“There’s got to be another way.” Aria leaned back against the couch and thought for a moment. Her gaze bounced around the room, noting the pile of laundry on the floor, the diamond-shaped God’s eye hanging from the mirror, and the empty picture frame on the side table. Not so long ago, the frame had held a picture of Byron and Ella on their wedding day, lovingly embracing under a canopy of trees. When Aria was little, she used to gaze at that photo for hours, thinking that her parents were the most romantic people on the planet.
It was like a lightning bolt suddenly struck her brain. She sat up straighter. “Hallbjorn, what if we got married?”
Hallbjorn barked out a laugh. “Pardon?”
“I’m serious. If we got married, your visa would be extended indefinitely. You could go to school here. Get a job. And eventually, when enough time has passed and we hire you a good lawyer, maybe we could work it out with the Icelandic police, and you could go back there and visit your family.”
Hallbjorn ran his tongue over his teeth. “Is it even legal for us to get married here?”
“I think the legal age is sixteen? Seventeen?” Aria shrugged. “Even if we have to get a parent’s consent, I could forge my mom’s signature. I’m sure no one really checks as long as we pay the fees.” She grasped Hallbjorn’s hands, her heart suddenly pumping hard. “It’s the best idea. It solves all your problems. And wouldn’t it be fun to be husband and wife? We could go to Atlantic City! Make a weekend of it and get married in one of those little chapels in the casinos! I have some money saved up—we could stay in an amazing hotel. Order room service. Drink champagne. Play blackjack. Live it up.”
Hallbjorn didn’t look convinced. “We’re talking about marriage. It’s a serious commitment. Are you sure that’s something you want to do?”
Aria tucked her feet under her butt. It was true that she sometimes threw herself headfirst into situations without thinking them through—her romance with Ezra was one example. But this was different. Hallbjorn was practically her age. They had so much fun together, had so much in common, and they could talk for hours. What more was needed in a marriage besides that? Look at Byron and Meredith: What on earth did they have to talk about? Aria’s marriage to Hallbjorn would probably outlast theirs.
And it wasn’t just Hallbjorn the marriage would benefit: Aria had a feeling it would do wonders for her life, too. Marrying Hallbjorn would mean he’d never leave her, as so many other people had. He would be her life buoy in a rocky sea. She could make her marriage work, doing the opposite of everything her parents had done.
“It’s definitely something I would want to do,” she decided. “But what about you? Are you saying you wouldn’t want to marry me?”
Hallbjorn’s face softened. He leaned forward and pushed a hair out of Aria’s face. “I do love you. But this is a huge sacrifice you’re making, all so I don’t have to go back to Iceland.”
“It’s not a sacrifice.” With every word, Aria’s conviction felt stronger and stronger. “This is something I believe in with all my heart. I promise.”
She stared into Hallbjorn’s eyes, trying to convey everything that she felt and wanted. Hallbjorn stared back, his icy-blue eyes wide. Finally, a tender smile spread across his face. “Let’s do it.” He sank to his knees. “Aria Montgomery, will you marry me?”
“Yes!” Aria exclaimed, falling into Hallbjorn’s arms. “Atlantic City, here we come!”
Chapter 7
Party Like a Rock Star
“Welcome,” a porter told Aria and Hallbjorn the following afternoon as they walked through the revolving doors at the Borgata Hotel Casino & Spa in Atlantic City. “Enjoy your stay!”
“Thank you,” Aria chirped, pulling her wheelie bag behind her. She and Hallbjorn had just endured a very long journey to get to Atlantic City—he’d insisted that they wait six hours in the cold bus station for the only Greyhound that ran on natural gas.
But none of that mattered now. Aria looked around the lobby, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sprawling space of marble and glass that smelled like a mix of expensive perfume and seared steak from a restaurant down the hall. Through an archway, slot machines stretched as far as the eye could see. All of them hummed, sounding like a massive swarm of bees. A couple of old ladies were sitting at the machines, robotically pulling the levers. A cheer went up from a blackjack table, and a croupier gave a roulette wheel a spin. It all felt very glamorous, and suddenly what they were about to do hit her again. They were getting married!
“Reservation for Montgomery,” Aria said to a woman at the front desk who wore her dark hair in a French twist and had a pin on her jacket that said MAUREEN, RESERVATION ASSOCIATE.
“Of course.” Maureen clacked her long nails across the keyboard. “Aha. Here you are, in room 908. The suite overlooks the ocean. Also included in your stay is a complimentary dinner at Wolfgang Puck’s restaurant and two tickets to tonight’s floor show.”
Aria paid for the room in cash, using money from the small nest egg she’d amassed from a couple of paid essays she’d written recently about her experience with Mona-as-A. She’d felt a little squeamish exploiting the situation, but she was happy she had the cash now, especially since most of it would be needed for the marriage license and the application fees for Hallbjorn’s permanent visa.
Another porter who looked like the human equivalent of Humpty Dumpty loaded their luggage onto a cart and gestured for them to follow him to the elevators. When the doors shut behind them, Aria shot Humpty a smile. “Excuse me, do you know of any wedding chapels in the area?”