Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(54)



When we get close, the lights turn night into day, even at a distance. Ellie jumps when a wide-belly jumbo jet roars down over our heads, on its way into the airport. We’re at the south end of town. I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard my father talk about properties he owns on the Strip, so I have a kind of mental map of it.

We need to find a place to stay.

Ellie gasps again when she spots the Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada sign with its blinking lights and crowds beneath it snapping selfies and family photos. The traffic has thickened so that I’m less driving and more letting out the clutch every couple of minutes. We’re lucky to hit ten miles an hour before the lights change. Ellie leans and twists in her seat to look around.

A truck drives past us carrying a billboard advertising half-naked women and strip clubs. Faux Elvises roam the sidewalks, throwing out cheesy karate kicks.

“What’s the plural of Elvis?” Ellie says.

“Elvii?”

She laughs and jabs her fist into my arm.

We drive from corner to corner, stopping for turning cars and huge presses of people in the crosswalks, crowds a hundred strong moving in a flow across the streets. It feels more open that Philadelphia here, but more crowded at the same time.

“Where does everybody live?” Ellie says.

“Up north in the other parts of the city,” I say, yawning. “The casinos stop pretty soon, until you get to the other gambling district. Freemont Street. My dad owns a hotel up there.”

“Where are we going to stay?”

“I guess that depends. Should we find a chapel now, or spend the night first? It’s getting late but I don’t think they keep hours.”

Ellie goes quiet for a while then takes out the phone and starts typing in a search.

“Let’s get married now,” she says.

My stomach does a back flip.

It suddenly hits me what we’re talking about here.

I’m going to make Ellie my wife. We’re getting married.

It used to be a buzzing idea in the back of my head, a surety, an understanding that we were meant to be together and this would happen. I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought people would be there, it would be a big thing. I’m practically royalty. There would be press coverage of my wedding.

I look over at her and it doesn’t matter. As long as there’s a witness and somebody to say the words, that’s all I need to bind my life to hers forever. Nobody will ever hurt her again.

She’s mine. Okay, let’s do this.

“Find a place?”

“Um, there’s this one. The Elvis Chapel?”

“Good, give us directions.”

The phone starts rattling off turns, and I take them. The tension in my stomach grows every mile, twisting into a nervous excitement. By the time I spot the place I want to start laughing.

It looks like an old Spanish mission church, but it’s clearly fake, made of stucco. I park the car and Ellie stretches, yawns, and holds my hand as we walk up to the front door.

She’s nervous, too, I can feel it. She keeps glancing at me, like she expects me to change my mind. It only fixes my determination. We’re doing this. We’re walking in to this place and walking back out husband and wife.

I jab the doorbell with my thumb and hear it buzz somewhere inside. A minute later, the King Himself opens the doors.

“Hey there,” he says in a thick, fake Elvis accent. When he spots Ellie he flinches but he doesn’t miss a beat. “Guests or bride and groom?”

“Bride and groom. Do we, um, need an appointment?”

“Nope, come on in. We’ve got a couple at the altar now, we’ll have you hitched in half an hour. Plenty of time to get dressed. You need rings?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Good, we’re a full-service chapel. Come on in. Who’s paying?”

“I am.”

“Okay, you come with me. Little girl, you go with Miss Marilyn.”

I shit you not, Marilyn Monroe—or rather, someone who looks so much like her that it’s downright eerie—walks up in a full on Diamonds are a Girl’s Best Friend ensemble and leads Ellie away as she stares back at me.

Meanwhile, Elvis beckons me toward a dressing room. “You, my friend, need a tuxedo.”





Ellie





Marilyn Monroe leads me down a hallway to a dressing room. Once we’re inside, she turns around and eyes me. I can’t stop staring. She looks like the real deal.

“Where’s Jack?”

“Elvis is helping him get ready. We need to worry about you. I have a little time to do your hair, too. Let’s get you into a wedding dress. I’ll step out while you change.”

“Don’t you need to know my size?”

“It’s adjustable. You get to keep it, don’t worry. There’s some sexy wedding lingerie in the drawers, too. Put on whatever you want, they’ll send your hubby the bill. I’ll be right outside, just knock when you’re ready.”

Before I can even say anything she steps out and the door closes.

As she said, there’s a wedding dress on the rack behind me. It’s sleeveless and the back is done up with laces, like a corset, so it can be adjusted to fit me. I strip out of my clothes, lay them over the chair, and reach for the dress.

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