7. Jack
The car passes through the buzz of the Vegas nightlife. For most of the time, Amber’s gaze remains fixed on the world outside the window.
When we pull outside a building that reads ‘White Chapel’ in flashing neon lights, we both stare at the building, and I’m sure I see Amber gulp.
I’m confident that she won’t be having second thoughts, not with one million dollars sitting in her purse.
“We’re here,” I say and when I realize she won’t move, I take her hand and smile, giving a little encouragement that it will be fine.
“Are you sure this will work?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen her look unsure. She seems like a black or white girl. There’s no gray area—until now.
“It’s perfect, two people, neither interested in getting married, living on different continents,” I say encouragingly.
For me, it’s the perfect solution.
“But you will send the divorce papers through and not leave it any longer than one year. Anything could change.”
I narrow my eyes at that. I know exactly what she’s saying.
“I’ll send the papers as soon as my grandfather hands the business over,” I say and smile. “It might be earlier.” He didn’t say I had to stay married, only get married.
Amber blows out a breath and wipes her hand over her forehead. But given we’re close to the desert, and she’s from England, the balmy weather could contribute to her glistening skin.
The driver opens the door, and Amber leaves the car first, wrapping her arms around herself. She looks at me with those beautiful eyes. The brown looks greener in the neon light.
It’s refreshing seeing her like this, vulnerable, nervous, unsure, not as put together as she always is.
Strangely, I don’t feel the same. I’m getting closer to getting what I want.
Ahead, a newlywed couple exits the door, stumbling and roaring with laughter. I take Amber’s hand and squeeze, taking away her worry, and we head for the chapel as I gently guide her along with me.
I open the door, and she hesitates one more time. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
I nod. “Neither of us believe in it. It’s just a fake marriage.”
She purses her lips together. “With a real wedding.”
“Sorry?” I say.
“There won’t be a real marriage; we’re just getting wed for the certificate,” she says, and I know she’s clarifying this ends here.
I nod and finally step inside the chapel.
“Welcome to the White Chapel,” a guy behind the glass greets us with a big, wide smile. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I nodded. Six fifteen.”
“Wonderful, and have you brought your license?”
“Yes,” I say.
Amber stares at me. I already filled the details of the application while we were chatting at the pool. She turns her back to me and looks around the room; two couples are now waiting behind us.
“Flowers,” the reception guy asks. I turn to Amber; she shakes her head. “Ah, you just want the quickie version,” he snorts.
Amber’s body locks, and she looks like she’s about to bolt. I touch her lower back to ease her tension and feel the shiver as it shoots through her spine.
“The yellow and white mixed bouquet,” I say. The least I can do is soften it with flowers, but like Amber, I want this over.
“Do you have rings?”
“Yes,” I say.
We picked out some rings when we picked up the marriage license from the Clark County Marriage License Bureau; I needed a ring to prove my marriage to my grandfather, and I was glad when Amber relented.
She was insisting she didn’t need one; I was wicked when I said my friends wouldn’t believe it without a ring.
The following argument was she wanted something cheap and tacky. I bought her a thin gold and diamond band that cost a small fortune. It was the least I could do.
“Of course you do; neither of you are dressed the part. But hell, since when did wearing a tux or a white dress mean it was the start of a long-lasting marriage? I can tell the ones who will make it. It’s the ones like you two. Packed with sexual tension, so let’s make it official and you can consummate this union.”
Amber coughs; her face flushes, her eyes widen to saucers, but he’s half right. I’m desperate to consummate it.
“Let’s get the show going, fill these forms in and we’ll have you married in no time,” the reception man says, pushing some papers for us to sign.
Amber fills out the form and pushes it to me. She walks away as I fill in my section. After handing the forms in, I turn and head back in her direction, where she’s striding up and down, chatting to herself. I think she’s trying to talk herself out of a mini panic attack.
“This really is crazy,” she says to herself, muttering other words I don’t pick up, but I’m sure I heard a rare explicit leave her mouth. “It means nothing. It’s just a wedding. Who cares? I’ll be divorced in less than a year and it’ll be as if it never happened.” She laughs maniacally to herself, her hand waving over her warm face. “Still crazy. Yes, I’ll definitely be the winner... probably get locked up in a mental institute when I get home, but... hell, I’m only getting married once. At least I won’t die a spinster.”
“It is fucking crazy,” I say to her. “But maybe once in our lives, we have to do something we can tell our future kids.”
“I’m not planning on those either,” she says. “But would you really tell your kids you married a stranger in Vegas? Your real wife will have a fit with you.”
My stomach flips, and I shake my head slightly to clear it.
“But I think you’re right. It’s not a big deal, and we’ll laugh about it in the future. Let’s do it.” Her voice wavers, like she is still trying to convince herself.
I’m the most normal of all my friends, always rational, not impulsive. Yet here I am marrying a beautiful stranger in Vegas, of all places.
I put it off for five years, since the offer from my grandfather.
Yet here I am, almost begging a girl to marry me and giving her one million dollars for the pleasure. I could have married so many women in New York. Some had practically begged me to marry them.
Am I fucking stupid?
“You can back out,” she whispers in my ear. She gives me a massive grin that tells me she knows I’m nervous.
Back out. She’s letting you back out.
Instead, I slide my arm around her waist and pull her to me and kiss her. It’s supposed to be a close-mouth kiss, but it quickly turns into something much more passionate.
I’m marrying her.
And then I’m going to fuck her brains out.
I laugh; she arches an eyebrow.
The Gold brothers are going to love that I have finally let myself go. I’m never impulsive; everything in my life is managed, from my childhood to my adult life and work life. Not one aspect of my life has ever been intuitive.
Was it intuitive? What did it mean? To have an irrational, impulsive decision to marry her.
The Gold brothers are going to lose their fucking minds once they find out. As long as they believe us, that’s all that matters.
Just as the reality that it”s my grandfather that needs to believe me sinks in, the doors to the chapel swing open.
Amber squeezes my hand. “Is this us?”
I kiss the side of her temple to relax her.
“Amber Greyson and Jack Clark?”
“Oh my god, I didn’t expect it to be such a quickie,” Amber says.
The guy dressed like Elvis says, “hopefully this is the only quickie, sweetheart.” He follows his words with a wink.
I laugh at Amber glaring at Elvis, but then I’m more interested in the crossing of her toned legs. Obviously, something is happening between them, but looking at her gorgeous tanned thighs, something is happening to me too.
“Are you ready to do this?” I ask, trying to take my thoughts off the beast between my legs.
“I am,” she says after a few seconds of chewing on her lip.
“Come through.” Elvis pushes his back against the door and waves us inside.
She stops me once we’re inside as she looks around the nearly all-white room. “Are you sure?”
I press my hands against her cheeks, flickering my gaze across her beautiful eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
I kiss her hard on her lips. “Never.”
“You’re crazy.”
For you.
I definitely am.