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“I’m not,” Mase says in a shaky voice and then laughs. “No. But—I am. Yeah. Let’s do this.”
“Yeah?” My voice squeaks but I can’t stop smiling.
“Yeah.” He extracts his hand from mine and offers me his arm. “Should we track down this Nell?”
Mase
IneverimaginedFionawould go for it. And I can’t imagine how I’d feel if she’d said no.
Because right now, at this very moment, marrying Fiona is really important. The most important thing ever. It’s like I’ve waited for this moment my entire life.
Which is strange, because I never wanted to get married before.
I’ve been engaged before—twice—but neither one of those times felt anything like this. There was mild excitement and a low thrum of panic that grew strong enough for me to call it off. But it was nothing like this. My heart has changed its beat—do it do it DO IT.
I think I want to do it.
Back outside the chapel, still holding all our shopping bags because Fiona doesn’t want to leave them in the chapel.
That should maybe tell me something.
The sky to the east is brighter than when we went into the chapel. It’s a new day here in Las Vegas.
Our wedding day.
We start walking without saying a word.
I draw in a deep breath and then another. When I glance over, Fiona is doing the same thing, like she’s staving off a panic attack. “You okay?” I ask with alarm.
“I have no idea,” she says with a shaky smile. “I don’t even know where I am right now.”
“On our way to the Clark County License Bureau,” I tell her, checking the address on my phone. “Maybe we should stop for a drink first.”
“I think that’s what got us into this in the first place.”
I stop walking and Fiona is forced to swing around. “No way. I’d still want to marry you even if I was one hundred percent sober.”
“Which you’re not.”
“Neither are you.”
“I just want to be sure we’re not making a huge mistake.” Fiona worries her lip with her teeth and I’m tempted to stop her with a kiss. I can convince her with a kiss, but I want to convince her with me, not with what my lips can do.
“But they are the best kind of mistakes. It’s what I’m good at,” I tell her.
“Mase. Serious. This is serious for me.” She starts walking again, every step taking her farther away from Elvis and his strange Amy Winehouse-type angel.
“It’s serious for me, too.” It’s obvious Fiona is sitting on the fence, as clear as if she’s sitting on the red fence lining the lane of the ranch in New Mexico.
She doesn’t even know where I live, and I think it’s a good idea to marry her?
Bad ideas are usually the best kind, but this is different. This is a bad idea so great it’s a good idea.
I don’t say that to Fiona though because then she’ll think I’m still very drunk.
I don’t really know how much under the influence I still am, but unless I jump behind the wheel of a car—which I would never do—it doesn’t really matter. I’m coherent. I can think straight. I’m good to go.
“Fee.” I run my thumb over her palm. “What do you want?”
