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“I’m Marla, and I can be your witness. You can wait over there until the chapel is ready.” She motions to a seating area off to the side of the entrance.
I take Evangeline’s hand and lead her to the bench. One of the many doors open and a couple walk through, along with their wedding party. Music and loud voices fill the small waiting area.
She watches the wedding party go by with a forlorn look on her face, and I almost feel guilty… almost.
Once they leave the space is filled with an awkward silence, and I fidget with my father’s watch – the one he gave me when I graduated law school – while we wait. The action calms my nerves but also serves to be a reminder and I’m helpless against the emotion.
Evangeline looks down at my hands and I’m about to explain, but then Marla interrupts.
“They’re ready for you now,” Marla says, and ambles through the open door and into the chapel.
At the end of the aisle is a man dressed in a sequin jumpsuit, jet black hair coiffed perfectly, and large, bejeweled sunglasses covering his eyes. Evangeline’s horrified expression is enough to make me laugh. Here she is in a designer wedding gown amidst this gaudy affair, and it’s fucking perfect.
When Love Me Tender starts to play from the speakers in the corner of the chapel, I swear she gives a little snort.
“Ah, such a beautiful couple,” Marla effuses, and clasps her hands in front of her. I’m sure she says this to all the couples who come through here.
“Now, I have to ask if both of you are willing participants,” she asks bluntly.
“Define willing?” Evangeline asks, and I but my hip into hers.
“I just have to make sure neither of you are drunk,” she clarifies.
Evangeline leans into me and says, “If she asks for a breathalyzer, you might be fucked.”
“Would you like me to walk in a straight line?” I ask pointedly.
“That won’t be necessary,” she says sweetly. “If you’ll give me the marriage license, I’ll make sure it gets signed prior to you leaving.”
I hand her the paper and fix my suit. Before the music fades, we walk up to our Elvis, who tells us to take each other's hands and repeat after him.
“You’re not going to be a runaway bride, are you?” I tease.
She gives me a saccharine smile. “I have five million reasons not to, Darren.”
The challenge in her blue eyes causes a groan to form in my throat and excitement to build in my stomach, pulling at my balls like the tightening of a string, and she holds the fucking end of it.
“Do you, hunka, hunka, Darren, take Evangeline, to be your lawfully wedded wife, until death do you part?”
“Or the contract is over,” she says quietly through gritted teeth.
“Do you know what happens to brats?” I ask, and she tosses her hair back defiantly.
I narrow my eyes at her when I say, “I do.”
“Do you, Evangeline, take hunka, hunka, Darren to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
She swallows hard but keeps her eyes trained on me. There’s no doubt in my mind that she hates me. She has every reason to.
She’s silent, and I swear I hear crickets in the room. She’s taking her time, as if she’s contemplating her answer. “I do,” she finally says in a soft voice.
“Do you have the rings?” Elvis asks, looking at me expectantly.
“Shit,” I say, dropping her hands, and Evangeline rolls her eyes at me.
“I have some you can purchase from the gift shop.” Marla steps in.
“Does this happen often?”
