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“Can I see this one?” she asked, pointing.
The salesgirl scrunched up her face. “That’s not an engagement ring.”
“Who cares?” Hallbjorn strolled over to Aria and peered at it, too. “That thing is awesome. And look! The gems were mined according to fair-trade laws!”
It felt like fate. The ring slid on Aria’s finger as easily as the glass slipper fit Cinderella’s foot. The snake head peered at her, its sapphire eyes glittering both menacingly and protectively. It seemed like a talisman, a good luck charm. As long as Aria wore this ring, nothing bad would happen to her. This snake would make sure her marriage to Hallbjorn was happy. It would ward off bad luck and evil spirits.
It would make sure A never, ever came back.
Chapter 10
I Do
“You have the most amazing skin,” a makeup artist named Patricia, who had a bunch of tattoos and smelled overwhelmingly of Head & Shoulders shampoo, said to Aria as she dusted some powder on her cheeks. “I hardly have to use anything on you at all.”
“Be sure to make my eyes smoky and dramatic, though,” Aria reminded her. “I want to look awesome for photos.”
“You got it.” Patricia rummaged around in her case. “So you’re getting married, huh?”
“That’s right,” Aria answered, puckering her lips for some gloss.
“Are you excited?”
“Definitely.” She shook her shoulders, feeling a little shiver.
It was the following afternoon, and Hallbjorn had surprised Aria yet again by booking her an in-room massage—with eco-friendly oils, of course—a visit from Patricia the makeup artist, and a professional blowout by Lars, who wore the tightest pants Aria had ever seen. The hotel room had been transformed into a salon, with Adele playing in the background, cucumber sandwiches and a pitcher of mimosas on the tray in the corner, tons of gossip magazines stacked on the bed, and the smell of massage oils lingering in the air. Hallbjorn had disappeared as soon as Patricia and Lars had come through the door, saying he’d wait to see Aria’s transformation when it was finished. Aria had taken a shot of him with her digital camera just as he left the room. She was trying to document everything today, from Patricia’s messy makeup bag to the seven earrings snaking up Lars’s ears, not wanting to forget a single detail.
“You’re going to be such a cute bride,” Patricia murmured now. “What are you, twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
Aria nodded noncommittally, not wanting to say she was only seventeen. Her age was kind of an issue—when the porter had delivered the marriage license paperwork this morning, Aria indeed needed a parent’s signature to allow the state of New Jersey to marry them. She’d forged Ella’s name and included her own cell phone number, figuring she’d pretend she was Ella if anyone from the courthouse called to check.
She glanced at her cell phone on the bureau, feeling a guilty twinge. Should she call Ella and tell her what she was about to do? Or maybe she should call one of her old friends. It felt weird going through with this without anyone knowing. But this was between her and Hallbjorn, and the last thing she needed was someone trying to talk her out of it.
Soon enough, Patricia had completed Aria’s makeup and Lars had blown out Aria’s locks to perfection. She shut herself in the bathroom, slid the dress she’d found yesterday over her head, and stared in the mirror at the results. She’d fixed the rip at the neckline, and the dress fit perfectly at her waist and hips. With her straight hair and smoky eyes, she looked like a movie-star version of herself.
When she glided out of the bathroom and spread out her arms in a Ta-da! pose, Patricia whooped. “You look amazing.”
“Stunning,” Lars seconded, leaning coquettishly against the bureau. “You have your old, new, borrowed, and blue stuff, right?”
Aria looked at them blankly. Patricia and Lars both put their hands to their mouths. “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?” Lars repeated. “You’ve never heard that? A bride wears each on her wedding day! It’s good luck!”
Aria had heard it, but she’d just forgotten. She peered down at her dress. “Well, this is old,” she volunteered. “But it’s also new . . . to me.”
“Here’s something borrowed.” Lars slid a leather bracelet off his wrist. It had spikes on it and said BADASS, but it was just the right rock-star touch.
“And wait a minute . . .” Patricia darted into the hall and returned with a bunch of violets.
“Where’d you get those?” Lars placed his hand saucily onto one hip.
“The vase by the elevator.” Patricia put her finger to her lips. Then she tucked a sprig behind Aria’s ear. “Perfect.”
It was time to go, and they rushed her down to the lobby. Someone in a tuxedo waited by the revolving doors, his back to them. Aria didn’t realize it was Hallbjorn until he turned around and smiled at her. “Wow,” she gasped.
“I was just about to say the same about you,” Hallbjorn answered, taking her hand.
They were silent for a moment, and then burst into giggles. This is really happening, Aria thought. I’m really getting married.
Aria threw on her coat, and Humpty, the porter from the day before, ushered them outside and showed them the bicycle built for two he’d rented. It had banana seats, streamers hanging from the handlebars, and no gear shifts in sight. “I could only find you a beach cruiser,” he said sheepishly. “I hope that’s okay.”
