The man gave Noah a look that read cheap bastard. “We have a deluxe package that will provide it all and include a few extras.”
“Fine. Yes to all of it.”
The man grinned and then turned to his cash register to total everything up. “That will be nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars.”
Noah knew he was getting screwed, but he handed over his credit card willingly enough. He’d pay a hell of a lot more than that to marry Libby. He wanted it to be perfect for her, but he reminded himself that there were demon cherubs watching their every move. “What are the extras that come with the deluxe package?”
Tito smiled as he handed Noah the receipt. “Our top-of-the-line service, including an audience.”
Noah put his credit card back in his wallet. “Wait. An audience?”
“We’re ready!” Angelica shouted from behind the door.
A sigh of relief escaped Noah’s lips and he started for the dressing room, but Tito stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To see my bride.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no you aren’t. Give me that ring and march yourself inside the chapel and wait up front.”
He pulled the ring off his hand and handed it him. “But . . .”
“You don’t want to see her before she comes down the aisle.” He picked up the bouquet Noah had tied together with the twine. “I’ll give this to the bride.” He leaned to the side, partially covering his mouth. “And I’ll give you a heads-up if she takes off after seeing it.”
“Ha. Ha,” Noah mumbled, but his nerves were kicking in now that the majority of the alcohol had left his system. Libby had to be sobering up too. What if he was wrong about the flowers? What if she changed her mind about everything?
He really wanted to talk to her one last time, but as much as it killed him to admit it, Tito was right. Given how superstitious Libby tended to be, he didn’t want to press his luck by forcing his way in to see her. He pushed on the double wooden doors that bore a placard reading Holy Seraphim Chapel, took one step inside, and froze, completely unprepared for what he found there.
The chapel looked like it had been cobbled together by a drunken construction worker fired from Caesar’s Palace. They had tried to emulate European chapels with the domed ceiling, Corinthian columns, and stained glass, but on a much smaller scale. The effort had failed miserably.
The back wall was encased in an arch and a backlit stained glass window filled most of the space. It might have been pretty if not for the design. The panes were covered with the figures of grown men sporting short stubby wings and flowing fabric wrapped around their johnsons, which made them look like they were wearing diapers. Naked women surrounded them, gazing up in adoration. All the male figures were identical, as were the female figures, and to make matters worse, they had clearly been modeled after Angelica and Tito.
Oh. Fuck.
Crooked columns held up the arch and the platform floor in front of the window was painted a faux gray marble, as was the short aisle leading to the altar. The front of the room had held Noah’s attention so long he realized he’d missed the rest of the chapel. There were three arched niches on either side, all filled with concrete angels, which thankfully bore no resemblance to the two owners. The insides of the arches appeared to have been spray-painted a metallic gold.
The mural on the ceiling was composed of multiple scenes of a naked angel bearing a remarkable resemblance to Tito, although Noah was certain the artist had over-exaggerated the man’s penile girth and length. Angelica was there too, with wings this time, and there were multiple images of her and Tito in the throes of passion. One particularly memorable composition showed the two fornicating on a bench in a garden, with Tito thrusting from behind wearing a shit-eating grin.
Holy hell. Some things couldn’t be unseen.
Noah took several hesitant steps down the aisle, telling himself that Libby would probably love it. He suspected she was the only person on the planet who would.
It wasn’t until he stepped onto the small platform that he realized the back row of folding chairs was occupied by six men, most of whom appeared to have been plucked from a holding pen at the police station. One man wore a grungy knit cap and slurped from a can of Campbell’s soup, while another leaned his head against the wall, releasing a small snore.
“We’re all ready,” Angelica singsonged as she entered the chapel through the double doors, her hands pressed together at her breasts as if in prayer. “Your beautiful bride is ready. Shall we begin?”
He nodded, finding it difficult to push out a yes. His chest was so tight with nerves he could hardly breathe. He noticed a clock on the wall over the entrance, the hands in the shape of angel wings. 11:49. At least Libby hadn’t taken off yet.
Angelica glided over to a stereo system in the corner and pressed a button. Music poured into the room and the double doors swung open as if by magic.
Libby filled the doorway, Noah’s bouquet in her hands, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Their eyes locked and everything else fell away. However strange and unconventional this was, it was right. It was them.
The first lines of the song “Teen Angel” played on the speakers overhead—the original recording from the 1950s, from the sound of it.
“Oops, wrong song,” Angelica murmured, pressing a button that stopped the music. “That was from the last couple.”
Libby’s eyes widened and she held back a giggle.