“You don’t happen to have Elvis at a chapel here, do you? I figure if we’re going to get married in Vegas, we should either get married by Elvis, or at least invite him, ya know?”

“No, sir, I apologize, the Bellagio chapels do not offer an Elvis impersonator. However, I can find a few numbers for you to call and request that one appear at your wedding. There is also, of course, the world famous Graceland Chapel, if you prefer. They have packages that include an Elvis impersonator.”

“Classy?”

“I’m sure you’ll be very pleased.”

“Okay, that one. As quickly as possible.”

The concierge smiled. “In a hurry, are we?”

I started to grin, but I realized I was already smiling, and probably had been, like an idiot, since I arrived at his desk. “Do you see that girl over there?”

He glanced at her. Quickly. Respectfully. I liked him. “Yes, sir. You’re a lucky man.”

“I sure as shit am. Schedule the wedding for two . . . maybe three hours from now? She’ll need time to pick up a few things and get ready.”

“Very thoughtful of you, sir.” He clicked a few buttons on his keyboard and then grabbed the mouse, moving it around and clicking it a few times. His smile faded as he concentrated, and then it lit up his face again when he finished. The printer buzzed, and then he handed me a piece of paper. “There you are, sir. Congratulations.” He held up his fist, and I bumped it, feeling like he’d just handed me a winning lottery ticket.

CHAPTER FOUR

Three Hours

Travis

Abby held my hand, pulling me along as we walked through the casino to the elevators. I was dragging my feet, trying to take a look around before we went upstairs. It had only been a few months since the last time we’d been in Vegas, but this time was less stressful. We were here for a much better reason. Regardless, Abby was still all-business, refusing to pause long enough for me to get too comfortable around the tables. She hated Las Vegas and with good reason, which made me question even more why she chose to come here, but as long as she was on a mission to be my wife, I wasn’t going to argue.

“Trav,” she said, huffing. “The elevators are right . . . there . . .” She tugged on me a few times toward her final destination.

“We’re on vacation, Pidge. Cool your jets.”

“No, we’re getting married, and we have less than twenty-four hours to get it done.”

I pressed the button, pulling us both into an open space to the side of the crowd. It shouldn’t have been surprising that there were so many people just ending their night this close to sunrise, but even a buck wild frat boy like myself could be impressed here.

“I still can’t believe it,” I said. I brought her fingers to my mouth and kissed them.