When I Was Yours(69)

I push the door to the chapel open and stand aside, letting Evie through first.

Hand in hand, we walk up to the unattended reception desk. I press the bell on the desk, and “White Wedding” by Billy Idol starts to play loudly.

That’s…different.

I glance to Evie and then roll my eyes to the ceiling. She giggles softly.

Out of all the wedding songs there is, Idol’s seems to be a weird song choice to play at a chapel, considering Billy Idol’s talking about his little sister’s shotgun wedding—unless they fully promote shotgun weddings here.

I glance around, taking the place in a little more. When we came here earlier, I was still high on the excitement that Evie had agreed to marry me. It was the first chapel we’d seen, and we booked with them.

I didn’t really bother to take a good look around. Maybe I should have.

This place is…well, it looks like an actual rock band resides here. There are guitars hanging on the walls. Some appear to be signed. And there are pictures of famous rock bands.

Don’t get me wrong. There are wedding-themed things here, lots of it in fact, but it all looks…kind of heavy-metal themed.

Okay.

I probably should have paid more attention earlier or maybe even properly registered the name of the chapel—The Love Rocks Hard Wedding Chapel.

Massive clue there, Gunner.

But I just thought it meant, you know, love rocks hard because it does. Well, with Evie, it does anyway.

“So, this place is a little…different,” I whisper to Evie.

She looks up at me, unfazed. “Hmm…you didn’t get that when we came here earlier?”

I shake my head. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“You’re silly.” She giggles, her eyes bright. Then, her expression drops. “Do you…not want to get married here? Because—”

“No. I do,” I quickly say. “I will marry you anywhere, Evie Taylor Soon-to-Be Gunner, literally anywhere.”

Her expression softens on me. “Good, Adam Gunner, soon-to-be my husband. But we can go somewhere else if you really want. I just thought you were okay with this place, so I was.”

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“No. I just want to marry you as soon as possible. And I can do that here, so I’m golden.” She gives me a smile filled with love.

And I get that tight warm feeling in my chest that I always get when she looks at me this way.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.” A high-pitched voice comes into my ears.

I turn from Evie to see a middle-aged woman with a Suzi Quatro hairstyle dressed in…well, a leather dress. She bustles through the door behind the reception desk. “There was an incident with leather pants and baby powder, but you don’t need to hear about that.” She laughs loudly, beaming a big smile at us. “You’re Adam and Evie, right? Our six o’clock?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Evie says.

“Oh, honey, don’t call me ma’am. I’m Trixie. And it’s lovely to meet you both. Now, if you’ll follow me to our pre-wedding rock room, we’ll quickly go over the details and then move on to getting you two married.”

Pre-wedding rock room? Seriously? What the hell have I brought my girl into?

We follow Trixie into a medium-size room that’s decorated exactly the same as the reception area with a small table in the middle and fours chairs around it. “November Rain” by Guns N’ Roses is playing quietly in the background.

For f*ck’s sake.

I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I have nothing against rock music. I actually like some old rock songs. I just didn’t envision marrying Evie to the sounds of a Slash guitar solo.

I sit down beside Evie, and Trixie takes a seat opposite us.

“So, I just need a few things from you.” Trixie opens a folder up. “You’ve gone for the basic package, correct?”

“That’s right,” Evie answers.

I wanted the most expensive package, only the best for my girl—well, under the circumstances. But Evie said we didn’t need the singing-and-dancing package, which literally did include singing and dancing, courtesy of an impersonator of our choice—well, a choice from the small list of impersonators they had.

I wish we had gone for that package now. It might have given me an idea as to the style of this place.

Trixie is flicking through the papers. “And Porsha had you sign all the necessary forms. You’ve already paid for your marriage license.”

I’m guessing Porsha was the woman who took our booking this morning.

“And your bouquet has pink and white flowers, correct?” Trixie checks with Evie.

“Yes,” Evie answers with a smile.

She looks at me with that smile still on her face, and my chest grows warm. Her smile gets me every single time.

She curls her hand around my arm, and I rest my hand over hers.

“My husband, Ike”—God, I hope she doesn’t mean Turner—“will perform your ceremony. He’s a minister,” she says proudly.

I’m going to reserve the right to pass judgment on Ike—possibly Turner—until I’ve met the guy.

“Now, you kids are going to need a song to walk down the aisle to. Do you have a song already in mind? Bear in mind, we don’t have all that hip-hop or R and B rap music you kids are all listening to at the moment. Then again, I guess you figured that out when you booked the place.”