Chapter 8
Connor
T hanks to bumper-to-bumper traffic and a group of sign-waving protestors blocking the easiest path to our destination, we make it to the chapel with only ten minutes to spare. But my brilliant soon-to-be wife called ahead, and our rental clothes are already waiting for us in our dressing rooms and the attendant said they could push the ceremony to eight-fifteen, since the next couple isn’t booked until nine.
“See you in twenty minutes?” Wendy Ann asks breathlessly as we part ways in a long hallway leading to the groom’s suite on one side and the bride’s on the other.
“Absolutely, I’ll be the one in—” I break off with a frown. “In what? Which decade did you choose?”
She grins, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. “You’ll see.”
“Not the 80’s,” I say, my brow furrowing. “I love a laugh as much as the next guy, but I don’t think I can pull off a Miami Vice suit. And I need at least one decent picture to share with the family. It’ll make my parents at least fifty percent less likely to disown me.”
She shrugs, backing away beside the equally mischievous-looking attendant. “Trust me, Sinclair. I won’t let you down. I promise.”
“I know you won’t,” I say, deciding then and there that I’m wearing whatever she picked out, even if she’s arranged for us to be married in matching blow-up T-Rex costumes.
Because I do trust her, and I want her to know that there’s nothing in the world more important to me than making her happy.
Besides, my parents won’t disown me. They’re old-fashioned, but they love me, and once they see how great Wendy Ann and I are together, they’ll just be happy that we found each other.
A few moments later, I step into the dressing room, spying my suit hanging on a rolling clothes rack in the corner next to a large vanity mirror.
Instantly, I love my soon-to-be wife just a little more.
It’s perfect.
As perfect as she is.
Wendy Ann
S eraphina, the attendant, is a miracle worker.
Not only does she help me sweep my hair into a gorgeous up-do that looks amazing with my 1950s-style lace wedding dress, but she also fetches an extra crinoline, so my skirt sticks out like a beautiful bell all around me. She also dips into the jewelry rental without charging extra, providing a delicate pearl necklace, pearl earrings, and a tiny diamond tiara that I expect will look ridiculous.
Instead, it takes my breath away.
“Wow,” I say, blinking at my reflection. “I look like…”
“Grace Kelly,” Seraphina breathes. “A brunette Grace Kelly, but still. You’re a mid-century princess!” She claps her hands excitedly. “God, I love my job. You’re almost ready, just let me grab the bouquet from the fridge and one last finishing touch, and we’ll get you headed down the aisle to your man.”
She dashes out of the room as I stand staring. The woman in the reflection is almost unrecognizable, and it isn’t just because I look more beautiful than I had any idea I could be. That isn’t even the half of it.
It’s the confidence in my expression, the steadiness in my gaze.
The last vestiges of the awkward girl I once was are gone. In her place is a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go off script when Fate offers her a leading role in an improv production. I’ve never been a “figure it out as I go along” girl, but today it worked out just fine. Connor and I worked together every step of the way, whether it was booking travel, finding alternate routes through unfamiliar city streets, or swinging the rescue and last-minute adoption of an unexpectedly upbeat parrot.
We’ll handle everything married life throws at us with the same spirit of teamwork and adventure. Because this is meant to be.
If it weren’t, how could everything have worked out so?—
“Rings!” I bleat to my own startled reflection as Seraphina reenters the room. I spin to face her, my heart in my throat. “We forgot the rings! We were going to buy them at one of the shops in the hotel. But then we ended up adopting a parrot, and by the time we made it to the pet store and back to the hotel to drop Sharkbait at the front desk, we were running late and completely forgot about the rings.”
“Sharkbait is the parrot?” she asks as she sets a gorgeous bouquet of white roses and pale pink peonies on the edge of the vanity.
“Yes,” I say, noting that she seems remarkably unphased by my strange disclosure. But then, this is Vegas. I’ve seen more odd things today than I can shake a stick at, and I’ve only been here for a few hours.
“Cool, love that name,” she says, holding out a pair of tiny lace gloves. “Try these on. They’ll look amazing with the dress.”
“Okay, but…the rings?” I ask, not wanting to be annoying, but genuinely concerned that this might be a dealbreaker. “Can you get married without rings?”
She grins, her dark eyes dancing above her full cheeks. “Well, of course, you can, but you won’t have to. I have silicone rings on hand, just in case. And they’re painted gold, so most people won’t even realize they’re temporary unless they shake your hand. I’ll tuck a man’s size and a woman’s size in my pocket before I sit down to be your witness.”
My shoulders sag with relief. “Wonderful. Thank you so much. You’ve been amazing.”
She laughs. “Thanks, I try. Now, don’t stress. Everything is going to be perfect. You look like an angel, your man is a heartbreaker in that Dean Martin tux, and you’re going to live happily ever after, no doubt in my mind.”
I grin as I murmur, “There’s no doubt in mind, either.”
“Then grab your bouquet, girlie, and let’s get you married.”
She guides me to a set of closed doors and tells me to step through when I hear the wedding march begin to play. I do, my heart lifting as I see Connor beaming at me from the front of the chapel. It’s all cream and white, with stained glass windows behind the officiant and pews covered in a profusion of flowers.
The flowers are fake, but they’re still gorgeous…nearly as beautiful as the look in Connor’s eyes as he watches me walk down the aisle toward him.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be mine,” he whispers once I’m standing before him.
“And you’re going to be mine,” I say, reaching out to take his hand, happy tears in my eyes. “How lucky are we?”
“So lucky,” he agrees with a laugh.
“As far as I’m concerned, those are beautiful vows,” the man with salt-and-pepper hair says with a grin. “Would you like me to pronounce you man and wife now, or should we do the traditional thing, too?”
“Let’s do the traditional thing, too,” I say. “I need more time to soak this all in.” I do a quick sweep of Connor in his 1950s style suit with a skinny tie the same pale pink as my peonies. “You look like a million bucks.”
“And you look like a dream come true,” he says.
We beam at each other some more, both get choked up during the vows, and linger on the first kiss so long that Seraphina hoots for us to “get a room.”
“Sounds good to me,” I murmur, grinning against his lips.
“Best thing ever,” he agrees, before pulling back to turn toward Seraphina. “Please add the clothes to our bill. We’re going to need them for our renewal ceremony in ten years.”
Seraphina nods. “You absolutely will. Congratulations, you two. Here’s to a lifetime of love and laughter.”
We toast with a small glass of champagne provided by the chapel, collect our other clothes from the dressing rooms, and walk out onto the strip hand in hand with only one thing left to do to make the night complete.
“Dinner?” he asks. “I could look and see which restaurants have open tables.”
I shake my head. “Room service, please. I need you naked, sexy. ASAP.”
“Yes, please,” he says, taking my hand.
We run giggling like teenagers past the drunk people wandering the street, past the fountain exploding into the night in celebration of our marriage, and straight to the elevator, dashing inside just before the doors close, both of us too eager to wait for another car.
It’s a decision we regret almost immediately…