Chapter 19 Grace Nash

You've Done Enough

The Day After the Wedding

I feel slightly less terrible once I'm done with my shower, and I find Spencer sitting on the bed staring at me when I walk out of the bathroom.

"You okay?" I ask softly.

"I'm okay," he grunts.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do next. Do I go home? I got what I came here for, but it feels somehow wrong to leave now.

Grayson and Ava deserve an apology from us, at the very least.

"I was thinking—" I begin at the same time he says, "I had some ideas—"

We both pause, and he nods at me to go ahead.

"I was just thinking I'd like to apologize to Grayson and Ava," I say softly.

"Yes. We need to. And I have a few ideas regarding how we can attempt to make this up to them."

I nod. "And?"

"My mom had some ideas, actually. I'll get their clothes cleaned, and she suggested something special for Ava to wear to make the dress different. I thought maybe champagne each night in their room on their honeymoon. And there's one other thing, but I'm waiting to hear back from a friend."

I sit down beside him. "Okay, yes. Those are all good things. What can I do to help?"

He presses his lips together and shakes his head a little. "Nothing. You've done enough."

His words rip through me. He blames me for this, and while yes, I'm the one who came here with this crazy idea, he's the one who agreed to it. Maybe we were wasted out of our minds, but that doesn't change the fact that he was a willing participant in what occurred last night, and I refuse to sit here and take the full blame for it.

Even though it was my Benadryl.

It was his tequila.

And now I'm getting defensive and snippy even in my own head. This is ridiculous.

Before I get a chance to put a voice to any of those thoughts, he says, "I'm sorry. That came out wrong."

"Thank you for acknowledging that." It's a good step toward better communication, anyway, and isn't communication the base of every successful marriage?

That's what Nana says, anyway. And she would know. She's one of the few who I can look to for what success means in a marriage.

I should call her. I should tell her what I did last night.

Oh, God. I'm going to have to tell my dad that I got married.

And Amelia, but somehow that doesn't feel quite so daunting.

No…all that can wait.

I rushed to Vegas without a backward glance, and I'll be returning to the vineyard with a husband.

"So, uh…do you want to be my date to my brother's wedding?" he asks.

"Oh," I say, a little taken off guard by the question. "Sure, though I'm not sure they'd want me there."

"They'll be fine. And thank God my wife agreed to be my date. "

I can't help but laugh.

He stands and walks over to the dresser, and he picks up a piece of paper. He scans it and reads off the events as he goes. "Looks like I missed today's tee time, but there's a dinner scheduled tonight for both sides of the bridal party with a burlesque show to follow." He glances up at me. "You're invited to all of the events, obviously."

Am I, though?

Would Ava really want me there after what happened last night?

"Thanks," I mumble instead. "Should we find a dry cleaner for the gown and the tux?"

"Already on it. I talked to the front desk, and they had a recommendation. Why don't we drop that stuff now and go shopping for bridal belts?"

I press my lips together and nod, and we each grab a garment back and head downstairs to catch a ride to the dry cleaner. The driver waits out front for us while we tend to our errands, and the cleaner happens to be in the same strip mall as a bridal store, so we head in there next.

"What a lovely couple," the woman behind the desk says when we walk in. "I'm Gina. What can I help you with?"

I open my mouth to launch into the whole story, but Spencer beats me to it, keeping things simple.

"We're looking for a crystal belt and matching veil to make a bridal gown look unique."

"Of course." She leads us toward a rack of accessories and shows us a few options, and Spencer chooses three different belts since he has no idea which one Ava will prefer.

"What do you think?" he asks me, holding two of them out while I hold the third in my hand.

I have no idea what Ave prefers, either.

"They're all beautiful," I say softly. I wish I was picking this out for myself. I wish I'd chosen my own wedding gown.

I wish a lot of things, but mostly I wish we could have a do-over.

"Then we'll take all three," he says .

Gina's eyes light up as she considers the commission on three crystal belts plus their three matching veils, and she practically runs to the register to take payment before we change our minds.

We do a little more shopping—mostly for me since I only brought two days' worth of clothes, and I'll need something nice to wear to the dinners the bride and groom have planned.

We head back to our hotel with our supplies that will hopefully be a start to making things up to Ava, and when we get back to our room, Spencer's phone starts to ring.

I catch his end of the conversation, curiosity clawing at me as I listen to his words.

"Damn…Holy shit, you can? I knew it was a longshot, but yeah, that would totally work…Yes, of course…I'll text you the details…I did…Actually, I looked into a suite and just booked one for the whole season, so you're welcome to any of the home games…"

He booked a suite for the whole season? Where? Why? What?

I wait for him to hang up, and before I plow forward with questions, he glances up at me. His eyes are brighter than they've been all day, and I can tell he's excited before he even opens his mouth to start answering the questions on the tip of my tongue.

"That was Adam Wilson," he says proudly.

Adam Wilson…Adam Wilson…Adam Wilson.

The name rings a foggy bell, but I have no idea why.

"Is he a football player?" I ask stupidly.

He laughs. "No. He's the lead guitarist for MFB."

"MFB?" I ask. "As in My Favorite Band?"

"I don't know if they're your favorite band, but I'm pretty sure they're Ava's, and they just agreed to play a set at the rehearsal on Friday." He tips his chin up at the end, and wait a hot second…

"Are you serious?"

He nods. "Serious as a W2," he says.

I giggle, and I'm not sure if it's a nervous giggle that MFB is going to be in the same room as me or if it's a giggle at his silly turn of phrase that sounds much nicer than when people say serious as a heart attack .

"Holy shit, Spence!" I practically yell, and I rush toward him and link my arms around his neck. "You really did that?"

"I did," he says, and he grabs me around the waist and twirls me around. "All for the low, low cost of season tickets to a suite so any member of the band can come to a Storm game any time they want during the season. And families, I guess." He sets me back down, and his eyes meet mine. "Or, you know…my wife."

My chest wavers with emotion, and I let go of my grip around his neck and back up a step. "You…you want me at your games?"

His lips tip up in a smile. "I'm not sure there's anything I'd like more than seeing you up in my suite wearing a jersey with number seventeen on it."

Seventeen.

That's his number.

Nash-seventeen.

That's my last name now.

Grace Nash.

And my husband wants me at his games.

In the same suite as MFB.

What is this life? It can't be real, can it?

I draw in a deep breath as I pinch myself.

We may have some obstacles ahead of us, but for now, yep…it feels pretty damn real.