Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense) (20 page)

“Okay, from here, Vegas. We get married and then head to the Pacific for our honeymoon. I have no idea where.”

“We’ll figure that out,” she says, trying to sound cheerful. She doesn’t really pull it off.

I lean over and give her a kiss on the forehead. The sun is going down. It’s time to go.

“Another hour or so to Vegas.”

Ellie nods. “Let’s get going, huh?”

In the car, we both yawn. Ellie puts her head on my shoulder but doesn’t sleep. The light fades out as we drive, and the terrain flattens from the rocky hills to wide open plains. Desert.

Ellie sits up and gasps.

It’s clear as a bell tonight, but Vegas lights up the sky from below in a multicolored show, pinks and blues and purples, and there’s a haze around the lights on the ground, like a crazy psychedelic sunrise.

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.

Then I stop and open the drawers.

I step out of my underwear and set it on the side chair with my clothes, and avoid looking at myself in the mirror as I go through the lingerie in the drawers.

I find a lacy white thong in my size and pull it on. Unable to resist, I stand back and twist a little so I can see how it looks on, or rather exposing, my butt.

I feel kinda sexy.

As I adjust it I realize the front is split, for, um, access. I smirk to myself as I figure out how to put on a garter belt, having never worn one before, and white silk stockings. From the drawer I choose a lacy strapless bra that will work with the dress, then take it down and step into it, pulling it up to my chest. It won’t stay up and I can’t do up the laces myself, so I have no choice but to knock on the door.

Marilyn comes back and starts lacing me up without a beat. I suck in a breath as the dress tightens around my stomach.

I… I have cleavage. I haven’t worn a dress like this, well, ever. The scar on the upper part of my chest is visible, but I can’t stop staring at my boobs.

“You look great, honey.”

“You’re just saying that.”

She sighs. “I’ve been through this before. You do look great. Worried about your guy?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

I sigh. “Jack.”

Marilyn guides me to another chair and starts brushing out my hair. “Too bad I have to do a rush job, you have such lovely auburn hair. Would look great with a little more red in it. I’m going to braid it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, your Jack is a keeper, trust me. I’ve worked here for five years. I’ve seen more weddings than half a dozen priests do in their whole lifetime. I know if it’s real or not, trust me. He’s got that look.”

“What look?”

“See these?” she pokes her ample cleavage from the side, making her breasts jiggle. “He didn’t even take one look. When they look it’s going to go bad. I just know.”

I start to smile. She’s finished tying my hair in a loose braid and helps me with the veil.

“We don’t have rings.”

“We’ll take care of that. He’s getting in a tux right now. Here’s your bouquet.”

She sets it in my lap and I grab it, squeezing the stems tightly in my hand. It’s plastic, I realize, sprayed with something to make it smell flowery.

“I’ll be right back,” she says. “Sit tight, or pace. Either one is fine.”

I opt for pacing. I practice that slow walk brides are supposed to do. I look at myself in the mirror with a veil over my face. I start to tremble.

I want to be with Jack forever but I wanted more than this.

I want what I can’t have. I want my mom and dad to be here. To see me walk down the aisle and stand with Jack and be bound to him until death do us part. I want what my life should have been.

My uneasiness grows when Marilyn comes back for me. She knocks first then opens the door and leads me up to the altar.

The wedding will be performed by Elvis.

Not the one at the door, another one. Evidently the first one will be standing in for my father. Another one will be Jack’s best man, and Marilyn is my maid of honor. A smattering of Elvii and some strangers sit in the pews in the chapel. A pair of them are the couple that came before us, I think.

Then Jack comes out with an Elvis trailing him. He stops when he sees me, and his jaw drops. I suck in a breath and I can’t let it out.

No, this isn’t a mistake. This is right. Best Man Elvis almost has to stop Jack running up to the altar. He walks up and stands opposite me, and Elvis…Priest Elvis props open a thick volume on his hands.

“Dearly beloved,” he booms in his perfect accent, “we are gathered here today to join Jack Marshall and Ellie Roberts in holy matrimony.”

