Page 182 of Don’t Say Mafia

“Jagger!”

“You can’t walk on the gravel barefoot,” I told her.

The cuff clinked between us as I adjusted her against my chest.

“Let’s go, Future Mrs. Thatcher,” I said as I walked toward the chapel where the doors were already open and waiting.

Lawson had done his job well; there was no one inside but him and Maddox.

And . . . fucking hell. I stopped in the doorway. The entire place looked like a flamingo had exploded.

Pink carpet. Pink velvet pews. Pink ribbons tied around the backs of chairs. Pink flowers everywhere—fake ones, obviously—arranged in towering bouquets.

Even the arch at the front was wrapped in pink tulle that puffed out in dramatic clouds . . . a sort of cotton-candy avalanche.

There were heart-shaped balloons floating near the ceiling. Pink ones, of course, and tiny plastic cupids were stuck to the walls like decorative surveillance cameras, each one aiming a glittery arrow at the aisle.

I slowly turned my head toward Lawson. He spread his hands innocently. “What?” he said. “The couple before you had ordered the deluxe package, so I told them just to keep it up.”

Eden lifted her head from my shoulder and took one look around and just shook her head. Oh good, we’d just gotten to the acceptance part of the evening.

An Elvis impersonator was waiting at the end of the short aisle—white jumpsuit, pompadour, sideburns, the whole package. He stared for a moment, taking in the blood still splattered across me, the cuffs linking our wrists, Eden’s torn clothes, her wild hair . . . and then he simply nodded like this was nothing new.

Which, even in Vegas, I knew was not the truth. I’m sure Lawson had blackmailed him to within an inch of his life to pull this off.

“Evening, folks,” he said in that practiced drawl. “Ready to make it official?”

I looked down at Eden. She stared back at me, her eyes still dazed, but she didn’t pull away or try to object again. She just nodded once, shakily, but certain.

I walked us forward. “Let’s do this.”

CHAPTER 42

JAGGER

The ceremony lasted maybe three minutes. Four if you counted the part where Elvis cleared his throat dramatically and made us repeat vows that were clearly written on the back of a cocktail napkin.

But somewhere in the middle of it—Eden’s hand had tightened around mine. Her eyes were on me the whole time, like she couldn’t quite look away. Like she was still trying to figure out how she’d ended up here.

Standing in a pink chapel.

Handcuffed to a man covered in blood.

Marrying him.

“Elvis has performed a lot of ceremonies in this chapel,” the man said solemnly. “But tonight we celebrate a love that clearly cannot be stopped.”

Maddox made a quiet choking noise behind us, which I ignored, of course.

Elvis looked at Eden. “Do you take this man,” he said, gesturing vaguely at me, “to love, honor, and cherish . . . until death do you part?”

Eden blinked at him. Then she looked at me. For a second her face crumpled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. My chest tightened. I had no idea if she was crying because she was happy . . . or because she couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Either way, I was confident I could work with it.

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

Elvis nodded approvingly, definitely thinking he’d cleared a big hurdle. I exchanged a look with him that said You and me both, bud.

“And do you—” he began.