Page 71

“Last chance to back out, you know. You’re sure you want to do this?”

I look down at the slowly dying flower ring still clinging on, somehow surviving the day.

The idea of getting married in some tacky Vegas chapel to a man who stalked me for months hadn’t exactly been in any life plan I’d ever made.

But then again, neither was murder.

Or being the suspect of a manhunt.

In the grand chaos that has become my existence, this moment makes complete sense.

“I don’t know what tomorrow looks like,” I admit, brushing the hair the wind had whipped in my face away. “But I know you’re all I’ve got left.”

He reaches over, squeezing that same spot on my leg.

“That’s more than enough for me, darling.”

* * *

We park just off the Strip in a cracked parking lot that reeks of dumpster and stale beer. Vegas rises around us in all its ridiculous, surreal glory; Elvis impersonators, wedding chapels competing for business with gaudy signs promising ‘instant matrimony’.

The first one we stumble on is decorated how I imagine someone in a fever dream would. Pink shag carpet, plastic rose garlands hanging at sad angles, and a receptionist with bleached hair teased into a gravity-defying sculpture. Her rhinestone name tag reads ‘Drew’ in cursive, and her smile is as artificial as everything else in this place.

“Welcome to the Stairway to Vows Chapel!” she chirps in a tone that could shatter glass. “Are you two lovebirds looking to tie the knot today?”

“Yes,” Preston answers, no uncertainty, his arm sliding around my waist possessively. “Now, if possible.”

Drew’s smile stretches wider as she flips through a bedazzled appointment book.

“Oh, how romantic! We have a ten-minute slot opening up right after our 3:30 booking. Just fill out these forms while they finish up, and we’ll have you hitched before you can say ‘this isn’t staying in Vegas’.”

I smirk, taking the papers and sitting in vinyl chairs that squeak with every slight movement. The questions seem simple enough, but each blank line feels like a trap. Do I need to put a fake last name or take the risk of using my real one? We’re so close to reaching Preston’s mini yacht, so close to disappearing forever. It feels worth the gamble to make this marriage legal and binding.

My insides vibrate as I write down my real name, the pen scratching against the thin paper. When we hand the forms back to Drew, she barely glances at them, too busy inputting other information into her computer.

It doesn’t take long for the officiant to step into the room, and when he does, heat rises.

He’s tall and gaunt, probably late 50s with a shiny bald head. He sports a white suit that’s certainly been kept pristine since the 90s. His name tag says ‘Reverend Rick’ in the same cursive font as Drew’s, but there’s nothing holy about the way his pale eyes sweep over us, lingering on Preston’s face with an intensity that sits wrong.

“Well, well.” He claps his hands together with theatrical enthusiasm. “Let’s get these sweethearts married, shall we?”

There’s something off about his tone; a knowingness. Preston notices it too. I can feel the protective tension emanating as we follow Rick into the tiny chapel room after he grabs the clipboard with our information.

The space is a masterpiece in tackiness. Faux stained glass windows that cast colored shadows, a velvet-lined altar that looks like it belongs in a bordello, and two pews on each side.

“Rings?” Rick asks, though his tone suggests he already knows the answer.

We both shake our heads, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, well, love is all you need.”

The ceremony begins, but I can’t focus on Rick and his energy. His eyes keep darting between us, studying our faces as if he’s trying to put together a particularly difficult puzzle. I find myself looking for a quick exit, figuring out how quickly we could get out of here if things go awry, even as I say my ‘I do’s’. Preston’s gaze, however, never falters. It stays locked on me.

When Rick finally gets to the end of his shortened script, his voice takes on a theatrical boom that makes me jump. “By the power invested in me and the great state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride!”

I don’t hesitate, even through the nervousness that drowns me. Preston’s lips meet mine, softly, and for a moment it all disappears. The kiss is a promised future; it’s a goodbye to the past and a hello to a brand new life. It steadies me, reminding me that somehow, impossibly so, we’re still here.

Rick claps slowly as we part; the sound vibrates my eardrums.

“And there we have it, ladies and gentlemen—though I suppose it’s just us in here—Mr. And Mrs. Grant. May your love be as eternal as Vegas itself.”