She Woke Up Married (13 page)

“Last time we were here in Las Vegas together you had Tom Riley in tow and we were dripping in fake jewelry and not much else.” Paris held her menu down and looked Marla in the eye.

“Ah yes, I remember it well,” Marla replied.

“Remember how you lied to me about Tom?”

“I remember that, too.”

“Well, now we’re even.”

“We will never be even, I told you that a zillion times.”

“Shut up, girls, and decide what you want. I’m starving. It is a sign to the waiter when you put your menu down. And he’s cute, so hurry up!” Anton slapped his menu on the table.

“Okay. Okay! I can’t believe I haven’t had a
night out in forever. My temporary husband spends all his time singing ‘Love Me Tender’ to these crazy people who get married down here, and most of them are in the evenings. He’s a real late-night soul saver and marrying man.”

“Have you gone and watched him?” Marla asked, setting her menu down on top of Anton’s.

“Hell no. He’s got Sarah helping him down there when she’s not in school. I think they make a lovely couple, don’t you?” Paris gave her menu a particulary hard slap down—enough to get the cute waiter in their corner right away.

“Hello, I’m François, I’ll be your waiter tonight.”

“You aren’t really French, are you?” Paris asked.

“I am
really
French, madame, I assure you. I’m here studying hotel and restaurant management, and enjoying myself working at Charlie Palmer’s. I am actually the wine steward, but we are a bit shorthanded tonight.”

“Well, François, I am Anton, but not French, just very pleased to meet you. We’d like to start with the oysters on the half with apple cider mignonette, and the ahi tuna tartar sushi roll.”

“Eeeeuuuhhh,” Paris shuddered. “I’ll have the surf and turf just past rare with lobster instead of prawns. And can you bring me a chocolate milk shake?”

“She’s expecting twins.” Anton rolled his eyes.

“Certainly, madame. I’m sure the bartender can create you a superb chocolate milkshake. We have a nice Caesar salad to go with that steak and lobster if you like.”

“Swell.”

“Anyway, François, what’s good tonight?” Anton continued.

“Our beef is really exceptional.”

“Then I’ll have the filet, medium rare, and the duck salad. That looked divine. Pick me out a nice wine for that. I’ll be drinking alone tonight, I fear.”

“I have a very oaky Shiraz I’ll open just for you.”

Paris sensed some flirting going on and caught Marla’s eye. They both gave each other the “look.”

“And the lady in blue?” François indicated Marla.

“The roast beef salad, and as long as you’re making her a shake, I’ll take one too.”

“Moo,” Paris added.

“Merci, and I’ll return shortly with your appetizers.” François vanished with the menus under his arm.

“Look, you made him go away now,” Anton pouted.

“That’s his job. Besides, he’ll be back. Anton, shut up about the twins and the whole being pregnant thing, will you?” Paris glared at him.

“I hate to tell you this, but your shape is a big giveaway.” Anton glared back.

“I’d rather not announce it. I came here to hide out. At a dinner table I can pass for retaining water,” Paris said.

Anton and Marla both laughed.

“Okay, a whole lot of water.” Paris put her napkin in her lap and covered up the bump, which didn’t cover too well.

“Hiding out. Why is that?” Anton asked.

“I want to be able to go back to work without everyone knowing my business. I’m just a very private person anyhow.”

“This all sounds very lame to me. Why don’t you just get some maternity modeling gigs?” Anton pressed her.

“I don’t want clients knowing I’m pregnant and fat, and most importantly no one needs to know I’m giving up a set of twins to their biological father and getting on with my life. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to enjoy my escape from crazy Millie and sulky Sarah and the smallest apartment in the universe.”

There was a very prickly silence at that point. Paris just wanted to scream at them all to leave her alone.

“Yes. Well, we’ll have a two-day spa blitz. Did you see they have a maternity massage package?” Marla changed the subject, thank goodness.

“And a four-layer seaweed and mineral mud
facial, plus hair, nails, feet, all that.” Paris could almost feel the relief she’d get from all that pampering. Relief from all the tension and all the body changes and a million other things. How do you spell relief? M-a-s-s-a-g-e!

“You’d let someone else touch your hair?” Anton put a hand to his heart and feigned a swoon.

