Izabel places a hand on my arm. “You go ahead first, Dean. I’m not sure it would be good for us to show up together. We’ll come in after. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” I say, sprinting away. “I’m going to need it.” A minute later, I push open the double doors and jog to the front desk. There, a woman wearing a friendly smile and a blue wig dances in her seat by way of greeting.

“Oooh, getting married today, sweetheart?” she asks in a heavy Southern accent.

Even though I’m short of breath, I manage to eke out a response. “No. I’m here to . . . uh . . . witness a wedding, and I think I’m going to be late.”

“Only one wedding on the books this morning. Down the hall and to the right. Maybe you can catch the last few seconds. Enjoy.”

“Can you watch my bag?” I ask, panting.

“Sure, sugar, set it right here,” she says, pointing to the area behind her.

I drop the bag without regard for any of the contents inside and sprint down the hall as though I’m a wide receiver making their last appearance in the Super Bowl. When I get to the doors of the chapel, I throw them open and rush inside.

Solange

“So, Brandon, has your curiosity been piqued?”

That was a sweet wedding, but I’m beat, and Brandon dragged us here before we could eat breakfast. Now that the newlyweds are retreating back up the aisle, I drop into the pew and stretch my calves. Brandon’s cocktails are potent, so even after a decent night’s rest, I’m existing in a mental haze that makes everything look overexposed.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for humoring me,” he says. “I can finally say I’ve witnessed a Vegas wedding. One more item off my bucket list.”

“You’re a weirdo,” I say, bumping his shoulder.

Brandon studies his phone screen. Which reminds me.

“Don’t let me forget to check in with the hotel’s lost and found. I know I had my phone when we were sitting at the bar. Not having it is totally disorienting. Hopefully someone turned it in.”

“Hopefully,” Brandon says as he types away. Out of the blue, he stands and grabs my hand. “C’mon, I’m going to ask the officiant to take a picture of us for posterity.”

I don’t resist, but I do trudge to the altar because I’m just so damn tired.

“Okay, you two,” the officiant says. “One quick pic coming up. On three, say cheese.”

Brandon and I stand next to each other and smile for the camera. Before the officiant begins the count, Brandon turns to face me and interlaces our fingers.

“One, two—”

Suddenly the doors of the chapel swing open, and Dean bursts inside. “Wait! Solange, don’t do this!”