Like I have something to prove, I show up to Bellagio Atrium early the next day. I'm clean-shaven and dressed dapper for the wedding. Or, at least, dapper is how one middle-aged, cordial lady describes it. She and her equally middle-aged, cordial husband excels at one of those only-in-Vegas professions. The couple makes their living as wedding witnesses, among their other gigs.
I check the corner that the hotel cordoned off for us in the indoors garden for any surprises. Nothing dreadful hides between the flower constructs. However, Naz is also conspicuous by her absence.
"She better not stand me up," I mutter.
"Don't you worry, dearie, no girl would ever stand up a guy like you," my witness chimes in with professional courtesy.
She has a nasal laughter that can be either calming or irritating. I get to hear a lot of it, while the Minister is setting up for the ritual. Thanks to the titter, even her most superficial questions are like nails on the glass for my frayed nerves.
"Where did you meet your sweetheart?"
She tailed me down the street and botched the job. "In a gift shop back in L.A."
"Oh, how sweet! You found a bigger gift than you went shopping for, right?"
Here comes the titter. In three, two... shit. With a titanic effort I don't massage my temples. "We sort of bumped into one another. Turns out, we have mutual friends. In L.A.! What are the chances... Word for word... Well, you know how it goes."
Apparently she does, because she nods sagely, while I bite my lips. Hysterical laughter pressurizes my chest, seeking to escape. I'm getting lightheaded from its pent-up bubbles.
"Isn't it so romantic to be married in Vegas?" the witness pries.
The crowds will soon overrun the Atrium to photograph Bellagio's Christmas displays. Santa, his reindeers, and apocryphal polar bears made from carnations, poinsettias, and other buds. The floral display reminds me painfully of my baby's-breath-dilemma, but it's a must-see for the families touring the former Sin City. Naz and I need to get married pronto and clear the area. What's so romantic about that?
"Were you married in Vegas?" I deflect.
Her trite wedding story is so long, by rights it should take half-an-hour to tell. Alas, the glance I steal at my phone confirms that only five minutes have elapsed since the last time I checked at 10:10 a.m.
Naz is now officially late. I fidget with the phone.
"Take advice from an old lady," my not-so-old lady whispers in a conspiratorial tone, "don't text her. A girl needs a bit of space on a day like this."
"Naz is not just any girl," I say. "She has to be special to marry me." Very, very special.
"Aww." The lady blasts me with her irritating laugh again.
What I meant was Naz wouldn't be late when she's getting her wish. She would steamroll under anyone who has the audacity to stand in her way. Except for executing this complicated bypass around Luca with my help. That she hesitates to show up means she still loves him. She could deny it all she wants, but I'm not fooled. Plus, why would she divulge it's not his fault with Liz, if not to vindicate him in my eyes? See, she loves that piece of shit!
This time it's the lady's husband who interrupts my wallowing.
"Here comes the bride," he announces, mopping his growing bald spot. "And what a beautiful lady she is! Isn't she, sweetie?"
Lord in Heaven! Where did Naz find these two I Love Lucy extras?
"Small weddings are so romantic! You can tell it's just for the two young lovers," the lady coos.
YOU ARE READING
Raised by the Mafia
Science Fiction||L.A. Lawless Serial|| ||Season 2|| What do mafia princess and an ex-FBI agent have in common? An enemy. What should they do about it? Fake-marry, of course, and rub it into his face. What could possibly go wrong...or right? Right.
