“Everything will be all right,” he seemed to promise me after a moment, that partial smile still tipping the fullest part of his cheeks.
“Okay.” My hands were sweaty. “Let’s do it.”
He nodded and in we went.
The two people working at the main desk had obviously done this a thousand times in the past. They didn’t blink a single eyelash at us in our street clothes; they didn’t gush or ask any questions that would have made me feel strange. I thought about the ring I was carrying around in my pocket and... I chickened out. I left it there, promising myself I’d take it out later.
We filled out the paperwork they gave us, chose a wedding package for $190.00 that included a ceremony in the chapel, a silk rose bouquet, a boutonniere that had Aiden eyeing it with disdain, a photographer, and CD with five high-resolution pictures to document our “big day.”
The minister was another $60.00.
So for $250.00, Aiden and I stood at the front of the aging wedding chapel with a man who might have been inebriated, and we listened to him say words that seemed to go in one ear and out the other. At least for me.
Was I freaking out? A little bit. But I kept my eye on the boutonniere that Aiden had shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, and I squeezed the ribbon-wrapped stems of my bouquet with damp fingers until the words, “Are you exchanging rings?” came out of his mouth.
Aiden shook his head at the same time my trembling fingers pulled the white gold band out of my pocket and handed it over. I didn’t want to put it on for him; it just seemed too intimate of a gesture.
Those dark irises shot to mine as he tried to slide it over his knuckles. It didn’t fit. Why was that so surprising? Of course he would have gotten bigger in the eight years since he’d won the national championship in college. He moved the ring over to his pinky finger and it slid on easily. That penetrating gaze went back to mine and stayed there, heavy and insurmountable, making me feel so vulnerable that I had to look down at the bouquet that wasn’t going to make it much longer under how much I was wringing my hands. I kept my expression down until the words “you may now kiss the bride” came out of the minister’s mouth.
When I peered up, I found Aiden’s eyes on me and I widened mine, slanting a look to the side, not knowing what the hell we were supposed to do. I’d been too busy stressing about the ceremony to worry about this part.
Then I thought about the photographer and knew what needed to be done even though I didn’t want to do it.
But more than that, I really didn’t want to go to jail or pay out of my butt for fines. Screw it. I didn’t have to make out with him… even if it wouldn’t have really been a hardship if I had to.
I took a step forward. Aiden’s gaze shifted to the side in uncertainty, something I didn’t want to focus on too much right then because I had my own nerves to worry about. Then I took another step forward, put my hands on those muscle-packed upper arms, and went up to my tippy-toes, still coming up short.
He was frowning even as he lowered his head, our gazes locked on each other, and I pressed my mouth against his. It was nothing grand, just a peck, the center of my lips against the fullest part of his. They were softer, more pliable than I ever would have imagined. The whole contact lasted maybe two seconds before I fell back to my heels and stepped away. My chest and neck were hot.
And this handsome, stern man I was signing paperwork with, was frowning even more after I put three feet between us.
“Congratulations!” the minister cheered as the other chapel employee literally threw glitter at us. I was glad I was wearing glasses when Aiden rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.
“One picture of you two together,” the photographer said, already gesturing me back to Aiden’s side.
I swallowed and nodded. Believable. A quick shuffle later, I was at his side. When he didn’t put his arm around me or do anything remotely couple-like, I slipped my arm through his, pressed my hip against him, and held on just as the flash blinded us.
The photographer smiled as she took a step back and lowered her camera. “Give me ten minutes, Mr. and Mrs. Graves, and I’ll have the CD ready.”
Mr. and Mrs. Graves.
Diana’s favorite saying described the situation perfectly: Shit just got real.
* * *
It was strange to think that by eight o’clock on a Sunday in mid-August, I was legally a married woman.
After the chapel gave us our CD with our five photographs and paperwork, we headed back to the hotel in a dream-like state. At least for me it seemed like a dream. A weird, weird, weird dream that resembled more of an acid trip than reality. Neither one of us said much, but I was busy thinking about what we’d done, and knowing Aiden, he was thinking about his next preseason game.
We headed into our respective rooms, only exchanging a forced smile from me and a slightly pinched mouth from him. I must have sat on the edge of the bed for at least thirty minutes, simply getting my thoughts together. The walls seemed to close in on me, and I started to feel itchy and restless.
Married. I was freaking married. The woman at the chapel had called me Mrs. Graves.
I married Aiden.
There was no way I could have stayed in that room all night. I was too amped up to work or draw. Crawling out of my skin, I needed something else to keep my mind on. So I thought about all the things I used to imagine doing when Vegas came to mind, and there was really only one thing on the list: I wanted to see a show.
After making sure I had my ID and debit card, I got up and walked into the living area of the suite to find it empty. Peeking into Aiden’s room, I found him asleep on the bed, fully-clothed and completely passed out. One big palm was being used as a pillow and the other was tucked between his thighs, a super-soft, barely audible whistling sound coming out of his mouth.
I glanced at my watch and hesitated for a second. He probably wouldn’t want to go, would he?
Nah.
He didn’t seem like the type to get excited over acrobats and clowns in extravagant costumes, much less crowds. Grabbing the notepad on the nightstand next to the king-sized bed he was on, I jotted down a message.
Aiden—
Going for a walk around the Strip. I might try to catch a show if there are still tickets available. Be back later. I have my phone on me.
-V
I tippy-toed out of the room, slowly closed the hotel door behind me, and I was out of there.
Las Vegas wasn’t exactly the best place in the world for a single female traveler, but with all the people on the street walking around, I figured it could have been a lot worse. It was easy to blend in. I walked down the street and took my time going in and out of some of the shops. Tourists of all ages and nationalities filled the stores, and I didn’t feel as lonely as I thought I would have walking around this unknown city all by myself on the same day I’d married my ex-boss.
I was looking around the M&M store when my phone started vibrating in my pocket. When I pulled it out, Miranda P. flashed across the screen.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” the raspy, sleepy voice asked.
I named the store with a frown as some asshole shoved me from behind to get to the display in front of me.
Aiden cursed, and I had to pull the phone away from my face to make sure it really was him calling and not his evil twin. “Wait there,” he demanded.
“For what?” I asked just as the line went dead.
Was he coming? And had he just cussed or was I imagining it?