Page 63 of The Marriage Blunder

Miles and Alejandro decamped to the study, where I heard them immediately start arguing in whispers about the legal definition of “go-between.”

It was Kyue, ever the social engineer, who dropped into the seat next to me and asked, “So, Vegas?”

A hush, then a smile, then a chorus of interested faces.

I took a breath, because I knew this story had traveled—over text, over rumor, over every informal channel—but had never been told, at least not by me, in the presence of this many actual witnesses.

I said, “We went to Vegas for the bachelor/bachelorette party for Kenneth and Carolyn’s wedding. Ended up getting married instead.”

Kyue grinned. “Details, please.”

Kenneth, standing at the stove, interjected, “It was the only viable option at the time.”

I rolled my eyes, but let him have it. “It was one hundred twelve degrees even at night. We were both well past tipsy. We found a chapel on the strip and Kenneth convinced them to process the paperwork in under an hour.”

Delancy, from his spot at the kitchen island, said, “That’s not possible.”

I nodded. “Correct. It required an extra cash payment, two notarized witnesses, and a background check that was probably only performed to get us to wait in the lobby.”

Fred, from the corner, asked, “Who did you get to witness?”

“Casino employees,” I replied. “One was on her lunch break, the other was a blackjack dealer who left her table for the exact window of time it took us to sign the forms.”

Alejandro returned from the study, sipping something brown and probably medicinal. “The real question,” he said, “is how you managed to locate the only open, licensed chapel in Vegas at two in the morning.”

I shrugged. “I have a gift for identifying operational infrastructure under suboptimal conditions.”

The room cracked up.

Kenneth, who had turned to lean against the counter, watched me with an expression that was half-pride, half-exasperation. He said, “You failed to mention the Elvis impersonator.”

“That’s because I was trying to forget him,” I said. “His cologne was an OSHA violation.”

Miles, who had returned to the main room, said, “Is there an annulment window?”

“We’re past it,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but the room went quiet in a way that was not uncomfortable.

Everyone seemed to look at Kenneth, who looked back at me.

“I think I’ll keep him,” he said, and the tension snapped, laughter filling the room again.

People started to drift out. Fred left with a handshake that, for him, counted as effusive. Miles and Alejandro exchanged a quick, intense hug and then vanished into the elevator. Lucas clapped Kenneth on the back, then Kyue did the same to me.

Delancy, who had powered down his monitors and was already at the door, paused next to me and said, “Forty-eight hours, tops,” then slipped out so quietly I wondered if I had imagined him in the first place.

The apartment, for the first time all evening, was silent. I stood at the kitchen counter with the last half-inch of wine, watching the city lights spiderweb out past the window.

Kenneth came up beside me, close enough that our arms touched. “So we don’t know who built this.”

“Not yet,” I said. “But Delancy will find them.”

He nodded.

“Are you all right?” he asked, softer now, no audience left to perform for.

I thought about it, really thought. I had a hacker, a mob boss, a tech billionaire’s security detail, and my best friend’s husband working to protect me. I was legally married to the most compelling man I had ever met, and, for once, I was not running from the consequences.

“I think so,” I said. “Ask me again after the tracker.”