Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
The chapel—if you can call it that—is done in cheetah print, with sequined curtains and a whole wall of paper flowers behind the officiant’s glittering pink podium.
Our officiant is a bubbly, red-haired woman in a pink suit with a rainbow fedora.
“Look at you boys,” she says, sounding like a proud mom.
I see her eyes fix on Luke’s face and hope she doesn’t recognize him. If she does, she doesn’t say so. She just smiles—white teeth and red lipstick—and says, “Stand close together. Cheek-to-cheek.”
She holds up a Polaroid camera, and I laugh as she snaps the shot.
“We’ll have to do before and after. See how these vows change you.” She wiggles her brows, and Luke chuckles. I can tell he’s nervous, but as we face one another, clasping hands and looking into one another’s eyes, I feel him settle.
“Like the boat,” I tell him quietly.
“I know,” he mouths.
We’ve already done this. We’ve already said our private vows and made our promises. Still, it’s kind of fun to do it in a Vegas chapel. I try to stamp the precise tenor of Luke’s voice as he says, “I do” into my brain. So I can remember it forever.
When I say it to him, I squeeze his hands.
We kiss soft and deep, but not too long, and when we pull away, the officiant snaps another picture.
Then she fans herself. “That was just pure romance,” she says.
Luke looks slightly embarrassed, but he grins, and I do, too.
“Flowers for each,” she says, turning around. Turns out, the paper flowers on the wall are ones she pins on dudes’ lapels.
Luke’s is pale blue. Mine is purple.
She takes one more picture. “Just a backup,” she laughs.
Then she leads us to another wall, along the right, that’s lined with…bubble gum machines?
“You each get a ring.”
She hands us each a quarter, and I’m laughing my ass off as Luke feeds his into a red machine, and I put mine in a yellow one. We open the plastic eggs together and hold up our rings. Luke’s is a yellow band, topped with a flat, rubber smilie emoji. Mine is more bendy, like the Halloween spider rings, but with roses on it.
“That’s romantic.” He gives me a crooked little grin. Then he brushes his lips over my temple.
That’s when I hear whispers.
Sky and I turn around in tandem, and my first thought is whose ass do I need to kick?
The back of the room—the area that opens to the outside via two wide, double doors—is packed with people, craning over each other’s heads to get a better look at us.
A big guy in an Elvis-style suit, clearly chapel staff, waves the crowd back. “Step outside,” he says gruffly. “Limited capacity.”
As he sets up a velvet barricade rope to keep them away from us, I hear someone hiss the words “McDowell” and “drunk.”
Luke looks up. "Never been more sober,” he says loudly. “Or more happy.”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Take a picture,” he says, smiling like he means it.
I kiss his cheek, and everybody cheers, holding their phones up to get pictures. Then Luke’s leading me toward a countertop I hadn’t even noticed, hidden behind a partial wall. The crowd murmurs in disappointment as we move behind it. I blink at the wall’s neon tiles, wondering if Luke is safe here. They seemed happy. Festive.
“V, you okay?”
I blink, finding Sky’s hands cupped around my upper arms.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “I’m great.”
“Don’t be worried,” he murmurs.
“I’m not worried,” I say softly.
I wrap an arm around him, and the man behind the counter passes us some paperwork. We sign it—marriage sorts of stuff—and when we’re done, he bangs a plastic gavel on the countertop, giving us a jovial grin.
"I now pronounce you…husband and husband!" He waves his arm with flourish. “Hey, are you that pastor?” he asks quietly, widening his eyes.
Luke cocks an eyebrow, giving the guy a deadpan look. “Who’s asking?”
The guy mimes the Home Alone scream, with both hands to his cheeks. “Oh my god, can you sign something? My arm?” He holds out a permanent marker, and Luke slips into poker-face mode—which means he thinks this guy is nutty.
“I can sign a sheet of paper if you’d rather,” Luke says.
“That, too! Please and thank you.”
Sky does both.
“My boyfriend’s gonna die! I hope you’ll welcome him in heaven,” he teases. The guy laughs—an excited cackle—and Sky’s eyes widen in response. “I’m hoping I’m not there for a while longer.”
We say bye to the paperwork dude, and he shows us out a back door. Luke takes my hand and half jogs down the narrow alley. His fingers squeeze mine so hard it makes the plastic ring pinch my skin. When we’re in a dark spot between two lights, I push him up against the wall and kiss him like I’ve wanted to since we said “I do.”