Silver Shadows (Bloodlines, #5)(98)

… and time as I knew it suddenly froze.

I’d meant it when I’d told her to get whatever she wanted. I didn’t care. She really could’ve shown up at the altar in a teal T-shirt, and I would’ve married her with my heart full of love. That being said, I’d had a few ideas of what kind of dress she’d go with. Something modest, say with long lace sleeves, was my biggest guess. Or maybe one of those simple kinds with a short-sleeved top that had no extra embellishment. She was Sydney, after all. I expected pragmatism from her.

What I didn’t expect was old Hollywood glamor. The dress wrapped around her snuggly, showing a body that in no way looked too skinny, with folds of organza and crystal beaded embellishment. Just below her hips, it flared out mermaid style in a burst of tulle that was also decorated with scattered embellishment. Only one delicate lace-and-crystal strap rested on her shoulder; the other shoulder was bare. Her hair, with its new extra length, had been swept into a simple updo with a crystal comb holding it into place at the back of her head, with a long, sheer veil trailing from it. Sparkling, dangling earrings were her only jewelry, and some masterful makeup artist had covered up all signs of her recent fatigue—and her golden lily—without making it look excessive. It was perfect.

She was perfect. Radiant. Glorious. A vision.

“I feel like I should be on my knees again,” I said in a small voice.

She gave me a nervous smile and ran a hand over the glittering dress. “Just tell me you can afford all this, because I might take back what I said about going with the T-shirt.”

“I can afford it,” I said, still awestruck by her beauty.

She gave me a small nudge. “Then you’d better get dressed.”

The consultant was happy to show me to a dressing room, happier still when she saw my money. The tux they’d picked out was classic and elegant, double-breasted and black. The consultant made sure I wanted to buy it, rather than rent it, and I reassured her I did. Renting would’ve required a credit card, and I wanted to use mine as little as possible, since that provided a trail. The more I could do in cash, the better.

Sydney’s eyes shone when I stepped out of the dressing room. I felt paltry next to her brilliance, but she assured me I looked amazing. The consultant helped pin a white peony to my jacket, and I noticed Sydney was carrying a small bouquet of pink ones in one hand. In her other hand, she held the two bags we’d been juggling since coming to Nevada, and now I had more to add to the collection. We managed to consolidate them all into one bag before leaving the store, and she gave the wine-store bag a puzzled glance.

“What’s that for?”

“Our honeymoon,” I said.

“I figured that’s what the drugstore bag was for,” she remarked.

“That too,” I promised.

We finished up the last of our payment and then walked out hand in hand, completing the last bit of our journey by foot. Our destination was the Firenze, a new hotel with an Italian theme that this shopping complex connected to. I could tell Sydney was a little self-conscious walking through the crowds in her wedding finery, but that was by no means an uncommon sight in Las Vegas. People smiled as we passed, and many congratulated us. It did, perhaps, attract more attention than we wanted, but I kind of liked pretending all the people we passed were guests attending our wedding. That, and I was more than a little proud to show off the gorgeous bride at my side.

Just as we reached the Firenze’s entrance, a new text came in from Jill. I read it and found a big smile spreading over my face. “What is it?” asked Sydney.

“Wait and see,” I said. “We just got a major wedding present.”

The Firenze, like most big Las Vegas resorts, had a section of wedding chapels, and I led Sydney to them through the casino. A nervous-looking man in a hotel uniform paced the wing and came to a halt when he saw us.

“Are you Adrian?” he asked.

“I sure am.”

He looked relieved. “Okay, you’ve got ten minutes to get in and out before I’m in big trouble. There’s a big party that’s got this reserved, and they’ll start showing up soon.”

“That’s all the time we need,” I told him, handing over a stack of cash.

“Right this way,” he said, beckoning us to a door marked TUSCAN CHAPEL. He opened it for us.

Sydney gave me an amazed look. “You bribed our way into a wedding?”

“The good places book up in advance, even in Las Vegas.” I gestured her inside. “This was the only way I could get you to Italy.”

She stepped inside and laughed, looking around with delight. The chapel was small, designed to hold about fifty people, and was painted with an American idea of Italian grandeur. Murals on the walls depicted fields of grapes, while the domed ceiling was covered in angels. An abundance of gold trim throughout the room questioned good taste, but I could tell from her shining eyes that it didn’t matter.

At the front of the room was a podium decked with flowers. An officiant stood behind it, with one of the hotel’s staff photographers hovering nearby. I owed them money too. The guy who’d let us in worked for the wedding reservation desk, and I’d essentially had to do some fast talking over the phone earlier today, promising to make this illicit affair worth his while if he could get us a room and the appropriate personnel. We set our bags on an empty pew and started to approach the official when I remembered something.