Page 7 of A Winter's Wedding

“Why? It’s not like you’re the one getting married today,” Leo joked.

“You’re right. Take a breath, America,” she said to herself out loud, the way she had learned to do to calm down. There was power in saying things aloud that the human brain tended to listen to better than just saying things in one’s head. She sucked cool air, chilled by the constantly opening and closing lobby doors, in through her nostrils.

“You good to go in?” Leo asked. “I’m excited to be part of this, or at least witness it. How did you get me a place inside anyway?”

“I called Margarete, the manager, and told her all about you. You’d think she would have had enough of hearing people’s sappy love stories this week, with all the couples in town for the mass wedding today, but she lapped up our story.”

America took Leo’s arm, and they walked through the ringing bells and flashing lights of the casino on their way to the conference center at the east end. The hallways were crowded with couples of all shapes, sizes, ages, and cultures. America was surprised to see so many people wearing traditional wedding attire from all over the world. She wanted to snap photos but was told the official photographer would distribute the images directly to the magazine. America committed the sight to memory for writing’s sake, and escorted Leo to the ballroom where she had held the interviews yesterday.

At a registration table a tall, thin man stopped them. “Name please,” he said.

“Oh, we’re not here to get married,” she said. “I’m a journalist, and this is my fiancé?—”

“Name.”

“America Greene,” she said.

“Leopold Thorpe,” Leo said and shrugged at her.

“Thank you,” the man said. “You may go in.”

Once inside, they had a good laugh about it. “Is your job always so intense?” Leo asked.

“Not usually, though I did try to save a town once.” she winked.

“That didn’t go so well, did it?”

He was referring to the time when they tried to save Christmas Cove from being incorporated by the next town over, and even though they failed, she knew that everyone had still come out ahead by the new arrangement, herself and Leo included. “I think we did alright.”

“I think so too.” Leo winked back at her.

Taking in the romantic space, Margarete had not understated the ballroom’s transformation. From one end to the next, the space was dotted with pink and white floral arches that created little intimate areas for the couples to stand. Tulle swags hung from the center of the ceiling and draped to the outer walls. Sparkling twinkle-lights played with the tulle and pooled along the edges of the room. The over-the-top décor was to be expected from the city of love, even if that meant she was in Nevada and not France.

Margarete spotted America and waved her up to the main stage. America dragged Leo, who was busy investigating the room, up the stairs to the narrow platform covered in a maroon carpet. The backdrop of the entire scene consisted of yards and yards of pink and red velvet and tulle cascading from an overhead structure. Studio lighting and cameras hung from positions over head, and dozens of chandeliers were positioned on brass stands of varying heights. Light scattered around the ballroom like the mirrors of Versailles at sunset.

The room looked more spectacular from this new vantage point. “This is extraordinary,” America said to Margarete as they kissed each other’s cheeks.

Margarete took a turn gazing out at the room. “Do you think the brides will like it?”

“Absolutely,” America said.

“And what about the grooms?” Leo acted offended.

“No one cares what the groom likes as long as he likes the bride,” Margarete quipped and checked the time. “The press is positioned over there, but I thought you would like to be up here with some of the officials from town. It won’t be long now. The couples are already filtering in.”

Several double doors along the perimeter opened simultaneously. No sooner did the staff get out of the way, than the couples paraded in. Each stopped at a designated table at the entrances and presumably registered their attendance as America and Leo had been forced to do.

Margarete approached their location again with a short little man following close behind. “America, this is the official overseeing the count for the record bid,” Margarete said.

America shook the man’s hand, all the while a flashback of her first December in Christmas Cove played in her mind. Then, Leo had stood by as an official had performed a headcount of the town’s population. That particular count had come up too short to make a difference, which led to Leo losing his job as the mayor. She only hoped this count would go the right way for the people gathered in the ballroom.

“Nice to meet you,” America said. “I’m a journalist and writing a story about the city of love. Did you know that more marriages are performed in Las Vegas each year than anywhere else in the country? Would you like to give a quote for me to use in the article?”

He nodded and she pulled out her recorder. “State your name and that you agree to be recorded.”

After he complied, he began. “As someone that counts things for a living, I’m thrilled to be the official presiding over today’s attempt at the world record for most simultaneous marriages performed in America at one time, giving Las Vegas the undisputed title as the City of Love.”

“Do you think they’ll have it?”

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