“I love you,” I whisper in the silence, watching his brown eyes shimmer. “I . . . have an idea.” Mischief brightens his face, and uncertainty tightens my gut. This is not going to go well. “What?” “Let’s get married.” My head blanks out with white noise, and I blink at him. “What?” I ask again. There’s no way I heard him correctly. “Let’s get married.” A huge smile splits his face, and when it’s directed at me like this, it’s so damn hard to think straight. “We’re in Vegas. We can go down to one of the hundreds of chapels and get married. We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to, but
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