appropriate hand-holding moment. Her conditions weren't specific on that point. I let out my breath when she slides her fingers through mine.

We walk down the hall to our room— our room—my palm growing clammier by the second. I wonder if the clamminess is only me or if Britta is just as nervous. We agreed to this marriage-of-convenience less than twenty-four hours ago, and already we've run into problems that her list of conditions didn't anticipate. Like staying in the same room.

Our villa is probably big enough to have two beds. If not two separate beds, then at least a sofa.

But I can't help hoping it doesn't.