"What did I sing?" I asked, hoping he might remember the song so I could give an impromptu performance to my husband.
But Fake Liberace's eyebrows creased together. "No, it was you”—he pointed to Sloan— "who wouldn't stop singing for the whole ceremony. Oh, we laughed and laughed."
Now, Sloan's eyebrows dropped. "There's no way?—"
"What did he sing?" I asked, before Sloan could finish his sentence. "I have to know what his song was."
Liberace gestured widely as he said, "He kept singing about me feeling it, and you feeling it, and putting on lipstick."
I turned to the rockers in the audience. "Anyone know?"
Everyone shook their heads in unison.
"Do you remember the tune?" I asked, losing some hope since it wasn't something easy to recall, likeViva Las VegasorLove Me Tender.
Fake Liberace started humming. and?—
"Lady Gaga'sManicuresong," Bax said with a chin jerk to Sloan. "Nice choice."
"I don't know that song," Sloan said. "I swear I don't know that song."
Bax sang the melody, the other Dimefront guys getting in on it for a few bars.
"Drunk Sloan clearly knows more music than sober Sloan," I said, blinking innocently.
Sloan stared at the audience, then at me when they paused singing.
"I've never heard that before in my life," he assured.
"That isn't true," Liberace said, pointing his finger toward Bax. "We both know the truth." Fake Liberace winked at Sloan, his mischievous eyes twinkling. "Shall we proceed with the ceremony?"
Sloan nodded, a grin playing on his lips. "Please and thank you."
I smiled up at him, a surge of love and excitement settling in my heart as I got to experience a wedding ceremony I'd actually get to remember this time.
We did the "Do yous?" and the "I dos" and there was an impromptu performance by our officiant before he got to the "Kiss her" part.
The whole time, Sloan and I grinned like we'd both had two of those yardstick margaritas.
"And now, by the power vested in me… well, not really, but let's pretend," Fake Liberace said with a laugh. "I now pronounce you husband and wife… again."
"Mine," Sloan said.
"That's exactly what you said last time, too!" Fake Liberace clapped, but I had stopped paying attention to him when Sloan pulled me in for a sweet kiss, sealing our union… again. This time, we did it in front of our closest friends in a night no one would forget.
We marched down the aisle with Liberace on our heels. Sloan paused to give Elliott a smack on the back.
Liberace paused and glanced at Angela—tossing her an odd look with his eyebrows furrowed. Then he glanced at Elliott. Again, same look.
Then he snapped his fingers, smiled, and nodded like he knew something he wasn't supposed to share.
I made a mental note to ask Angela about that later. Then I mentally underlined it three times.
We headed to the after-party at the ARIA, where I’d reserved a four-tier cake and a pasta bar with all six kinds of sauces. I’d even booked a jazz band, like I’d always wanted for my wedding.
But Sloan paused in front of the M&M Store.
So much—so, so, so much—had happened since we saw the guy who played Tarzan here a year ago.
