Page 103 of Cloud Storm

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We’re getting married, I think to myself while tucked in the bed looking at the ring on my finger.

It’s nothing traditional, just like our love.

My ring is more of a band. A rainbow of stones and shapes mixing perfectly. Some of them are colorful, the others are the most beautiful diamonds I’ve ever seen.

Lancelot said I’ve brought light into his dull, boring life. But I’m sure he gives me the sunshine I was in need of without even knowing it.

We are the perfect match. Like those floating water particles and the sun rays, reflecting, dispersing and refracting the magic in the sky.

It was made as a promise.

And I believe in it.

So, here we are in a fancy hotel, in the city known worldwide for being the capital of gambling and shotgun weddings.

Las Vegas, Nevada.

Lancelot and I were considering our options on how we wanted this day to be. We couldn’t find anything that appealed to us, until his friend Adrik suggested we elope to Vegas.

We both wanted it to happen as soon as possible. Neither of us wanted a big, crowded event. I even considered wearing leggings, while Lancelot wore one of his fancy suits that fit him so well.

But no, my man said: “I really like the idea of seeing you in a floor-length white dress.” Said dress is waiting for me to wear in a few hours.

At first it seemed like a crazy idea, but the more we thought about it, the more it seemed the right thing for us. I have very few guests, apart from the Hollands, the Nichols brothers, Michelle, and Mr. Hatz. Lancelot has invited only his family and a couple of coworkers, so our party will only consist of about thirty people.

I’m getting nervous just thinking about it. In a few hours I will be Mrs. Suit. Ariel Hills.

Yes, we are that old-fashioned. He’s offering his name gladly and I’m proudly taking it.

Can you believe it?

I’m going to be Mrs. Lancelot Hills.

I want to bounce on this fluffy mattress.

But I can’t, other more urgent tasks are calling my name.

What the hell did they put in my drink last night?

Christ, what is that nasty smell?

Damn it, I’m getting married this evening and I can’t stop throwing my guts up over and over again.

I’m exhausted, wasted, lying on the marble bathroom floor trying to breathe without feeling nauseous again. I don’t have the energy to stand up and wash my mouth in the faucet.

Fucking tequila!

But that can’t be all. Something must be wrong, really wrong with me, because the whole week has been the same story. I wake up running to the bathroom, hoping to make it in time. Nauseous, fatigued.

I think I’ve lost a couple of pounds. At first I assumed it was the wedding jitters. Juggling moving out of my apartment and the busiest time of the year at the bakery is no picnic. The fact that the TV show has brought a lot of publicity for us isn’t helping my predicament, everyone wants a cupcake freshly baked from this girl.

Now, I just hope the dress fits me. Lancelot won’t be happy if the neckline of my dress slips down and I flash the minister in the middle of our ceremony.

He’ll want that for himself when we’re alone, locked in our honeymoon suite.

“Ariel, are you alright?” Roselynn asks from the other side of the bathroom door.

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