When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,120
of his eyebrows. “Thursday?”
“Or Wednesday if you’d rather. For us to get married.”
His words finally registered, and she shot up in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest. “You want to get married next week?”
He tugged the sheet from her hands. “Isn’t that what I said?”
“No, it’s not what you said! We were just talking about taking the next two years to figure things out.”
“Right.” He kissed the top of her breast. “After we get married, we’ll definitely need to figure things out.”
She grabbed for the sheet, launching into their first postcoital argument. “We’re not reckless people! We don’t just jump into something this big. We’re systematic. We take our time. Prepare.”
He laughed and pulled her back down beside him. “Liv, sweetheart, we’re already prepared. We know exactly what kind of mess we’re jumping into, and we also know that—with our work ethic and big egos—we’ll have to make it work because neither of us can handle failure.”
That was true, but . . .
He stroked her temple. “You’re slippery, honey, and I’m not taking any more chances of losing you. I need a commitment. A real commitment. Enough of a commitment so I know you won’t go crazy again and tell me that you’ve decided you can’t sing Figaro or whoever else you’ve taken a fancy to sing while I’m in your life.”
Figaro was a man, but she understood his point. She tunneled her hands through his hair. “I’d never do that to you. I promise.”
“Good. Next week then.”
* * *
And next week it was. On a Thursday night when the Muni had no performances scheduled, the two of them stood onstage with their friends and family seated around them. The bride was deliriously beautiful in a long, Egyptian-style gown that was an updated copy of Aida’s costume. The groom was resplendent in a perfectly cut tuxedo with a square pocket handkerchief made from his beloved’s favorite flamenco shawl.
Thad’s parents had raced up from Kentucky. Coop was best man. Clint walked the bride down the makeshift aisle as Rachel sang, and neither the bride nor groom—both of whom were used to working under pressure—could make it through their vows without choking up.
It was a beautiful ceremony. The flowers, the guests, the music. As Thad and Olivia exchanged the kiss that sealed their union, Cooper Graham leaned over to the man sitting next to him and whispered, “One marriage. Two divas. This is going to work out just fine.”
Clint Garrett couldn’t have agreed more.
Epilogue
Thad stood in the wings of the Lyric Opera of Chicago, his arms crossed over his chest to keep his heart from spilling out as he watched Liv deliver the best “Habanera” of her life. Her Carmen was a headstrong rebel—sultry, sexy, foolhardy, and answerable only to herself—everything Liv wasn’t, except for the sultry, sexy part.
After three years, she still took his breath away.
He liked helping people be their best, whether it was motivating Liv to reach new heights in her career or cheering on the idiot through every game. Damn, but he loved that guy.
Onstage, Carmen had caught ol’ Don José’s eye. Liv did way too great a job of dying, and Thad made it a policy never to watch the last act. Plus, he’d been forbidden to stick around backstage that long because he made the tenor singing Don José nervous.
Their first year of marriage had been just as messy and hectic as they’d anticipated. He’d started training camp on the exact day Liv had to be in Munich. When the Stars played their first game, she was in Tokyo and after that Moscow. They talked all the time and competed with each other to come up with the most innovative way of keeping their sex life interesting, although it meant installing lots of extra software to guard against hackers.
After Moscow, Liv was back in Chicago sitting in Phoebe Calebow’s skybox watching Thad win two games back to back when Clint was out with an ankle sprain. One of the Calebow kids had sneaked photos of Liv screaming her head off every time Thad completed a pass. Embarrassing, but Mrs. Calebow was a big opera fan, and she didn’t seem to mind.
The second year of marriage grew more complicated as he finished his contract and moved ahead with his retirement plan. He’d become a certified financial planner so he could play a more active role in keeping stupid, young rookies from blowing all their money, satisfying work but a sideline to his real job. He was