Inside, we were greeted by a woman in a sleek black dress who led us to a private room. No gaudy decorations or cheesy props. The only concession to Vegas kitsch was a small, tasteful arrangement of artificial white flowers on a pedestal.
"Your officiant will be with you shortly," she said with a practiced smile. "We have the marriage license prepared as you requested, Mr. de Luca. All that's needed are your signatures."
As she closed the door behind her, I turned to Rafe, sudden panic clawing at my throat. "This is insane. We can't actually do this."
"We can, and we are." His voice was gentle but firm. "The alternative is far worse for both of us."
"For you, maybe," I said, pacing the small room. "I could go back to—"
"To Santiago?" Rafe's face hardened. "You know exactly what would have happened if I hadn't intervened. Don't pretend otherwise."
Before I could respond, the door opened again, and in walked the most tasteful Elvis impersonator I'd ever seen—black jumpsuit with minimal rhinestones, hair styled in a subtle pompadour, no exaggerated accent when he greeted us.
"Mr. and soon-to-be Mrs. de Luca," he said with a warm smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. This was clearly just another job to him. "Shall we begin?"
The ceremony was mercifully brief—a stripped-down exchange of vows that felt more like a business merger than a declaration of love. I repeated the words mechanically, feeling disconnected from my own body as I promised to love and cherish a man I barely knew.
"By the power vested in me by the State of Nevada," Elvis intoned, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
My heart stuttered as Rafe stepped closer, his dark eyes locked on mine. Instead of kissing my mouth, however, he lifted my hand and brushed his lips against my knuckles, just above the new ring.
The gesture was oddly formal yet deeply intimate, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. His eyes never left mine as his lips lingered on my skin, the heat of his breath making my pulse jump.
"Congratulations," Elvis said, already moving toward the door. "The photographer will send the images to your email as requested."
And just like that, it was done. I was married. To Rafael de Luca.
"We should go," Rafe said, his hand finding the small of my back again. "The plane is waiting."
The drive back to the airport passed in a blur, my body on autopilot as my mind reeled. I kept staring at the ring on my finger—a foreign object that somehow seemed to weigh my entire hand down. Rafe made a few calls on his phone, speaking in low tones about meetings and arrangements and changes to his schedule. The business of his life continuing as if we hadn't just fundamentally altered both our existences.
Back on the jet, I curled into my seat, watching Las Vegas shrink beneath us as we climbed into the clouds. Needing something to distract me, I pulled my phone from my pocket only to find a bunch of missed calls and texts waiting for me.
I opened the first one.
Izzy:Where are you? Evie says you're not answering her calls either. Everything ok?
I stared at the message, my thumbs hovering over the screen. What could I possibly say? "Sorry, busy getting married to Rafe in Vegas. Talk later."
I shoved the device back in my pocket instead.
The flight back to New York felt both endless and too short. Rafe worked while I alternated between staring out the window and pretending to read a magazine.
As we began our descent, the reality of what came next hit me like a physical blow. We'd be heading straight to Kate and Tristan's for dinner.
Where my sister would be. Where I'd have to explain this sudden marriage to the people who knew me best.
"Maybe we shouldn't go," I said, my voice small in the quiet cabin. "To dinner, I mean. We could just... tell them tomorrow. Or next week. Or never."
Rafe looked up from his phone, his expression unreadable. "It's happening."
"But Evie…" I swallowed hard, imagining my sister's face. The disappointment. The shock. Maybe even disgust at her little sister's choices. "She's going to know something's wrong. She always knows."
"Then it's better we tell her together, on our terms, than have her find out some other way." His voice softened slightly. "I'll handle it."
Those three words somehow made it worse. Like I was a problem to be managed rather than a person with fears and feelings.
The car waiting at the private airfield was another sleek black vehicle with tinted windows. With a churning in my gut, I watched the familiar streets of New York pass by as we headed to Kate and Tristan's brownstone.
