“The vase by the elevator.” Patricia put her finger to her lips. Then she tucked a sprig behind Aria’s ear. “Perfect.”
It was time to go, and they rushed her down to the lobby. Someone in a tuxedo waited by the revolving doors, his back to them. Aria didn’t realize it was Hallbjorn until he turned around and smiled at her. “Wow,” she gasped.
“I was just about to say the same about you,” Hallbjorn answered, taking her hand.
They were silent for a moment, and then burst into giggles. This is really happening, Aria thought. I’m really getting married.
Aria threw on her coat, and Humpty, the porter from the day before, ushered them outside and showed them the bicycle built for two he’d rented. It had banana seats, streamers hanging from the handlebars, and no gear shifts in sight. “I could only find you a beach cruiser,” he said sheepishly. “I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s better than okay.” The seat was covered in sand and the gears were a little rusty, but she couldn’t imagine a better wedding transport.
The temperature was much warmer than the day before, and all of the snow had been plowed off the streets. Hallbjorn climbed onto the front part of the tandem bike and set off, giving the bell a little ring. It wasn’t easy for Aria to pedal in heels, so she let her feet dangle for much of the ride. A few people waved as they passed, and a couple of horns honked. Aria thought she caught sight of someone lurking behind them, but when she looked over her shoulder, whoever it was had ducked around a corner . . . or maybe hadn’t been there at all. She shook off her worries. Nothing was going to ruin her wedding day.
They reached the chapel, a small white building wedged between a pawnshop and a tattoo parlor. It said CHAPEL OF LUV in red lettering over the door, and there were heart-printed curtains in the windows. Hallbjorn helped Aria off the bike, then gave her a long, meaningful look.
“You are so beautiful, Aria Montgomery,” he said.
“So are you, Hallbjorn Gunterson,” Aria said, her voice trembling a little.
He leaned in and kissed her.
They walked up the stairs together. The inside of the chapel was swathed in red draperies, tall white columns, and vases overflowing with red and white roses. A glittering chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a few rows of seats were positioned on either side of a red-carpeted aisle. The room smelled like a mix of perfume and flowers, and soft music played through the speakers. A door opened at the end of the chapel, and someone in an Elvis costume, complete with the spangled jacket and bell-bottom pants, the bouffant hair, and the aviator sunglasses, strutted out and smiled at them. “Hey there, lovebirds,” he crooned in a perfect Elvis voice. “I’ll be marrying you today.”
Aria laughed. It was too perfect.
Elvis asked for the license paperwork, and Aria handed it over. He tucked it into his pocket without even looking at it. “Now, do you kids have witnesses?”
Aria looked at Hallbjorn. “Uh, no . . .”
“We’ll be their witnesses,” a voice came from the left. A tall, slender showgirl wearing a plume atop her head was sitting next to the spitting image of Cher.
Elvis returned to the front of the chapel and instructed Hallbjorn to join him. Cher jumped from her seat and ushered Aria into a little anteroom just off the aisle, which contained a couple of chairs and a full-length mirror. Aria stared at herself, taking in her vintage dress and the flowers tucked in her hair. Cher stood behind her, fixing her hair from the back.
“Thanks for being our witnesses,” Aria whispered.
“Oh, I just love weddings, honey,” Cher answered in a deep voice. Aria caught sight of her enormous hands in the mirror and smiled wryly. Of course Cher would be a dude in drag.
Canon in D played through the speakers. After a few beats, Cher offered Aria her arm. Aria took it as though it were perfectly normal for a drag queen to be walking her down the aisle instead of Byron, her gaze anchored on Hallbjorn at the front of the chapel the whole time. There was a giddy smile on his face. His hands were clutched at his waist, and one of his feet tapped the ground.
She came to a stop next to Hallbjorn just as the music ended. Cher kissed her on the cheek, whispered, “Good luck,” and then sat down next to the showgirl. Elvis faced the two of them, opened a large leather book with gilt-edged pages, and cleared his throat.
“We are gathered here today to unite Aria Marie Montgomery and Hallbjorn Fyodor Gunterson.” He stumbled a little over Hallbjorn’s name, and Aria nervously giggled.
Elvis continued with all of the typical marriage lines Aria had heard in countless movies and read in hundreds of books. He made them repeat how they would take each other for better or worse, through sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, as long as they both shall live. Aria’s hands shook as Hallbjorn slid the snake ring on her finger. She reached for the plain gold band they’d bought for Hallbjorn at the same jewelry store and pushed it past his knuckle.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” she heard Elvis say, and then suddenly Hallbjorn was kissing her, and Cher and the showgirl were cheering. Aria’s heart thrummed fast, all of this feeling like a dream. When she opened her eyes, confetti was falling from the ceiling. A band appeared from the back, quickly plugged their instruments into amps, and Elvis grabbed the microphone he’d spoken into to marry them and began belting out “All Shook Up.”
