“Elvis it is,” I agreed. I probably would have said yes to a Sherpa marrying us on Mt. Everest if it meant I got to call Langley mine for six months. “I’ll see you out there.”
“I’ll be the one in the dress.” She shot me a grin that punched me straight in the gut. She should smile like that every day, not just the ones where she’d been blackmailed into a wedding.
There was zero guilt on my part. I knew I could make this next six months the best in her life, and thanks to our little deal, I now had that chance. There was no playing fair when it came to Langley Pierce.
She’d said yes yesterday afternoon. We’d flown all night, woken up in Vegas, and now were getting married as the sun hit noon. August fourteenth was about to become my favorite date on the calendar.
A few moments later I stood next to a man in the gaudiest, white, sequined Elvis costume I’d ever imagined, and waited for Langley. Never in my life had I ever imagined James Dean would be my best man, but if Lukas wasn’t available, he wasn’t a bad stand-in. A stout blonde in a Marilyn Monroe costume hit play on the sound system and Marry Me by Train filled the overstimulating space.
Langley appeared at the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet of pink flowers she’d told me were peonies, and began walking toward me.
By God, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her dress bared her shoulders, the bodice tight to her waist before falling in a cascade of silk to her toes. It clung to her curves as she came forward, but was understated in a classic way that was undeniably her. She’d performed a miracle in that three hours of shopping.
Her smile? It nearly brought me to my knees. I think I echoed it, but I was so caught up in her that I didn’t pay any attention to my own expression. She consumed my every thought.
Langley passed her flowers to Marilyn and took my hands as we faced each other in front of Elvis. Her fingers looked so small, so delicate, clasped with mine.
The ceremony began, and I said my vows loud and clear, wondering if she realized how very real this was for me. That I meant every single word, including the timeline. As unlikely as it had always sounded to me, the first moment I saw Langley in Sweden last year, I’d known we’d be standing here eventually. Maybe not in front of Elvis, but here, at the altar. There had been something inexplicably primal in my chest that had risen up and roared, “Mine.”
Langley’s voice was sweet and clear as she repeated her vows, and I almost laughed when she threw in a wink as she repeated, “until death do us part.”
When Elvis asked for the rings, Marilyn and James handed over the hardware we’d taken another hour to purchase today.
“Axel,” Langley gasped softly as I slid hers onto her finger. It was a two-carat round, Tiffany set engagement ring in rose gold. The wedding band was the same rose gold, inlaid with diamonds around the band. It was a twist on a classic, the only set I’d found worthy of her, and looked stunning against the creamy silk of her skin.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she slid a thick, black band with a row of small, black diamonds onto my left hand. It was exactly what I would have chosen for myself. Simple and understated, with just a hint of shine.
“With the authority invested in me by the state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife!” Elvis declared. “You can kiss your bride.”
Langley’s eyes flared as I laced our fingers with one hand and grasped the back of her neck lightly with the other.
I held her eyes with mine until the last possible second, then slid mine shut as I brushed my lips over hers once. Twice.
She opened under me, and I kissed her deep, sliding my tongue against hers in one long, swirling stroke before I retreated, gently sucking on her lower lip as I pulled away.
Her deep brown eyes widened slightly, and I had to back away, leaving only our hands clasped, before I did something utterly barbaric like carry her back to the dingy preparation room and bury myself inside her. But the way she looked at me hinted that she wouldn’t object if that was the route I chose.
Instead, my beautiful wife glared at me when I had her strapped into the plane, wedding dress and all, an hour later.
“I can’t believe you didn’t want to stay in Vegas for a night.” She folded her arms under her breasts, sending the soft globes high enough to turn me hard as the fucking fuselage.