Page 90 of One Wild Ride

THIRTY-FIVE

Aria

“The blushing bride,” Alex’s mom said to me as she led me into the little Vegas chapel’s prep room. It was a tiny room with a full-length mirror, chair, and petite round table in the corner. The room had one small window that faced an alley.

“We don’t have to get married right now. I appreciate that you want to make your son happy but he just proposed,” I said still in shock at her complete turnaround with me.

When Alex’s mom asked if I would be open to marrying Alex tonight I wanted to say no but my head nodded yes. In a few months, maybe. Or, perhaps, in a couple of years we could start to plan a wedding.

It’s not so much the thought of being with Alex that had my throat tighten until I thought I couldn’t breathe, it was the marrying part. If people hadn’t noticed, I didn’t have the best example of a good marriage growing up.

I never dreamed of being a bride and still don’t. I love Alex but I had no desire to have him put a ring on it.

Mrs. Hawthorne pulled a small black leather bag from her purse and placed it on the table. “I’ll let you use some of my makeup.” She turned to me and pursed her lips as her eyes roamed my face. “You do need to freshen up. I can only hope my makeup can help with that.”

I sighed realizing that’s probably the best I’d get out of Alex’s mom when it came to being nice.

“Thank you. When can I see Alex?”

Mrs. Hawthorne made her way to the door but turned before closing it. “It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding, Aria. You will see him when the ceremony is to start.”

Before I could stop her, she closed the door.

I stared at the makeup and mirror. The more I gazed at them, the more sweat trickled down my neck.

Shouldn’t I have friends helping me with this? Like bridesmaids. I opened my purse and pulled out my cellphone.

I called Morgana, no answer.

I called Evaleen, no answer.

Tiffany would help. She’s always eager to support people. I called her. No answer.

Crap. Where are my Chicago peeps when I needed them?

I took a few steps toward the table with the makeup, suddenly hyperaware of how suffocating the room appeared. Was it purposely made closet-sized to make sure people raced down the aisle for fear of being consumed by four walls and worn, green carpeting?

I had to get out of here.

Turning I moved to the door but when I tried to open it, the door handle wouldn’t budge. I jiggled the handle a few times and realized Mrs. Hawthorne had locked me in here. Could she tell I wanted to escape?

How do I get out of here? Maybe there was a key. I scanned the room and still only saw a small table, chair, and mirror. The key would have to be hidden . . . like on a window ledge.

I walked over to the window and felt around the edge. There was no key to be found, but when I tugged at the window it easily pushed out. I’ll escape through the alley.

Since this room was in the basement, the window was small and set high up toward the ceiling. I moved the chair over and climbed up. A whisper of a memory when I had to do this the last time I was marrying someone caused my eyes to burn as I pushed myself through the tiny hole.

I was almost out when I felt hands on my arms. Since I was turned face down I couldn’t see who was pulling me. Probably some drunk dude looking for a good time. I’d have to explain that hanging out by wedding chapels wasn’t the best place to find a hookup.

When I got free and stood I was shocked at who was standing in front of me.

“Grace?” I said.

Grace Jenkins, Mimir’s office receptionist where Morgana and Evaleen both worked, was helping me escape from a marriage in Las Vegas.

“Hi, Ms. Dixon.” She smiled and even in the dark light of the alley I could tell she was blushing.

“Why are you here? Did you come to Vegas on vacation?”

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