A Beautiful Wedding (Beautiful, #2.5)(14)

“You’re stunning. My name is Chantilly, and I’ll be one of your witnesses. Let me take your things. I’ll put them away, and they’ll be safe until you’re finished.”

“Thank you,” I said, watching her take away my purse. Something swished when she walked, though I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly. “Oh, wait! The . . .” I said, watching as she walked toward me holding out my purse. “Travis’s ring is in there. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were barely slits when she smiled, making her fake lashes even more noticeable. “It’s fine, honey. Just breathe.”

“I don’t remember how,” I said, sliding his ring over my thumb.

“Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “Give me your ring and his. I’ll give them to each of you when it’s time. Elvis will be by shortly to take you down the aisle.”

I looked at her, blank faced. “Elvis.”

“As in The King?”

“Yes, I know who Elvis is, but . . .” My words trailed away as I pulled off my ring with a small tug, and placed it in her palm next to Travis’s ring.

Chantilly smiled. “You can use this room to freshen up. Travis is waiting, so Elvis will be knocking any minute. See you at the end of the aisle!”

She watched me as she shut the door. I turned, startled by my own reflection in the huge mirror behind me. It was bordered by large, round lights like one an actress might use before a Broadway show. I sat down at the vanity, staring at myself in the mirror. Is that what I was? An actress?

He was waiting. Travis is at the end of the aisle, waiting for me to join him so we can promise the rest of our lives to each other.

What if my plan doesn’t work? What if he goes to prison and this was all for nothing? What if they didn’t so much as sniff in Travis’s direction, and this was all pointless? I no longer had the excuse that I had gotten married, before I was even legal to drink, because I was saving him. Did I need an excuse if I loved him? Why did anyone get married? For love? We had that in spades. I was so sure of everything in the beginning. I used to be sure about a lot things. I didn’t feel sure now. About anything.

I thought about the look on Travis’s face if he found out the truth, and then I thought about what bailing would do to him. I never wanted him to hurt and I needed him as if he were a part of me. Of those two things I was sure.

Two knocks on the door nearly sent me into a panic attack. I turned, gripping the top of the chair back. It was white wire, swirls and curves formed a heart in the middle.

“Miss?” Elvis said in a deep, southern voice. “It’s time.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. I don’t know why. He couldn’t hear me.

“Abby? Your hunka hunka burnin’ love is ready for ya.”

I rolled my eyes. “I just . . . need a minute.”

The other side of the door was quiet. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” I said. “Just one minute, please.”

After a few more minutes, there was another knock on the door. “Abby?” It was Chantilly. “Can I come in, honey?”

“No. I’m sorry, but no. I’ll be okay. I just need a little more time, and I’ll be ready.”

After another five minutes, three knocks on the door caused beads of sweat to form along my hairline. These knocks were familiar. Stronger. More confident.

“Pidge?”





CHAPTER SEVEN


Cash


Travis


The door blew open. “She’s here! I just showed her to a dressing room to freshen up. Are you ready?”

“Yeah!” I said, jumping to my feet. I wiped my sweaty palms on my slacks and followed Chantilly out to the hallway, and into the lobby. I stopped.

“This way, honey,” Chantilly said, encouraging me toward the double doors that led into the chapel.

“Where is she?” I asked.

Chantilly pointed. “In there. As soon as she’s ready, we’ll get started. But, you have to be at the other end of the aisle, sugar.”

Her smile was sweet and patient. I imagined she dealt with all kinds of situations, from drunks to jitters. After one last look at the door to Abby’s room, I followed Chantilly down the aisle and she gave me the rundown on where to stand. While she was talking, a man with thick chops and an Elvis costume pushed open the door in grandiose fashion, curling his lips and humming “Blue Hawaii.”

“Man, I really like Vegas! You like Vegas?” he said, his Elvis impression spot-on.

I grinned. “Today I do.”

“Can’t ask for better than that! Has Ms. Chantilly told you everything you need to know to be a mister this mornin’?”

“Yeah. I think.”

He slapped my back. “No worries, fella, you’re gonna do just fine. I’ll go get your missus. Be back in a flash.”

Chantilly giggled. “Oh, that Elvis.” After a couple of minutes, Chantilly checked her watch, and then walked back down the aisle toward the double doors.

“This happens all the time,” the officiant assured me.

After another five minutes, Chantilly popped her head through the doors. “Travis? I think she’s a little . . . nervous. Do you want to try to talk to her?”

Fuck. “Yeah,” I said. The aisle seemed short before, but now it felt like a mile. I pushed through the doors, and raised my fist. I paused, took a breath, and then knocked a few times. “Pidge?”