Page 50

50

CONNOR

T his is not how I expected my day to go.

One second, I’m dominating a pancake-eating contest.

The next, I’m standing in front of a guy in an Elvis costume, holding a notecard that smells vaguely like syrup and Bengay, writing my vows while a drunk showgirl plays Can’t Help Falling in Love on a harp.

Allie is beside me, aggressively scribbling. Her brows are furrowed like she’s planning a murder. Which, to be fair, she probably is.

“You ready, hot pants?” Gram whispers from behind me.

I turn, freezing as I take her in. She’s practically vibrating in a sequined gown that could short-circuit the Vegas Strip.

“No,” I mutter. “This is pure, unfiltered chaos. Complete madness.”

She pats my shoulder. “Good. That’s what love is.”

Elvis clears his throat, adjusting his crooked wig. “Alright, lovebirds. Let’s get this show on the road. First, your outfits.”

He snaps his fingers and Marilyn—aka Gary from Cincinnati—struts over, holding a sequined jacket and a sash that says Bride in glittery letters, along with a veil topped with a rhinestone crown.

Gary lifts the jacket for me, smoothing it over my shoulders. “My, what a broad back you have.”

I clench my jaw.

Allie giggles.

I glare at her over my shoulder while Gary moves on to put the sash on and crown my wife like she’s Vegas royalty. Which, technically, she now is.

Elvis claps, beaming. “Who’s going first?”

Allie jabs a thumb at me. “Him. I need to recover from breakfast.”

Traitor.

I step forward, notecard in hand. The chapel goes quiet except for the kazoo solo happening somewhere near the open bar.

I take a deep breath and begin.

“Allison Stubborn-Menace Byrns?—”

She groans.

I grin and hold up a hand. “Let me finish.”

“I vow to be your personal left winger, bodyguard, human heater, and occasional shirtless distraction…”

Her giggle breaks into something soft. Her eyes are already glassy.

“I vow to kiss you when you're mad, hug you when you're sad, and annoy you every chance I get.”

I wink before continuing.

“I vow to love you when we're old and gray… or when you dye your hair pink just to spite me.”

Laughter erupts from the peanut gallery.

“I vow to be your menace, your husband, your problem for life.”

I pause, then add, “And if I ever have to eat another pancake in front of you again, may Elvis strike me down where I stand.”

There’s a beat of silence, then a round of applause.

Gram wipes a tear. “That was stupid. And perfect.”

Elvis sniffles. “A little dumb. But very heartfelt.”

Allie is staring at me with this look I can’t quite place.

She steps forward, holding up her card, her shoulders squared.

Her game face is activated.

Oh, shit.