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Elvis didn’t once acknowledge my struggle. I supposed he’d long ago mastered the ability to keep on going, no matter what was happening. Either that or he was simply so embarrassed he’d rather pretend everything was fine.
Feeling my eyes tear up, I slowly lifted my bouquet and hid behind the flowers. God, my stomach hurt, and it felt like my sides were splitting.
The more I told myself it wasn’t that funny, the harder I wanted to laugh. I practically wheezed out my vows. Tears were pooling in my eyes again when it came time for us to exchange rings. Dane took that moment to cast me a droll “you cannot be believed” look that made a snort bubble up inside me.
I slid the masculine wedding band on his third finger, and he slid a more feminine version onto mine. It was beautiful and shiny and fit perfectly … but it sadly did not help me pull myself together.
Finally, I sensed the ceremony coming to an end. I didn’t think I’d ever felt so relieved about anything in a long, long time.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said Elvis, gurgling the last word since it came out on yet another smelly belch … to which Dane shot him a hard, pained look.
And that was it. I lost it. The laugh shook my shoulders as I bent over, my eyes tearing up again, and practically shoved my face in the bouquet.
Dane sighed. “Finished?”
Not even close. I was worried I might actually pee. But I forced myself to stand upright and knuckled away a fresh tear. “Sorry,” I croaked.
He hauled me close and lowered his mouth to mine. I was entirely unprepared for the hum of electricity that swept over me, or for the soft growl that rattled his throat. His tongue sank inside and licked at mine, bold and demanding.
Amusement gave way to need—so much need. It was raw and carnal and took away my willpower. I clung to him, wanting more.
A throat cleared, and we pulled back. So much for a chaste kiss. Well, if he’d been aiming to cut off my laugh he’d succeeded.
A little dazed, I blinked and forced my hands to release his shirt.
A woman appeared with a camera. “Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Davenport.”
Mrs. Davenport. I’d be Vienna Davenport for twelve freaking months. God, it felt weird.
The photographer snapped a picture of us, and then that was it. We were done. Married. Married.
Once we’d collected a few copies of the photo and the thumb drive on which the video of our ceremony had been downloaded, we headed outside.
“That was not how I envisioned the wedding would go,” I said, trying to stifle a smile.
Dane gave me the side-eye. “You mean the fact that you laughed almost all the way through it?”
“Come on, you have to admit it was funny. Wait, I forgot, you don’t have a sense of humor.” I paused. “So, what now?”
“Well, we can either go back to our hotel suite or hit a few casinos?”
I pursed my lips. “Casinos? I’m game. But we should probably call my family first.”
“We might as well do it here in front of the chapel. They’ll feel better that you called them straight away with the news.”
I called my father first, surprised at how well he took it. He congratulated us, and I could sense he wholeheartedly meant it. I heard a note of disappointment in his voice that told me he was sad to have not been present, but he didn’t come out and say it.
Wyatt, on the other hand, had no problem voicing his disappointment when I called him and Melinda. She wasn’t so annoyed. In fact, she claimed that both she and Ashley had suspected Dane and I would marry while in Vegas. Wyatt, slightly appeased on hearing that we had a recording of the ceremony, eventually joined Melinda in passing on his congratulations.
Dane and I then had a group call with Ashley and Hanna, who proclaimed their delight, but I detected in her voice that Ashley seemed a little uneasy—probably at how fast things were moving.
Ending the call, I asked Dane, “Are you going to call your family?”
“No,” he replied. “But I’ll send my brothers a picture of us standing here outside the chapel. Make sure your rings are visible.” He snapped a picture of us and then sent it to them.
Kent called him immediately and seemed genuinely pleased for us. Travis sent Dane a congratulatory text that was no doubt fake as hell.
Dane splayed a hand on my back. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s go amuse ourselves.”
We were back in San Francisco by 2 p.m. the next day. Sam and Dane dropped me off at my complex. As I wheeled my suitcase toward my apartment, I cricked my neck. I’d fallen asleep during the flight home in an awkward position, and my neck was now stiff as hell.
