She supposed that was why she was marrying him.
“Welcome, lovebirds.” A man in a blinding white-and-gold costume and a slicked-back black wig approached them as they entered the chapel. “Let’s make you less lonesome tonight, shall we? Would you like to go for the full package?”
“What’s that?” Jason asked.
“Ceremony, flowers, wreaths, confetti, a photo to commemorate the event, and we’ll add a golden border to your certificate.” The Elvis impersonator flicked a rebellious lock of hair off his eyes.
Jason looked at her.
“Perfect,” Shanna said. “Hitch us up, Elvis!”
They both laughed; Elvis joined in with a deep rumble, the perfect imitation of the King.
An assistant cleared the altar of rubbish from the previous ceremony, and boxes of rose petals and confetti were brought in while Shanna and Jason were pulled to the side to do the paperwork.
“Wait,” Shanna drawled. “We can’t sign it like this!”
“What?” Jason asked.
“We’ll see each other’s names!”
“Oh, right,” he drawled in a similar manner of a belayed realization.
Shanna turned to Elvis. “Can we write our names and signatures on a piece of paper, and then you put them on the certificate?”
“Sure, baby,” Elvis said, as if the request was nothing out of the ordinary.
Next, the assistant helped Shanna put on a pretty flower wreath, looking like daisies but smelling of roses, and then she was led to the altar, where Jason was waiting, holding back a grin. The bright overhead light brought out gold strands in his copper hair.
She took her place next to him under an ostentatious flower arch.
“Dearly beloved. Love is something you either have or don’t have, but when you have it, you have it all over,” Elvis said. “Today, we join in love …” He glanced at her and Jason, then at the two assistants serving as witnesses. “This unnamed woman and this unnamed man.”
Shanna caught Jason’s eyes, shining with mirth, and grinned. Her head felt fuzzy—she’d never drunk three cocktails in oneevening before—but it was a pleasant kind of fuzziness; one that protected, rather than impeded.
“Do you, unnamed woman, take this man to be your husband and promise to love him tender?”
“I do,” she said.
“And do you, unnamed man, take this woman to be your wife and promise to love her sweet?”
Jason revealed a line of perfect white teeth. “I do.”
“Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the lovely lady!” Elvis let out a deep chuckle. “Thank you, thank you very much!”
Amidst blaring celebratory music, a shower of golden confetti descended upon them. They caught in Jason’s hair as he approached, pausing a few inches away from her.
“May I?”
She nodded and tilted her head up. Her last thought was,I hope those cocktails gave me nice breath, before his lips descended to hers in the slightest brush. He paused, enveloping her lower lip, but not moving—and somehow, it felt perfect; just enough and not too much, like the sweetness of piña colada and the spiciness of a firecracker. They remained, lips meeting and noses brushing, in a little pocket of frozen time, with no past behind her and no tomorrow existing.
“Pictures!” someone shouted, and Jason moved away. The camera flashed, catching them hugging and smiling underneath the arch.
“We’ll get that printed for you and prepare the certificate,” Elvis said. “Meanwhile, you can check out the gift shop.” He nodded toward the door to the side. “And once you’re done, you can leave your feedback on the screen down there.” He pointed to a corner of the chapel where a staircase led out, and winked at Shanna. “If you’re happy with the ceremony, I’ve been Ricardo. If not, my name is Michel.”
“I suppose we visit the shop,” Jason said.
Shanna unleashed Jinx from the last row of pews, and they checked out the tiny gift shop—barely above a market stall—where they laughed over jewelry until Shanna picked out a tacky golden locket in the shape of a heart, and Jason bought it for her. Afterward, still waiting for their picture and certificate to come in, they sat on the stairs. The bright lights of the chapel didn’t reach this far, leaving them in pleasant, subdued twilight, even if the view was limited to the featureless hallway leading back to the hotel.
