“Fine,” she says brightly. “We’ll take the sparkly ones.”
Gary beams like he just closed a real estate deal.
He hands us the ringbox with two outrageously shiny rings.
“Okay, Gary, ah—Elvis, I mean,” I correct myself with a solemn nod, “please do your godly given duty now and marry me to this beautiful lady here.” I trail off, trying to remember something important. “To this lady, called Sunshine,” I add triumphantly when I remember her name.
Gary huffs. “Her name is Talia.”
I look at my fiancé. “Talia? Is that your name?”
“It sure is.”
“That’s beautiful,” I whisper reverently.
She folds her arms. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes, just like you.” I squint at her, my vision hazy.
Gary flips open a laminated booklet that has definitely seen more divorces than anniversaries. “Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”
He gestures for us to stand in front of him.
We shuffle into position, facing each other.
The chapel is tiny. There’s fake stained glass. A plastic bouquet zip-tied to the wall. A speaker in the corner quietly playing instrumentalCan’t Help Falling in Love.
This is insane.
This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
I try very hard not to lose it.
“Sir,” Gary says, solemn as a man wearing sideburns glued to his face can possibly be, “repeat after me.”
I glance at Talia.
She looks nervous. Thrilled. Drunk. Radiant.
My pulse kicks.
Gary waits.
“Okay,” I say.
And I don’t think about tomorrow.
I look at the woman in the yellow dress.
“Let’s do this.”
2
TALIA
I Do
Coming to Vegas was an act of rebellion—a quiet, desperate escape from the empty house I share with my dad. Alone.
