When Sarah had returned to their hotel room, dazed and massaged to a mellow complacency, he led her downstairs, a docile lamb to the slaughterhouse of sin. They downed a couple of green-apple martinis at the bar while watching the topless dancers prance around on the stage. It was especially fun sitting beside his wife-to-be watching “Destiny” drive the patrons wild, knowing she had serviced him a mere hour before. It had been Sarah’s first foray to a strip bar. Apparently, it wasn’t her cup of tea. Said it made her sad. Insisted on leaving before the set was over. She was hungry, wanted dinner, but he vetoed that. With food in her belly, she might not get as inebriated as he needed her to be. “When in Vegas, baby,” he’d said as he’d steered her back to the hotel room and unpacked the bottle of tequila and wedges of lime from his overnight bag. Convinced her it had been a major fantasy of his for her to do body shots off him while he watched in the overhead mirror.

“Kevin,” she’d protested. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Soon, baby, soon. Body shots first, then sex, then dinner.” Made her do the shots over and over until “she got it right.” Aka was drunker than a skunk and having difficulty managing basic motor skills. Perfect. Had a quickie, as promised, slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Watched the clock. Timed it. Got off in forty-eight seconds, a new record. Yanked up her panties, called a Lyft, still had her ID from his earlier outing. Half dragged, half carried her down the hall, into the elevator, through the lobby, and into the waiting car. They arrived at the twenty-four-hour wedding chapel fifteen minutes later and got married right and tight. The whole time she was bawling like a baby that, no, no, no, she wanted a real wedding, with flowers and a beautiful gown. She wanted her mom and dad, poor little baby girl. Had to slip a couple of extra hundreds to the wedding officiant when it looked like he was going to balk. Suddenly, the man became very compliant, cracked jokes, slapped Kevin on the back, wasn’t too picky about her portion of the vows. They all signed. Sarah’s hand needed a little guidance, and then it was done. Married. Until “death do us part.” No prenup.

Granted it wasn’t the most romantic of nights. The Lyft driver had to pull the car over twice on the return trip to the hotel so she could barf her guts out by the side of the road.

She was still pretty green when they flew back to JFK International Airport the next morning as Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, and there was not a damned thing her parents could do about it.