“Travis!” I said, pulling on his arm.
He turned, snapping out of his hypnotic state. “Yeah?”
“Can you go over to the concierge and get the wedding scheduled?”
“Yeah? I mean yeah. I can do that. Which one?”
I laughed once. “Close. Open all night. Classy.”
“Got it,” he said. He pecked my cheek before pulling the carry-on to the concierge desk.
“We’re under Maddox,” I said, pulling out a piece of paper. “This is our confirmation number.”
“Ah, yes. I have a honeymoon suite available if you’d like to upgrade?”
I shook my head. “We’re good.” Travis was across the room, talking with a man behind the desk. They were looking at a brochure together, and he had a huge smile on his face while the man pointed out the different venues.
“Please let this work,” I said under my breath.
“What was that, ma’am?”
“Oh. Nothing,” I said as he returned to clicking away on his computer.
Travis
Abby leaned in with a smile when I kissed her cheek, and then continued with check-in while I popped over to the concierge to nail down a chapel. I glanced over at my soon-to-be wife, her long legs propped up by those wedge heel shoes that make a nice pair of legs look even nicer. Her flow-y, thin shirt was just see-through enough that I felt disappointed to see a tank top under it. Her favorite sunglasses were perched on the front of her favorite fedora, and just a few long locks of her caramel hair, a little wavy from drying naturally after her shower, were cascading out from under the hat. My God, that woman was fucking sexy. She didn’t even have to try, and all I wanted was to be all up in her business. Now that we were engaged that didn’t sound like such a bastard thing to think.
“Sir?” the concierge said.
“Oh, yeah. Hey,” I said, taking a last glance at Abby before giving the guy my full attention. “I need a chapel. Open all night. Classy.”
He smiled. “Of course, sir. We have several for you right here at the Bellagio. They are absolutely beautiful and—”
“You don’t happen to have Elvis at a chapel here, do you? I figure if we’re going to get married in Vegas, we should either get married by Elvis, or at least invite him, ya know?”
“No, sir, I apologize, the Bellagio chapels do not offer an Elvis impersonator. However, I can find a few numbers for you to call and request that one appear at your wedding. There is also, of course, the world famous Graceland Chapel, if you prefer. They have packages that include an Elvis impersonator.”
“Classy?”
“I’m sure you’ll be very pleased.”
“Okay, that one. As quickly as possible.”
The concierge smiled. “In a hurry, are we?”
I started to grin, but I realized I was already smiling, and probably had been, like an idiot, since I arrived at his desk. “Do you see that girl over there?”
He glanced at her. Quickly. Respectfully. I liked him. “Yes, sir. You’re a lucky man.”
“I sure as shit am. Schedule the wedding for two . . . maybe three hours from now? She’ll need time to pick up a few things and get ready.”
“Very thoughtful of you, sir.” He clicked a few buttons on his keyboard and then grabbed the mouse, moving it around and clicking it a few times. His smile faded as he concentrated, and then it lit up his face again when he finished. The printer buzzed, and then he handed me a piece of paper. “There you are, sir. Congratulations.” He held up his fist, and I bumped it, feeling like he’d just handed me a winning lottery ticket.
CHAPTER FOUR
Three Hours
Travis
Abby held my hand, pulling me along as we walked through the casino to the elevators. I was dragging my feet, trying to take a look around before we went upstairs. It had only been a few months since the last time we’d been in Vegas, but this time was less stressful. We were here for a much better reason. Regardless, Abby was still all-business, refusing to pause long enough for me to get too comfortable around the tables. She hated Las Vegas and with good reason, which made me question even more why she chose to come here, but as long as she was on a mission to be my wife, I wasn’t going to argue.
“Trav,” she said, huffing. “The elevators are right . . . there . . .” She tugged on me a few times toward her final destination.
“We’re on vacation, Pidge. Cool your jets.”
“No, we’re getting married, and we have less than twenty-four hours to get it done.”
I pressed the button, pulling us both into an open space to the side of the crowd. It shouldn’t have been surprising that there were so many people just ending their night this close to sunrise, but even a buck wild frat boy like myself could be impressed here.
“I still can’t believe it,” I said. I brought her fingers to my mouth and kissed them.
Abby was still looking above the elevator doors, watching the numbers descend. “You’ve mentioned that.” She looked over to me and one corner of her mouth turned up. “Believe it, baby. We’re here.”
My chest rose while my lungs filled with air, preparing to let out a long sigh. In recent memory, or maybe ever, my bones and muscles had never been so relaxed. My mind was at ease. It felt strange to feel all of those things, knowing what we’d just left behind back on campus, and at the same time feeling so responsible. It was disorienting, and unsettling, this feeling happy one minute, and like a criminal the next.
A slit formed between the elevator doors, and then they slowly slid away from each other, allowing the passengers to bleed out into the hallway. Abby and I stepped on together with our small roller duffle bag. One woman had a large purse, a large carry-on that was the size of two of ours, and a four-wheeled, vertical suitcase that could fit at least two small children.