He looks around. “If anyone here should have reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

We stand nervously for a few seconds, and then he goes on.

“Have you the rings?”

Jack fishes one out of his pocket and drops it into my right hand. I have to pin the bouquet against my chest with my bad hand. Marilyn quickly snatches it from me and winks.

“Jack, do you take this woman to be your wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to seek comfort from no other but her, and keep her first in your heart, so long as both of you shall live?”

“Yes.”

“Jack, place the ring on the third finger of her left…right hand.”

I start to shake as Jack takes my hand. I turn my palm up so I don’t drop his ring, and he slips mine onto my finger.

“Ellie, do you take this man to be your wedded husband, and do all the stuff I just said?”

“I do.”

“Ring.”

I slip the ring on Jack’s hand.

“You may kiss the—”

Elvis hasn’t even finished his sentence by the time Jack pulls me into his arms, yanks the veil away, and kisses me. Hard. A chest-fluttering, knee-buckling, I-can-barely-breathe kiss.

“Easy now, save the honeymoon for the hotel room.”

He holds his hands above our heads.

“What has been joined together today, let no man put asunder. Pictures!”

Another Elvis runs out with a camera. I stand behind Jack and smile, and the flash clicks.

“Give her a kiss,” Photographer Elvis shouts.

Jack obliges, and he snaps another picture.

Everything else is a blur. Marilyn gives me my clothes back in a bag, and we sign a bunch of forms, show our IDs, and some of the witnesses from the pews sign. A copy goes in Jack’s back pocket and a copy goes to the state.

That’s it, we’re married. I’m Jack’s wife.

An Elvis follows us out and sticks a
JUST MARRIED
sign on the Corvette’s back window. Jack holds my hand and closes my door for me. The ring feels heavy in my hand. I flex my fingers to try and get used to the feeling of it.

“Mrs. Marshall,” he says, and kisses me.

“I guess we won’t have much of a honeymoon.”

“The hell we won’t.”

The car rumbles to life and I cry out as he pulls out of the parking lot to the screech of tires, at least until we stop at the first red light. Jack drives and seemingly picks an off-strip motel at random. I wait in the car while he gets us a room.

He moves the car to the door to our room. When I step out he slips his arm under me and lifts me bodily from the ground. I throw my arms around his neck and use my feet to push the door open.

Once we’re inside, he locks the door. I stand by the bed. The place is clean, if a little dated, the room small, and the bed very big. My wedding dress feels heavy, like it’s trying to fall off.

Jack steps up to me and kisses my forehead lightly, his lips warm on my skin.

“I know you must be tired. We don’t have to do anything right now if you don’t want, or even tonight.”

“Take my dress off.”

He lifts the veil off my head and sets it aside. He takes a step forward, so his chest brushes mine, and starts undoing the laces holding the dress to my body. The pressure relieves around my chest first, then my stomach. Jack gives the dress a sharp tug and it slides down a bit, then another, and it pools around my trembling legs.

I look over at myself in the mirror in my stockings and thong and lacy bra. Jack never takes his eyes off me. He puts his hands on my back and rubs his cheek against mine, and then he looks over at the mirror and watches his hands glide down my back and spread over my ass cheeks, then squeeze.

I let out a little chirp.

“You look good in a thong.”

He snaps the elastic against my skin and I yelp and jerk against him. I lean on his chest and slip my arms under his, resting my hands on his back. He squeezes my ass harder, and my legs start to shake even more.

I can barely say it, and even then only whisper it in his ear.

“You could slap my ass. If you wanted.”

I close my eye and feel his hand leave my skin, a sudden rush of air and then
crack
. It stings and sends a jolt through my body. He rubs the spot where his hand hit me then pulls back and does it again. I gasp and hold him tighter. I can feel his cock harden through his pants.

He squeezes the other cheek then slaps it, too. Each time is a little harder, like he’s testing me. The sound is so loud, it echoes off the ceiling.