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“It’s better than okay.” The seat was covered in sand and the gears were a little rusty, but she couldn’t imagine a better wedding transport.
The temperature was much warmer than the day before, and all of the snow had been plowed off the streets. Hallbjorn climbed onto the front part of the tandem bike and set off, giving the bell a little ring. It wasn’t easy for Aria to pedal in heels, so she let her feet dangle for much of the ride. A few people waved as they passed, and a couple of horns honked. Aria thought she caught sight of someone lurking behind them, but when she looked over her shoulder, whoever it was had ducked around a corner . . . or maybe hadn’t been there at all. She shook off her worries. Nothing was going to ruin her wedding day.
They reached the chapel, a small white building wedged between a pawnshop and a tattoo parlor. It said CHAPEL OF LUV in red lettering over the door, and there were heart-printed curtains in the windows. Hallbjorn helped Aria off the bike, then gave her a long, meaningful look.
“You are so beautiful, Aria Montgomery,” he said.
“So are you, Hallbjorn Gunterson,” Aria said, her voice trembling a little.
He leaned in and kissed her.
They walked up the stairs together. The inside of the chapel was swathed in red draperies, tall white columns, and vases overflowing with red and white roses. A glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a few rows of seats were positioned on either side of a red-carpeted aisle. The room smelled like a mix of perfume and flowers, and soft music played through the speakers. A door opened at the end of the chapel, and someone in an Elvis costume, complete with the spangled jacket and bell-bottom pants, the bouffant hair, and the aviator sunglasses, strutted out and smiled at them. “Hey there, lovebirds,” he crooned in a perfect Elvis voice. “I’ll be marrying you today.”
Aria laughed. It was too perfect.
Elvis asked for the license paperwork, and Aria handed it over. He tucked it into his pocket without even looking at it. “Now, do you kids have witnesses?”
Aria looked at Hallbjorn. “Uh, no . . .”
“We’ll be their witnesses,” a voice came from the left. A tall, slender showgirl wearing a plume atop her head was sitting next to the spitting image of Cher.
Elvis returned to the front of the chapel and instructed Hallbjorn to join him. Cher jumped from her seat and ushered Aria into a little anteroom just off the aisle, which contained a couple of chairs and a full-length mirror. Aria stared at herself, taking in her vintage dress and the flowers tucked in her hair. Cher stood behind her, fixing her hair from the back.
“Thanks for being our witnesses,” Aria whispered.
“Oh, I just love weddings, honey,” Cher answered in a deep voice. Aria caught sight of her enormous hands in the mirror and smiled wryly. Of course Cher would be a dude in drag.
Canon in D played through the speakers. After a few beats, Cher offered Aria her arm. Aria took it as though it were perfectly normal for a drag queen to be walking her down the aisle instead of Byron, her gaze anchored on Hallbjorn at the front of the chapel the whole time. There was a giddy smile on his face. His hands were clutched at his waist, and one of his feet tapped the ground.
She came to a stop next to Hallbjorn just as the music ended. Cher kissed her on the cheek, whispered, “Good luck,” and then sat down next to the showgirl. Elvis faced the two of them, opened a large leather book with gilt-edged pages, and cleared his throat.
“We are gathered here today to unite Aria Marie Montgomery and Hallbjorn Fyodor Gunterson.” He stumbled a little over Hallbjorn’s name, and Aria nervously giggled.
Elvis continued with all of the typical marriage lines Aria had heard in countless movies and read in hundreds of books. He made them repeat how they would take each other for better or worse, through sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, as long as they both shall live. Aria’s hands shook as Hallbjorn slid the snake ring on her finger. She reached for the plain gold band they’d bought for Hallbjorn at the same jewelry store and pushed it past his knuckle.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” she heard Elvis say, and then suddenly Hallbjorn was kissing her, and Cher and the showgirl were cheering. Aria’s heart thrummed fast, all of this feeling like a dream. When she opened her eyes, confetti was falling from the ceiling. A band appeared from the back, quickly plugged their instruments into amps, and Elvis grabbed the microphone he’d spoken into to marry them and began belting out “All Shook Up.”
The chapel turned into a dance party. Hallbjorn swung Aria’s hands back and forth. Cher grabbed Aria and gave her a little twirl. The showgirl shook her boobs and did some high kicks. A few elderly tourists in heavy wool coats wandered in, and Elvis invited them to join the celebration as well. Aria paused for a moment, drinking the whole thing in. It was all so . . . her, down to the stolen flowers behind her ear and the fact that Hallbjorn had forgotten to rent shoes with his tux and was still wearing his Icelandic climbing boots. A rush of happiness washed over her, and she broke into a wide, euphoric grin. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect wedding.
Chapter 11
The Couple Who Breaks the Law Together . . .
When Aria and Hallbjorn emerged from the Chapel of Luv an hour and a half later, their voices croaky from singing along to Elvis songs and their feet aching from dancing with Cher, their tandem bicycle now had a flag affixed to the back that said JUST MARRIED in pink letters. A bunch of empty cans had been tied to the back, too.
“That was the best wedding ever,” Aria said, climbing aboard the bike. “Now I can’t wait to get you back to our hotel room, husband.”
