His smile faded, but not in a bad way; more like he was about to tell the truth. “I don’t want anybody else. There is no other woman in the world for me.”
My heart stuttered a little. He said it like it was simple, like it was already decided.
“Thank you for holding me down. You could have anybody, but you’re still here.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine. “That’s ‘cause you’re my anybody. And I’ll be right here when you walk out.”
I nodded, fighting the sting in my eyes. “I know.”
No matter how long I had left in this place, Priest had already made me feel free.
AALIYAH
I don’t think I’d ever laughed that hard in my life. My heels clicked unevenly against the Vegas strip as Fabe and I stumbled down the sidewalk, holding on to each other for balance. Neon lights blurred above us. We were sweating because the air was hot and dry, even at four in the morning.
I hadn’t been on vacation in years, and I had never been to Vegas. I’d gone full tourist mode the second we checked into the hotel. I’d been acting like it was my birthday instead of his.
We’d partied at Drai’s all night and finished two bottles between just the two of us. My head was spinning, my feet hurt, and I couldn’t stop smiling.
As we turned a corner, I stopped suddenly, tugging on Fabe’s hand. “Oh my God, look!”
He turned his head. “At what?”
I pointed across the street. The lights of a tiny white building glowed against the night. The neon sign blinked “Elvis Weddings—Open 24 Hours”.
“Oh my God, it’s one of those crazy Vegas chapels,” Islurred, giggling. “I’m finally seeing one in real life! Let’s go inside. I just wanna see it.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “You drunk as hell.”
“And you not?” I shot back, wobbling on my heels.
“Touché.”
We crossed the street, half-stumbling, half-laughing, until we made it to the front doors. Inside, the place was even more ridiculous than I expected, but in the best way. Everything was red velvet and gold trim. There were plastic flowers everywhere, a sparkly white piano in the corner, and a cardboard cutout of Elvis by the front desk.
“Oh my God, this is so tacky,” I said, spinning around slowly. “Iloveit.”
A man in a powder-blue suit and a pompadour wig, clearly the “Elvis” of the operation, walked over to us with a grin as bright as the sign outside.
“Well, well,” he greeted with a deep and theatrical voice. “You two look like a couple in love. You here to get married?”
I laughed so hard I almost lost my balance. “Yes!” I said, holding up my hand dramatically. “Marry us, Elvis!”
Fabe was cracking up beside me.
Then, still giggling, I dropped to one knee right there on the red carpet and grabbed his hand. “Fabe…” I said through my laughter, drunkenly tilting over. “Will you marry me?”
He laughed, shaking his head, but said, “Yes, baby.”
I squealed, still laughing as he helped me back to my feet. But when I looked up, his face had changed. His smile softened and his eyes were focused in a way that sobered me up a little.
He took both my hands, squeezing them. “I’m serious.”
I blinked slowly. “About what?”
He leaned closer, still holding my hands. “I’m serious. We should get married.”
I stared at him, heart pounding against my ribs. “You’re drunk. You don’t mean that.”