“Well, duh, you can’t be everywhere,” Paris replied.

“I’ll go along with you and give him your formula.”

“Fine.”

“And by the way,” Marla interjected, “no, I don’t think they make a lovely couple. I think Turner is madly in love with
you,
Paris.”

“Thank you for that keen observation, Mrs.
Rittley.
” Paris crossed her arms and sat back in her comfortable chair, which wasn’t feeling very comfortable at the moment. “I thought we agreed to drop the lectures for now.”

“I’ll try harder. Steak, lobster, facials. How’s that?” Marla said.

She looked upset. Paris didn’t care. She was going to take care of her own self for the next two or three or four days. And she was going to have a selfish, self-indulgent, jolly old time of it.

Turner watched the couple sitting across the desk from him. They were young. Maybe
twenty-two for her, and maybe twenty-five for him. The potential groom held the girl’s hand the entire time. She leaned close to him while he talked about what they wanted to read to each other during the service.

They wanted something fun and campy for their wedding—a fifties theme. Turner smiled to think how the whole getting-married-by-Elvis-in-Las-Vegas thing had reached across the generations.

He made a few notes in his leather-bound notebook under Watkins-O’Conner Wedding. How he envied them being so in love. They’d chosen the “Blue Hawaii”–themed Elvis wedding.

“That’s pretty much all we need for now. Let’s have one more meeting before the wedding, say, next week at this same time? We can set up the limo pickup time. And let’s plan on a short rehearsal with the whole wedding party so they all know their cues.” Turner rose from behind his dark antique wood desk and came around to shake their hands. “I’d wish you luck, but as we talked about, it takes more than that to make a marriage work, and you both seem to have a good grasp of what you’re doing.”

“Thanks, Reverend Pruitt. You’ve been awesome.”

Turner escorted the happy couple out through the chapel and to the street door. “Let me know
what day would be good for a rehearsal and we’ll get our calendars matched up.”

They agreed and waved good-bye. Turner closed the door, locked it, and walked down the aisle of his chapel. Since he’d removed the orange carpet and repainted the ghastly yellow walls a soft beige, the place looked great. The pews had been reupholstered with red velvet, the lighting made more dramatic and updated, and the altar refinished. It looked pretty darned elegant now.

He’d had a local artist renovate the stained glass windows on either side of the altar. Right now they were sparkling in the sunlight, dancing colors all over the room. Over the last few years Turner had put a great deal of effort and work into his chapel. His bookings had doubled, and he was glad that Danny Vernon was on board to assist him. Danny’s Elvis was really a knockout, and he seemed to get better every time Turner saw him.

This would really help when the twins came along. He’d have to take a leave of absence for the first few months, and he knew he’d better think about getting a second minister in here to fill in during that time. The doctor had told him that twins deliver around the thirty-fifth week of pregnancy instead of the usual forty. That only left him till the beginning of December.

Man, he had a great deal to put into motion, get into order, and make happen. Turner walked up behind the pulpit and looked across at the empty chapel. What was he going to do with Paris? He had a vision of her standing in the doorway in her red sequined dress, yelling out to him. She’d looked gorgeous with her flaming red hair.

When he’d seen her there he had to admit it was like she’d been sent to him. He’d been buried in his work, enjoyable as it was. He’d been so busy marrying people, preaching on Sunday, and doing late-night services that he’d let his personal life slide into a corner. He’d dated, but no one special had caught his heart. When he’d seen Paris, it was like the years had fallen away. Only this time he was a man, not a boy, and she was a handful of woman.

Well, she’d always been a handful.

He tried to muster up some regret for marrying her on the spot, and getting her pregnant, but somehow he was actually glad. He was glad his life had been shaken to the core, and that Paris was the one doing the shaking. It was truly a miracle they had been brought together. If only she’d reach out to him.

Turner stood poised at his pulpit with the light streaming in the windows behind him. As the sun went down, the brilliance of the reflection through the stained glass seemed to flare into a
kaleidoscope of color that filled the chapel with bursts of light.

Suddenly he felt a strength and direction that had eluded him over the last few months. It filled him with determination and spirit. His path wasn’t easy, but he knew he’d find the way to make order. He knew in his heart that Paris was going to have a complete change of heart. It might be painful, but he was going to be the one to unlock the doors that kept Paris from letting love in.

