Even though we’d bypassed the crowd waiting for baggage, there was a long line for taxis. I sighed. We should have been getting married by now. It was still dark, but it had been over five hours since the fire. We couldn’t afford more lines.

“Pidge?” Travis squeezed my hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head and smiling. “Why?”

“You seem . . . a little tense.”

I took stock of my body; how I was standing, my facial expression, anything that might tip him off. My shoulders were so tight they were hanging up around my ears, so I forced them to relax. “I’m just ready.”

“To get it over with?” he asked, his eyebrows pulling in infinitesimally. Had I not known better, I would have never caught it.

“Trav,” I said, wrapping my arms around his waist. “This was my idea, remember?”

“So was the last time we went to Vegas. You remember how that turned out?”

I laughed, and then I felt terrible. The vertical line his eyebrow formed when he pushed them together deepened. This was so important to him. How much he loved me was overwhelming most of the time, but tonight was different. “I’m in a hurry, yes. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, but something’s off.”

“You’re just nervous. Stop worrying.”

His face smoothed, and he hugged me. “Okay. If you say you’re okay, then I believe you.”

Fifteen long minutes later, and we were at the front of the line. A taxi pulled to the curb and stopped. Travis opened the door for me, and I ducked into the backseat and slid over, waiting for him to get in.

The cabdriver looked over his shoulder. “Short trip?”

Travis situated our single carry-on bag in front of him on the floorboard. “We travel light.”

“Bellagio, please,” I said calmly, keeping the urgency out of my voice.

With lyrics I didn’t understand, a cheery, circuslike melody hummed through the speakers as we drove from the airport to the strip. The lights were visible miles before we reached the hotel.

When we arrived at the Strip, I noticed a river of people trekking up and down the sides of the road. Even in the wee hours of the morning, the sidewalks were packed with bachelors, women pushing strollers with sleeping babies, people in costumes taking pictures for tips, and businessmen—apparently looking to unwind.

Travis put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned against him, trying not to look at my watch for the tenth time.

The taxi pulled into the circle drive of the Bellagio, and Travis leaned forward with bills to pay the driver. He then pulled out our roller carry-on, and waited for me. I scooted out, taking his hand and stepping out onto the concrete. As if it weren’t in the early AM, people were standing in the taxi line to go to a different casino, and others were returning, weaving and laughing after a long night of drinking.

Travis squeezed my hand. “We’re really here.”