Book 4: Chapter 63 - A Love Song For Always

I spent years hating Timothy Adams.

I've also envied him, longed for him,and prayed to forget him.

He will always be my rebel prince.

My childhood rival. My best friend.

Soon, he'll be something new...

My Husband.

And I dare anything in this world to try and break us apart.

A Love Song For Always ( Episode 4 ) is Timothy and Emily's bonus wedding story and should be read following A Love Song For Dreamers ( Episode 3 )

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Seven days until the wedding

"Can't we move any faster?" I lean toward the partition between the front and back seats of the limo. "There must be another road. Let me check."

The driver shoots me a patient look. "Miss Carlton, it's the 405."

From the seat next to me, Rica laughs silently. "Forgive her. She has a serious case of Timothy Adams withdrawal caused by spending too much time apart from her hot fiancé."

Since I jumped out of bed in New York this morning ahead of the five-thirty alarm to shower and dress, every part of me has been buzzing with anticipation.

Most of my day was spent on the flight to LA with Rica, but I was too distracted to work or read.

Now, the stop-and-go traffic makes me want to roll down my window and shout at the world. Instead, I drum my fingers on the bare knee I nicked my second time over it with a razor.

"Seriously. I don't need to crash with you and Timothy while I play my gigs this week," Rica goes on.

"Yes, you do. There are five bedrooms." Timothy took me on a virtual tour before he rented the house before our wedding. It gave him a home base to work on album release promotions with the studio until I could hand my Broadway role to another actress so Timothy and I could have the next month together before his tour. "Even when Dad and Haley show up with the kids tomorrow, that leaves plenty of space."

Traffic breaks, and the car surges toward the exit.

Yes.

"Did you see the news about Wicked Records?" Rica holds up an article on her phone about my Dad's former label.

I resolve to focus and not degenerate into a throbbing ball of need now that my fiancé is only minutes away.

"Sounds like after years of mismanagement, they're going down fast. Dad hasn't been involved with them for a long time. Not since he was fighting over his songs."

"Have he or your stepmom said anything?"

"Not to me." But we haven't exchanged more than a rushed voicemail or emails with wedding logistics in the better part of a month given how busy things have been preparing for this time off.

My finger drumming on my knee starts again.

"Just as well you're dropping me at the club so I won't be there when you see Timothy," Rica offers. "I don't want to be within earshot when you guys... reunite." She enunciates each syllable.

There's no point trying to hide the flush that crawls up my face.

I have been anticipating all the parts of seeing my fiancé. Not only because we're getting married in a week, but because I haven't kissed him, touched him, or shared more than a sexy FaceTime call with him in a month.

I've been in love with Timothy Adams for a decade, long before he became a rock star and I wrote a Broadway show.

Now we're about to tie the knot.

The obstacles that kept us apart felt insurmountable at the time. But our love, our tenacity, and maybe a little destiny kept bringing us back to one another. Next weekend is validation of all we've been through.

"I grew up wanting to be on stage, but the whole bride fantasy skipped me," I admit.

"No parade with stuffed animals down a made-up aisle?"

I shake my head. "But the moment Timothy and I decided on a date, it was like something took me over. I wanted all of it. The guests. The dress. The cake. The music."

"The man," she finishes.

And what a man.

I swore I'd never fall for a rock star. Growing up with my dad's fame rubbed me the wrong way. I felt I had to prove myself-to him and to everyone. It took years for me to realize I belonged, that I could carve my own path without being lessened by his or jealous of Timothy's relationship with my dad.

"Our lives have been anything but perfect. This week will be the exception," I confide.

Our destination wedding will take place on a stunning island with private beaches and exquisite accommodations. After, Timothy and I have cleared our schedules for nearly a month. There'll be nothing but relaxation and enjoy newly wedded bliss with my best friend, who also happens to be my fiancé and the hottest guy on the planet.

I've been planning it with crazed fervor.

To be clear, perfect doesn't mean glossy-magazine-worthy. It's about having time with each other and the people we love in a beautiful, private place that feels like heaven.

The car pulls up at the club, and Rica gets out before leaning in the open window. "Do me a favor and put a sock on the door if you're not done when I get back."

"Does anyone even own socks in LA?" But I wave, and the car pulls off again.

As we take the streets up into the Hills, excitement thrums low in my stomach. Timothy's been finishing his album to earn the month off for our wedding before he goes on tour. Even while living together in New York for most of a year, I didn't feel as though we had time together because we were doing eight shows a week. It was a thrilling and exhausting grind, but we decided to move him out of the lead role a few months after it started on Broadway so he could finish his album.

Now I want him to myself.

I check my phone for Timothy's texts from when I left this morning.

Emily: Can't wait to see you.

Timothy: Can't wait to taste you.

My thighs press together under my short, black dress. I could text Timothy to say we're a few minutes away.

But that would ruin the surprise.

Instead, I put on a song from his new album. His voice wraps around me, raw and sexy and the kind of earnest that makes fans go crazy.

By the time the driver pulls up, passing two parked Rolls and a Maserati on the road before turning into the gates and entering the passcode I gave him, I'm so turned on it's dangerous. The gates swing wide, and I get a clear look at the house. It's stunning, white and modern with high trees surrounding it for privacy.

The driver leaves my bags at the door at my request. The garage is open, revealing a black Lambo the owners left and a motorcycle. I bought the bike for Timothy as a gift. I hunted for ages for the vintage Triumph Bonneville. I'd considered having it fixed up before I gave it to him, but I knew he'd want to fix it himself. A way to blow off some steam.

Now it's pristine.

I trail a hand along the chrome and the leather seat in appreciation. The things my guy can do with his hands...

I open the door and step inside. My wedge sandals click on the marble as I steady my racing heart.

"That bike is hot," I call, pushing my sunglasses onto my head and scrunching a hand through the long, red hair I hope is still wavy after a day on the plane.

"If only I could find someone to take me on it."

The evidence of my arousal fills every syllable as I step out into the living room.

"And when I say, 'Take me'? I mean..."

I trail off, my throat tightening.

The man I love stands in the center of the vast room, seeming to fill the entire space with his presence.

Timothy Adams is breathtaking in profile. As gorgeous as ever in dark jeans that cling to his lean hips and strong legs, a white T-shirt that pulls across his chest and shoulders, revealing black ink that curls down his arm all the way to his fingers. His dark hair falls over his face, and when he turns to face me fully, he shoves it back.

The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows streams across his tan face, his cut jaw, and the firm mouth that tastes better than anything on this planet.

Timothy's heavy chocolate gaze locks on mine, holding me prisoner.

But it's his guilty expression that has me stunned.

And the fact that he's not alone.