Turner left the chapel ready to take on whatever was necessary to tame the tiger that was Paris. He’d have her sitting in his lap purring like a kitten before this was all over.

The next thing Turner’s eyes beheld was his wife’s fanny doing the boogaloo to an updated version of an old Rolling Stones tune, “She’s So Cold.” Now, of course, she wasn’t on a dance floor—that would be too conventional. She was just grooving down the halls of the Four Seasons hotel.
I’m so hot for her
is right, Turner thought as he heard the lyrics to the song. And how did she manage to squeeze into that black sequined number? It was pretty shocking seeing her out of her flannels and back in her strutting clothes. She had on strappy black high heels to top it all off…well, to tip it all off if you think shoes.

“Hey, Paris,” Turner called.

“Look, it’s the old ball and chain!” Paris turned and boogied backwards.

Both Marla and Anton stopped. Turner took three big strides and grabbed Paris before she fell on her cute fanny.

“Oops. I guess I’m a little off-balance.”

“It’s probably the extra boobs. You’re moving on to prereduction Dolly Parton there, Paris!” Anton smiled.

Being pregnant had certainly increased her cleavage, that was for sure. And her thin-strapped, low-cut dress was showing that off well.

Paris looked down at her chest. “Oh my gawd, where did those come from?”

Marla put her arm around Anton. “I swear she hasn’t had anything to drink, Turner, she’s just naturally unbalanced.”

“Now that I’m here I’ll provide the balance. You can keep on dancing.”

“Anton wants to go next door to the Mandalay and get tickets for
Mamma Mia
. He really wants to get out of this dignified, elegant joint and party,” Paris said. She swiped a spray of red hair out of her eye.

“Sounds great to me. I haven’t had a night out in…well, since April Fool’s Day.”

“Oh yes, our wedding anniversary. Has a great ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“Unforgettable,” Turner replied.

“Move it along, you fools. I’m having an Abba attack right here.” Anton fanned himself.

Turner fell in beside Paris and took her arm.

“What’s this? Trying to get on my good side?” Paris asked.

“Stability, Paris, I’m just here to provide stability.”

When they stepped through the lobby doors, the Nevada heat hit like a tidal wave. It felt good to Turner, being out of the air-conditioning. It was going to be a hot night, no doubt about it.

The Mandalay Bay Casino gaming floor was resplendent with red patterned carpets and dazzling lights. It always amazed Turner to watch people gamble their money away like water. He knew the gambler’s anonymous group was overflowing with reformed addicts, and his own church’s late-night Sunday service attracted quite a few reformers looking for a little spiritual strength. He always kept that in mind when he gave his sermons.

He was glad to see the tables didn’t hold a big attraction for Paris. She always seemed to be heading toward the music and dancing.

“C’mon, Marla, let Anton go get his tickets and we’ll make Turner dance with both of us.”

“I’ll come with you, but my feet are pretty swollen. I think the change of climate has
thrown me out of whack. I can’t wait for that massage tomorrow,” Marla said.

“Me neither. Which reminds me, Turner, I have a few things to tell you.”

“That makes two of us.” Turner kept Paris pointed toward the Coral Reef bar dance floor. “We’ll talk while we dance.”

“To this? They’re on the slow end of the set. I want to groove.”

“Well, groove to the slow.” They’d reached the edge of the wooden floor, and Turner took Paris in his arms. He saw Marla park herself at a side table and smile at him.

The music was being provided by your basic top forties oldies-but-goodies band, and he knew the guy well. Tony had played at quite a few wedding receptions Turner had ended up attending. He did a great Huey Lewis dance set, but he was a blues ballad guy deep at heart. He was just finishing up the Shirelles’ hit “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?,” which was just about perfect. Turner knew the universe had a way of providing just the right moments to bring your life to another level of understanding if you listened well enough and paid attention.

Turner pulled Paris closer to him, and she didn’t resist. She was letting the music take her away. Not taken away by him, exactly, but that was good enough for Turner. Her voluptuous body was enough to drive him nuts. She was a
good dancer. So was he. He made sure she remembered it.