The chapel turned into a dance party. Hallbjorn swung Aria’s hands back and forth. Cher grabbed Aria and gave her a little twirl. The showgirl shook her boobs and did some high kicks. A few elderly tourists in heavy wool coats wandered in, and Elvis invited them to join the celebration as well. Aria paused for a moment, drinking the whole thing in. It was all so . . . her, down to the stolen flowers behind her ear and the fact that Hallbjorn had forgotten to rent shoes with his tux and was still wearing his Icelandic climbing boots. A rush of happiness washed over her, and she broke into a wide, euphoric grin. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect wedding.
Chapter 11
The Couple Who Breaks the Law Together . . .
When Aria and Hallbjorn emerged from the Chapel of Luv an hour and a half later, their voices croaky from singing along to Elvis songs and their feet aching from dancing with Cher, their tandem bicycle now had a flag affixed to the back that said JUST MARRIED in pink letters. A bunch of empty cans had been tied to the back, too.
“That was the best wedding ever,” Aria said, climbing aboard the bike. “Now I can’t wait to get you back to our hotel room, husband.”
“I agree, wife.” Hallbjorn turned his new wedding ring around on his finger. “But I want to show you something first.”
“Is it another surprise?” Aria asked, her mind whirling. Maybe Hallbjorn had arranged some kind of amazing dinner. Or booked them tickets on a mini-honeymoon.
“You’ll see when we get there.” Hallbjorn threw his leg over the seat and began to pedal.
They took off down the street, the cans clanging. Instead of turning into the Borgata’s main entrance, Hallbjorn bypassed it and banked left into a back driveway. They snaked through a bunch of parking lots and loading zones until they stopped at a large metal garage door. Hallbjorn dismounted from the bike and dusted off his tuxedo, which had gotten sprayed from some salt on the road.
Aria looked around. Not a soul was in sight, and they were hemmed in by huge, dirty snowdrifts. A bunch of semitrucks stood waiting, their cabs unoccupied. She thought she heard a cough and froze, but as she waited, no more sounds came.
“Why are we here?” she asked shakily.
“I’ll show you.” Hallbjorn walked to the garage door and began to pull on the small handle at the bottom. Before Aria could stop him, he’d hefted up the door to reveal a small, dark room. The smell of cat pee hit Aria’s nostrils immediately, and she suppressed a gag. When Aria’s vision adjusted, she saw two black cages on opposite ends of the room. Large shapes huddled behind the bars. Then she heard a loud, menacing roar.
She turned to Hallbjorn, momentarily dumbstruck. “Are these the panthers from the show?”
“Yes.” Hallbjorn flipped on a light, which just made the beasts growl louder. They looked even bigger up close, their bodies solid muscle, their eyes glowing yellow. They were shut into two tiny cages barely big enough for them to properly turn around or lie down in. Their food and water bowls were empty. There was poop all over the floor, and the room seemed way too cold for an animal to be comfortable.
“How did you find them?” Aria gasped.
“I did some poking around while you were getting your makeup done,” Hallbjorn explained. “It was easier to find them than I thought. No one looks after them for most of the day. They’re only important when they have to perform.” He gestured to one of the panthers. It was now huddled in a ball, shivering.
Tears came to Aria’s eyes. “The poor things.”
Hallbjorn turned to her, his face suddenly full of excitement. “But we can help them. I want us to set them free. Give them the life they deserve.”
Aria squinted at the panthers’ cages. There were several huge locks on the doors. “How are we supposed to do that?”
“I think I’ve figured it out. Between seven and eight A.M., their handler unlocks the cages so that they can get some exercise—which is just them getting led around on short leashes. Tomorrow morning, I could distract the handler and you could sneak in there, open the doors, and set the panthers free.”
“I have to set them free?” One of the cats yawned, and Aria pointed to its enormous canine teeth. “And risk them tearing me limb from limb?”
“Then I’ll unlock their cages. You distract the handler.” Hallbjorn looked exasperated. “The point is that we’ll be letting them out. Freeing them from their oppressors.”
“So they can wander around Atlantic City?” Aria took a small step away from him. “Hallbjorn, this isn’t exactly their natural habitat. Where are they going to live? Under the boardwalk? What are they going to do if it snows? What will they do for food?”
“It’s better than the situation they have here.” Hallbjorn swept his arm toward the cages. The panthers both let out mighty roars as if in response.
“But a loose panther could hurt someone!” Aria cried. “Think about those old people at the chapel just now. Do you seriously think they could outrun a panther?”
Hallbjorn put his hands on his hips. “I’m sure they’re very gentle. And they won’t try to hurt anyone—they just want to be free. They’ll probably head straight for the marshland out of town.”
Aria stared at him, waiting for the moment Hallbjorn would start snickering and say that he was just kidding—he was just going to call the ASPCA and have them take care of the situation. But the laugh didn’t come. He stared at her fixedly, his face utterly serious.
“I want to share everything with you now that we’re married,” Hallbjorn said. “And I also want our marriage to be about something bigger than just us. We should conquer the world together.”
