that, she could have blackmailed me, demanding payments to keep her from telling Hollis I was a fraud. She did none of that.
It looked like a risk to everyone else, but I knew Sophie belonged to me. And I was going to make sure she never forgot it, never had reason to wonder if she’d made a mistake.
As we got cleaned up on the plane, I still couldn’t believe that this woman—so beautiful and vivacious—hadn’t been snatched away before I met her. And with the possibility of a million-dollar wedding, she’d chosen something so . . . basic.
I never dreamed I’d end up married at all. But once I really thought about it, with her, I never imagined she’d want to say I do at a Vegas wedding chapel. We didn’t tell anyone, didn’t invite guests. I suppose we eloped. My Aunt Marie might be disappointed that she didn’t get to see it happen, but I thought her elation that it happened at all would probably wipe that out.
We were about to get married by a man dressed like Elvis, and have it witnessed by the organ player and perhaps the chapel maintenance man? I didn’t really know.
“You’re sure about this,” I asked, as she took her seat next to mine for the landing. “You wouldn’t rather have a big wedding? All the trimmings?”
“I just want to be your wife.” She ran her fingers through my hair—a gesture I’d come to love. “I told you, I’m a simple girl.”
I laughed. I still contended she was anything but simple.
***
She changed in a special room at the chapel, and was walked down the aisle by a very old man in a suit, with a tiny, elderly woman in a black dress and white pearls playing an ancient-looking organ. She was stunning: her hair was down around her shoulders, the dress fit her perfectly, and she wore the happiest smile I might have ever seen.
I was also aware of what she looked like under that dress, including the rosy shine I’d put on her bottom in the hotel. I took a deep breath and tried not to think too much about that until we were alone again.
Elvis, who really did look like a middle-aged King, kept the words short and sweet, just as we’d asked, and then asked Sophie if she vowed to love, honor and obey. We both smiled. They’d balked at the traditional vow and explained that it was all right to change it, since many women preferred cherish instead of obey these days. We’d insisted it be left in, but hadn’t explained why. Our own private joke.
When we slid the rings on each other’s fingers and Elvis Presley told me I could kiss my bride, I did. I bent her back and gazed down at her for a moment, before I kissed her with all the feeling and meaning I could pour into one single gesture.
Elvis cleared his throat repeatedly, because I guess I’d gone on a little long.
“Mr. Presley, I’ll give you a thousand dollars to give us the room for an hour.”
Elvis, the organist and the man in the suit glanced at each other. The organist, I swear to god, clutched her pearls. In a tiny voice, she said, “We have another appointment at 3 o’clock. Jeff—I mean, Elvis—would have to stand outside the door to make sure—”
“A thousand for half an hour, then.”
And the little, pearl-clutching lady shouted, “Deal!” and they headed out the front door.
When the doors closed behind them, I smacked Sophie’s ass and swooped her into my arms, then lay her on one of the four padded “pews” for guests.
“You’re insane,” she said, laughing.
“Am I?” I grinned down at her, unbuckling my pants. She carefully pulled her dress above her hips to reveal no underwear, but a blue garter belt that said What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas .
I grabbed her wrists and pushed them above her head. “Going to obey me, wife ?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. I was never supposed to put myself at risk like that. And here I was, married to a woman so perfect for me, I still wondered what I’d done to deserve that much
It looked like a risk to everyone else, but I knew Sophie belonged to me. And I was going to make sure she never forgot it, never had reason to wonder if she’d made a mistake.
As we got cleaned up on the plane, I still couldn’t believe that this woman—so beautiful and vivacious—hadn’t been snatched away before I met her. And with the possibility of a million-dollar wedding, she’d chosen something so . . . basic.
I never dreamed I’d end up married at all. But once I really thought about it, with her, I never imagined she’d want to say I do at a Vegas wedding chapel. We didn’t tell anyone, didn’t invite guests. I suppose we eloped. My Aunt Marie might be disappointed that she didn’t get to see it happen, but I thought her elation that it happened at all would probably wipe that out.
We were about to get married by a man dressed like Elvis, and have it witnessed by the organ player and perhaps the chapel maintenance man? I didn’t really know.
“You’re sure about this,” I asked, as she took her seat next to mine for the landing. “You wouldn’t rather have a big wedding? All the trimmings?”
“I just want to be your wife.” She ran her fingers through my hair—a gesture I’d come to love. “I told you, I’m a simple girl.”
I laughed. I still contended she was anything but simple.
***
She changed in a special room at the chapel, and was walked down the aisle by a very old man in a suit, with a tiny, elderly woman in a black dress and white pearls playing an ancient-looking organ. She was stunning: her hair was down around her shoulders, the dress fit her perfectly, and she wore the happiest smile I might have ever seen.
I was also aware of what she looked like under that dress, including the rosy shine I’d put on her bottom in the hotel. I took a deep breath and tried not to think too much about that until we were alone again.
Elvis, who really did look like a middle-aged King, kept the words short and sweet, just as we’d asked, and then asked Sophie if she vowed to love, honor and obey. We both smiled. They’d balked at the traditional vow and explained that it was all right to change it, since many women preferred cherish instead of obey these days. We’d insisted it be left in, but hadn’t explained why. Our own private joke.
When we slid the rings on each other’s fingers and Elvis Presley told me I could kiss my bride, I did. I bent her back and gazed down at her for a moment, before I kissed her with all the feeling and meaning I could pour into one single gesture.
Elvis cleared his throat repeatedly, because I guess I’d gone on a little long.
“Mr. Presley, I’ll give you a thousand dollars to give us the room for an hour.”
Elvis, the organist and the man in the suit glanced at each other. The organist, I swear to god, clutched her pearls. In a tiny voice, she said, “We have another appointment at 3 o’clock. Jeff—I mean, Elvis—would have to stand outside the door to make sure—”
“A thousand for half an hour, then.”
And the little, pearl-clutching lady shouted, “Deal!” and they headed out the front door.
When the doors closed behind them, I smacked Sophie’s ass and swooped her into my arms, then lay her on one of the four padded “pews” for guests.
“You’re insane,” she said, laughing.
“Am I?” I grinned down at her, unbuckling my pants. She carefully pulled her dress above her hips to reveal no underwear, but a blue garter belt that said What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas .
I grabbed her wrists and pushed them above her head. “Going to obey me, wife ?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love. I was never supposed to put myself at risk like that. And here I was, married to a woman so perfect for me, I still wondered what I’d done to deserve that much
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