Chapter 25 Spencer Nash

She's My Wife

Three Days After the Wedding

What's better than getting your soon to be sister-in-law's favorite band to play at her wedding rehearsal?

Getting that same band to join us at our after-party.

We're heading to Honey's, the world-renowned strip club not too far from the center of all things Vegas. Grayson said his teammates frequent the joint. Ava thought a strip club sounded fun since she'd never been to one, and it's part of the time-honored, cliched history of bachelor parties.

Even though the four Nash brothers would all be respectful without dates since that's how our mother raised us, having our women here with us will keep us in check. There's something kind of hot about sitting with my wife while we watch half—or fully—naked women dancing for our enjoyment.

And then there's Asher, who's here solo and will more than likely go home with a stripper.

You know that old saying about how strippers only like men for their money?

That's true—for the average guy .

Asher Nash is not your average guy. He's young, he's single, he's apparently good-looking, even though to me he's just my brother with an odd sense of fashion, and he's the wild card of the Nash family. Women flock to him, and I'm certain tonight will be no different, stripper or otherwise.

But we're here with MFB, and while the four Nash brothers have a certain celebrity status because of our professions, the band's international popularity leaves the four of us quite literally in their dust.

All five members of the band are married, but only Dax's wife is here with him tonight. I can't help but wonder whether the other wives approve of their adventure out with the Nash brothers or if they even know. Something tells me they know, though. If Dax's wife is here with him, I can't really imagine her keeping that secret from the others.

We're taken to three different VIP booths toward the front since our group is so large, and I move to pull my credit card out of my pocket to treat the whole group when the server stops me. "Dax took care of it."

I glance over at Dax. He did?

Man, these guys are really pretty damn awesome.

Grayson is on my left, and Grace is on my right. The band is scattered between my brothers, our dates, and Grayson's friends.

We drink. We order appetizers. We drink some more. We watch the dancers. We tip generously. We eat chicken wings like it's normal to chew on chicken bones while tits bounce in our faces mere feet away.

We laugh. I avoid tequila, opting instead for a lighter beer tonight, but Grace is by my side, her cheeks flushed as she seems to move fractionally closer to me after every sip of her glass of wine.

I have to admit…I like it.

A lot.

I would've thought she'd be moving closer and closer to Adam. He's the guitarist in her favorite band, after all. But she's moving closer to me while we're here at this place that's filled with sensuality and sex, and it's making me want sex. With her. Immediately.

It wouldn't be right to do that after yet another night of drinking. But the more time I spend with her, the more I seem to want her.

The feelings are growing instead of diminishing, and I'm not sure I can keep fighting that. Hell, I'm not sure I need to keep fighting it. She's my wife now. Even if it's just for the next year, why not have some fun with it?

It's not like I was planning to meet a woman and get married my first year in San Diego anyway. It's not like this is setting me back on some invisible timeline.

It shouldn't feel as right as it does.

She excuses herself to the restroom, and I feel the loss of her warmth when she gets up. Usually girls go in groups to the bathroom, but she's a strong, independent woman who heads there alone.

She's been gone a while, and at first, I assume it's because the ladies' room had a line.

But when a full ten minutes have passed and she hasn't returned, I start to get worried.

I excuse myself to head that direction, thinking maybe I'll see her along the way. It's not like I'm going to bust into the women's bathroom to check on her, but maybe a woman outside the bathroom can check on her for me.

It's as I approach the small hallway leading into the restrooms that I spot her.

A big, burly guy has her cornered near the bar, and she looks…scared. He's just talking to her. His hands aren't on her, but I get the very real sense that she's in some sort of danger, and the immediate thought is that she needs my help.

The immediate thought is that I need to save her, and I will stop at nothing to get that look of fear off her face. I will stop at nothing to make sure she knows she's safe with me.

I stride in her direction, butting my way in to end their conversation. "There you are," I say, glaring at the big dude.

"You're with her?" he asks me.

"She's my wife," I say thickly .

"I was just telling her how pretty her titties would look up on that stage." He grins lewdly at me.

I feel sick at his words, and if I feel sick, I can't even imagine how she feels.

My instinct is to punch this asshole right in the mouth, but a stronger instinct to get her out of this situation takes precedence.

"She's not here to dance." I take her hand in mine and pull her away from the guy, and I walk right past the group gathered across the three VIP tables that's here to party tonight in celebration of my brother and his bride.

I lead Grace straight out the front doors, and she sucks in a breath of fresh air as soon as we're outside.

"Gracie," I say softly, and I pull her into me.

"Oh, God," she whimpers, and she bursts into tears.

I wrap my arms around her, and she rests her head on my chest. "Did he hurt you?"

She shakes her head. "He didn't touch me," she sobs.

I rub my hand around her back in a soothing circle.

"It was how he looked at me. The things he said to me. It made me feel…gross."

"You're not," I say fiercely. "You're beautiful, and that's all he could see. That's all he cared about. He didn't care that you're one of the most organized people I've ever met, or how intuitive you are when it comes to people, or how kind you are even when someone treats you like shit. He didn't care about the way you schedule the staff at the vineyard or how you can identify every note in a bottle of wine. He wasn't looking at how you would drop anything to help someone out or how you never take time for yourself because you're so dedicated to giving your family and the vineyard everything you have."

She pulls back, her teary eyes lifting up to meet mine. She raises her hand to my jaw, her fingertips gliding softly along the scruff there. "Is that really what you think of me?" she whispers.

I look down tenderly into her eyes, shocked she even has to ask that question. "Of course it is, Gracie."

Her eyes flick down toward my lips, and then she closes her eyes and leans in to press her mouth to mine .

I hold her close, careful not to deepen this kiss, careful not to take the lead. Careful not to spook her after she's already full of fear from the encounter inside.

She pulls back and looks up at me in wonder. "Nobody has ever said those kinds of things to me. Nobody has ever noticed ."

"I have." And I find it hard to believe nobody else ever has, but then I think of the night we met.

Maybe the reason nobody has ever noticed has less to do with Grace and more to do with her sister, who excels at taking center stage and stealing the light from Grace.

Not anymore. I won't let anyone steal anything from her ever again.

Not now that she's my wife.