Page 12 of Perfectly Wedded

Sloan

“The Little Pink Chapel of Love isn’t as cute as the charming sign,” I whisper to Vale in the lobby which is the size of a small closet. The floor is sticky, and I’m afraid if I sit down, the chair might give me a fungal infection.

Instead of white roses, I’m holding a bouquet of tacky-looking fake carnations in bubblegum pink. But the saddest part is that the only two witnesses are strangers—the officiant and his wife, who run the chapel. Reverend Clarence—who I’m slightly doubtful is an actual reverend—looks like he could fall asleep at any moment, while his white-haired wife, Eunice, can barely hear a word we say. No wonder 1950s organ music is blaring through the speakers.

They’ve managed the Little Pink Chapel for over fifty years, and I’m sure they’re planning on dying here, more than likely in the middle of someone’s ceremony. I just hope it isn’t ours.

“I’m sorry about the ring,” Vale whispers again as he glances at my hand.

“You can’t even tell it’s not real.” I hold up my left hand so that the cubic zirconium stone glitters in the brassy yellow light.

He holds my hands, rubbing his thumb over the stone. “We’llget you a new ring as soon as possible. This is only for the ceremony.”

Vale glances at Clarence, who stands at the front of the chapel with his eyes closed, looking like he’s ready to topple over.

“Do you think he’ll wake up for the vows?” Vale asks.

“Does it matter? No one will hear us over that thundering organ anyway.” I nod toward the speaker hidden behind a spray of fake lilies.

Eunice waves Vale toward his spot at the front. Then she switches the music to the wedding march as the speakers pop violently, waking Clarence from his nap.

I walk down the aisle, a knot of confusion tangling inside me. This isn’t a real chapel, and we’re not really in love. Vale’s reasons sounded so convincing on the street, but now that I’m about to go through with this ridiculous plan, doubt washes over me—the same sort of regret you feel when undergoing a dental procedure.

This isn’t what I thought my dream wedding would look like. As a little girl, I always imagined getting married outside under a lovely pergola in Granny’s backyard, accompanied by a string quartet, and surrounded by an explosion of flowers. What I got instead is an outdated chapel with peeling paint, music that’s making my ears bleed, and garish plastic flowers in neon colors that look like they were purchased from the dollar store.

Sure, marrying my best friend is a dream come true, but the circumstances feel all wrong. He didn’t ask me out of love, and I said yes like it was a business deal. I couldn’t even admit to him that Ireallywanted to date him, much less marry him. Which means, eventually, I’ll have to let him go. And I don’t know how I’ll survive that.

When I reach the front, Vale takes my hands and smiles. He’s so unfairly handsome, it almost hurts. It makes me wish we were getting married for the right reasons—out of love instead of necessity.

Reverend Clarence repeats the marriage script like he’s donethis in his sleep (probably because he has), and when we reach the vows, every instinct screams at me to run, to bolt down the aisle and escape this mad plan to save us from making this terrible decision. But just as the urge to flee peaks, Vale’s grip on my hands tightens, like he’s trying to reassure me that this is the only way, even though my voice wavers and my chest aches. How am I supposed to mean these promises when I’m hiding the truth from everyone who matters, especially Vale?

Before I can dwell too long on the words I’ve just recited, Clarence’s voice breaks through my thoughts as he says, “You may kiss the bride.”

Panic shoots through me like I’ve just been told to jump out of a plane without a parachute.

We never talked about the wedding kiss. Did I miss that part of the fake wedding manual? I glance at Vale, who’s scanning my face like he’s trying to figure out if I want to be kissed.

Eunice calls from the back, “Go on, honey.”

I lean forward, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. But as I move, Vale shifts slightly, and I suddenly realize I’m on a collision course with his chin. I adjust in time, while Vale dips his head, and somehow—by sheer luck—our lips barely meet.

The second they touch, a spark shoots through me, like two crossed wires finally finding a connection. It’s awkward and definitely not the stuff of fairy tales...butit’s Vale. His kiss makes my heart do a little somersault, leaving me feeling like warm honey.

I lean into him, wanting more, but then realize my mistake. I can’t wantthis.

Vale pulls away slowly, his eyes heavy on me with questions, but I’m still caught in the moment, the connection fizzing in my chest like a sparkler shooting tiny stars. Maybe he was doing this for my sake, but holy cow did it feel real.

Eunice turns on the wedding march—ruining the moment—and throws a single handful of rice at us right before she drapes aJust Marriedsashacross my chest. The whole ceremony is ten minutes long and quicker than a fast-food meal.

As we step outside, Tony, our driver, gives us a thumbs up. “The city of love strikes again. I can see it all over your faces.”

Is he talking aboutmyface? Are my feelings for Vale that obvious?

I shoot a nervous glance at my new husband, who seems unfazed by Tony’s comment. “Speaking of the city of love, can we finish our tour now?”

We pile into the car, and Tony parades us around Vegas with the windows down. For a fleeting moment, it all feels like a delicious dream.I can’t actually be Vale’s wife—this can’t be real.But that’s the thing about Vegas. It’s a lot of flashy lights and beautiful facades, and just like our marriage, it’s all for show.

When we reach the hotel, still reeling from our wedding, we step into the elevator in silence. I stay pressed against one wall, Vale on the opposite side, keeping his distance. The air between us feels thick, weighted with the unspoken tension ofhusband and wife,even though I can hardly call our marital arrangement anything more than a business contract. I pretend to be distracted by the ceiling, the floor—anything but him. Every time our eyes meet, my pulse quickens, and my heart bucks as if it’s forgotten this marriage is just pretend.

---