Willow sticks to tradition. I wake up to an empty hotel room. There's a note from her on the table. For a second, my heart rises up to my throat. My head fills with every way this could go horribly.

But all the paper says is:

I love you - Willow

Fuck, she's sweet.

I'm still not sure how I got so fucking lucky.

I'm not an introspective guy, but being on the road for hours at a time makes everybody turn inward. This is the time to get lost turning over my thoughts. I settle on the balcony with a room service breakfast and coffee and I let my mind wander.

It's another beautiful, blue day. Hawaii is mostly beautiful, blue days. The air is this mix of sticky sweet and cool ocean breeze. And the beach—fuck the aqua water is clear and it's gorgeous and it goes forever.

This place really is paradise.

But then, any place I'm marrying Willow would be paradise.

* * *

I spend the entire morning thinking about Willow. I replay every fucking minute I've had with her, from stepping out of the shower to see her in my hotel room to falling asleep with her in my arms last night.

It's only been a few months.

I know most people think we're crazy for moving so fast.

But I don't see any reason to wait. I've always gone after what I wanted headfirst. And Willow is fucking everything I want.

My cell buzzes with a text from my brother. He's heading over in a few.

Which means it's time to get ready.

I step into the cool hotel room. Fuck, air conditioning really is a thing of beauty. It only takes a few minutes for me to forget about the humidity outside.

I shower, towel dry, slip into my suit. I'm pulling on socks when there's a knock on my door.

"You beautiful yet?" That's Pete.

I open the door for him. "I can never match you."

He chuckles as he holds up a bottle of champagne. "Dunno. You look pretty sharp in that grey suit."

I cock a brow.

"No joke. You look good." He steps inside and sets the champagne on the TV stand. And he wraps me in a bear hug. His plastic wrapped suit smacks against my back. He's still wearing jeans and a t-shirt. "I'm fucking happy for you."

"Thanks." It's fucking weird, all this sincerity. Even if that's his M.O. I pull back with a smile. "She's…"

"She's the best thing that ever happened to you." He hangs his suit on the knob on the back of the door. "We have forever. You don't have to be in that thing."

"I feel better in it."

His smile lights up his dark eyes. "You're nervous."

"I'm getting married. I'm supposed to be nervous."

"Yeah, but…" He chuckles. "You're never nervous."

"You were less annoying when you were fucking your way through Los Angeles."

"Really?"

No. I can't help but shake my head. "You're always annoying."

"Means a lot coming from you."

"Thanks."

He leans against the door. His dark eyes pass over me. He's assessing something. I'm not sure what it is.

There's plenty to assess.

My chest is too light.

My stomach is too filled with butterflies.

The heavy fabric of this suit is the only thing keeping me grounded.

He nods to the champagne. "You don't want a glass."

It's more a statement than a question. I shake my head anyway.

His smile spreads ear to ear. "Tom Steele, nervous groom."

"Fuck off."

"It suits you."

I flip him off.

He just laughs. "Really, Tom. You look happy. It's good to see."

Fuck, I must look as nervous as I feel if he's not calling me Sticks.

"I am." We do have for fucking ever before the ceremony. It's not exactly helping with my nerves. I plop on the couch and press my palms against my thighs. I'm in my hotel room, in Hawaii, in a suit, waiting for my wedding ceremony. It's like a dream. "And you?"

"And me?"

"I know you've said a lot of shit about you and Jess being casual, but she's fucking crazy about you."

"Yeah. She is."

"What the fuck kinda answer is that?"

He shrugs.

"You're supposed to say 'yeah, she's great. I'm lucky to have her.'"

"I live to defy your expectations."

"You don't think she's great?"

"I do."

"So?"

"I really fucking like her." There's something missing from his voice. He does like her. Maybe he doesn't realize it, but it's obvious to everyone else. He's as crazy about her as she is about him.

I'm not about to let him get away with that shit.

Even if it is my wedding day.

I stare back at my brother. "But?"

His gaze goes to the window. His voice gets far away, like he's lost in some memory. "My head's been a fucking mess since Cindy…"

His high school sweetheart tore his heart to shreds by not only cheating with his former best friend, but falling in love with the guy. The bitch couldn't even be bothered to break the news herself. She sent her fucking—whatever you'd call the asshole who was fucking her—she let him do the dirty work for her.

It's a fair enough assessment.

But it's also bullshit.

"You're gonna lose her if you don't get over yourself," I say.

"Guess you're the expert now that you're getting hitched."

My chest gets lighter.

He chuckles. "Not often I can make you nervous."

I fucking hate it. I need to get the upper hand here. "What the fuck is it you don't like about Jess?"

"I like everything about her."

"But-?"

"You want to talk about my girlfriend?" He asks. "It's your wedding day."

"Fuck, don't say that again."

He chuckles. "You look like you're gonna hurl."

"I might."

"You need a bowl?"

"Fuck off. What if I did?"

He grabs the ice bucket from the counter, dumps the melted water in the sink, and places it at my feet. "Just in case." He winks.

"I fucking hate you."

"I love you too." He nods to the landline phone on the side table. "You want to eat something bland?"

"No."

"It will help."

"Fine." We both know he'll order no matter what I say.

He smiles as he picks up the phone and dials room service. "Could we get an order of toast. White… Yeah, butter and jam." He puts his hand over the receiver and looks to me. "You eat lunch?"

"No."

He pulls his hand away. "And a B.L.T. You have avocado… Yeah, add it. And a bottle of sparkling cider. Thanks." He ends the call. "It will be half an hour."

"I'm not gonna eat that sandwich."

"Then I will."

I can't argue. It's reasonable. Even if it's fucking weird that I need my younger brother taking care of me.

I…

Fuck, toast is probably all I can handle. My stomach is in knots. These are good nerves. About to play the Grammy's nerves.

But it's still a fucking lot.

Of course, Pete wouldn't know shit about that. He was cool as a cucumber before we played to god knows how many million people watching the show at home.

My brother plops on the couch next to me. He motions to the remote. "You want to watch something?"

"I guess."

He chuckles. "Never seen you this nervous."

"I've never gotten married before."

"It suits you."

Fuck. I need to think about something else. I turn to my brother. "You're fucking cruel, the way you torture your girlfriend with everybody else around."

His smile spreads to his cheeks. "Jess likes it."

I shake my head even though it's true. She obviously likes it. "Nobody else likes it."

He shrugs. "Don't really care if anybody but Jess likes it. I'm not about to deny her to spare your ears."

"You're a fucking pervert."

He presses his hand to his heart. "Thanks. That means the world to me."

This is more normal.

We slip into teasing each other until the food arrives.

I manage to eat my entire fucking sandwich. And the toast.

My nerves settle until he's pouring sparkling cider into champagne flutes and holding up his glass.

"To happily ever after," he says.

"To happily ever after." I toast.

And I slam my glass of sparkling cider.

And I get as light and floaty as I would if I'd downed a whole bottle of champagne.