Page 64 of The One I Need
“That was so easy!We’re getting married!”
I laugh and Izzy waves our marriage license in the air as we walk toward the taxi. I didn’t know taxis still existed. I also didn’t know you could actually get married by Elvis, which is what we’re about to do.
“To the King and Bling Chapel,” Izzy says as she falls into the backseat. “And step on it!”
I bring her in for a selfie, which she doesn’t fight. Drunk Izzy likes taking pictures a lot more than sober Izzy.
“I’m really proud of you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For taking charge in there,” she says. “No one questioned us.”
“Right?” I say. “I think I did a really good job acting sober.”
Izzy leans over and kisses my cheek. “You did. Good job, future husband.”
“Thanks, future wife.”
Izzy lays her head on my shoulder as we make our way to the twenty-four-hour chapel.
Holy crap, I’m going to get married. Which on one hand makes me sad that Shane and Simon and Wes aren’t here. On the other hand, I’m marrying Izzy, and she’s just the best.
“We’re here,” the driver says. “Happy wedding day.”
We get out of the car and all but race inside.
“We have a reservation. Price!”
The older lady squints as she looks at the computer. “Yes. Price. I have here you want the deluxe package, which comes with rings, pictures, a video, and your very own Elvis officiant?”
“You’re damn skippy we do.”
She nods her head to the left. “Come on back. Last couple bailed. Bride got cold feet. We’ll get you in and out in a jiffy.”
Izzy and I start walking behind the very nice lady when I stop.
“What?” Izzy asks. “Everything okay?”
I look down at my shirt then back up to Izzy. “I can’t get married in this. I need a tuxedo.”
Izzy looks around before running over to the gift shop portion of the lobby. “Here! This will do.”
I hold up the T-shirt she just threw me. If you can’t get married in a tuxedo, then a tuxedo T-shirt is the next best thing.
“Perfect,” I say. “You ready?”
Izzy nods her head. “Yup. Let’s fucking do this!”
I start walking down the aisle, only to see Elvis in front of me—in his famous white jumpsuit. I hurry and grab my phone, needing to take a picture of this. The guys are never going to believe this when I show them.
“Congratulations,” he says. “Your bride is beautiful.”
I turn to see Izzy walking to me, a borrowed veil on her head and a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She’s all smiles as she walks toward me to the sound of one of Elvis’s iconic love songs. I hold out my hand for her, and for a second, I feel as sober as I have all night.
Holy shit, I’m marrying Izzy McCall.
And holy shit, Elvis is actually singing!
