Ididn’t know what I was thinking, but when the hottest man you’ve ever seen in real life proposes a touristy gimmick wedding, you say yes! If I played my cards right, we might be able to consummate this so-called wedding, so why not go with the flow? It was better than calorie tracking my glasses of wine with Jade and the other bridesmaids.
Mason quickly stood and grabbed my hand. Shivers shot up my arm from his touch and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of my hand, his eyes darkening. I wasn’t sure if it was me who leaned in first, but before I knew it, his lips were brushing against mine, oh so briefly. The kiss, although chaste, was almost like a promise of the passion he barely held at bay. That one moment of contact was like a premonition of the heat that awaited us later that evening.
He pressed his forward against mine and with a sigh he said, “Let’s get married, future Mrs King.” Stepping back from meslightly but without releasing my hand, he gave me one last, assessing look. “Are you ready for this?”
“I’m game for anything you have in mind tonight.” I replied, giving him no doubt of my intentions.
Mason led me back through the gaming floor and to the hotel lobby, walking right up to the concierge. “Mr King! I hope you’re enjoying your evening?” The young man asked.
For a moment I questioned why the concierge knew him by name in such a large hotel, but as soon as he wrapped a hand around my waist, pulling me to him, those thought flew straight from my mind. The citrusy scent of his cologne was a refreshing change from the overwhelming spice of the stronger fragrances worn by other men.
“We’re getting married,” he happily announced. “Can you help us make arrangements for tonight? Elvis ceremony, neon lights, the whole cliché!”
“Of course, I’ll get it done,” the concierge asked us for an alarming amount of details, but with Mason’s arms still secured around me and my curves resting against his hard planes, I wasn’t thinking. Well, I was, but my thoughts were definitely busy picturing what he would look like naked.
We made our way outside the hotel and into a stretch limousine. The last few days, I’d walked everywhere, so the transport was a welcome luxury. I held the cold glass of champagne he handed to me and sipped it as he pointed out the lights of the casinos from the window as we cruised along the strip. Sitting in the limo, away from the seediness of the street, the lights really were dazzling.
Mason’s eyes were fixed on me as I placed the glass in a holder to the side of my seat. “Still not a fan of Vegas?” He asked as he placed his glass next to his seat.
“It’s much prettier from a distance.” I replied.
“And you’re much prettier up close,” he said as his face moved toward mine.
“Oh, that’s a bit corny,” I couldn’t help but snicker, and his returning smile was magnificent. He shook his head.
“You make me nervous,” he said under his breath. “I don’t know what to say because I don’t think my usual lines would work.”
“In that case, why don’t you just shut up and kiss me?” I placed my hand at the nape of his neck, pulling his face forward, and brushed my lips against his. He needed no further encouragement. His tongue teased me, begging me to open up to him. Our kiss was slow and languorous, each of us taking our time to taste each other.
“Your destination.” I heard a voice announce in the background.
Untangling myself from Mason’s arms, I adjusted the hem of my dress and exited the limo. We’d arrived at The Little Blue Suede Chapel, the sign blinking open in bright pink neon.
Walking inside, I saw another couple waiting nervously. A young man wearing a suit that swamped his lean frame was holding the hand of his fiancé. Both looked wide-eyed and way too young to be getting married, even if this was a novelty chapel. All this from the woman who was 32 with one too many lacklustre relationships in my past to settle. Settle for a man who didn’t understand me, settle for a life that was about just keeping my head above water, settle for bad sex. That wasn’t me.
I wasn’t saying that an amazing man who would meet my needs in everyway didn’t exist. He might’ve existed, but there was no way he was around when I was this couple’s age. I was happy living on my terms and taking my fun where the opportunities popped up, like a gimmick wedding to a hot guy in a foreign city. In just over a week, I would be back home inmy unit in Sydney, back at the job I love and preparing for yet another wedding.
Maybe that was the reason I jumped at this OTT Vegas moment. Months of being involved with plans for my sister’s wedding in a few days, for my best friend’s wedding only weeks later. I had been inundated with love at its sappiest and most pure. My entire world had been saturated with romance, to the point where I had the choice of crawling into a FOMO ball of misery or I could celebrate the life I had.
An Elvis impersonator performing a wedding to a hot guy? It was the perfect way to make the most of being single and fabulous. Why not indeed. Mason put his hand on the centre of my back and lead me toward a bored-looking woman as the concierge from the hotel came running through the door.
“Here is your paperwork, Mr King,” he said as he handed over an envelope. “And the rings.”
I took the box and looked inside to see a fairly simple gold ring and assumed that the corresponding box in Mason’s hand held something similar. Turning back to the woman sitting at the chapel reception desk, she acknowledged us and said that she had our booking, but asked us to confirm our names and provide our ID.
“Destiny Drake,” I stated as I handed over my passport.
To my right, Mason fumbled over his wallet as he pulled out his driver’s licence. “Mason King,” he mumbled as he dropped his ID in the receptionist’s hand. Then, like ice water pouring over me, it hit me. I took in his dark hair, shorter than in my memories, ice-blue eyes and that cheeky grin.
“THE Mason King…” I almost whispered.
“No one has referred to me that way for over a decade,” he laughed nervously. The receptionist handed back our IDs, and Mason led me back to a lounge to await our ceremony. Holdingmy hand in his, he looked at me sheepishly. “Are you okay with this?”
I took in a breath and let out a giggle. “19-year-old me would be more than okay with this, but 32-year-old me is going with ‘what happens in Vegas’”.
“So, you really don’t mind that I didn’t tell you who I was before we got here?” he asked.
“Please, we’re in a Vegas wedding chapel, about to walk down the aisle only hours after we met,” I dismissed his concerns. “Besides, my dad is Dougie Drake. I grew up hanging out at the Channel 8 studio meeting celebrities.”
