Page 67 of Murder and Marzipan in Las Vegas
His verdant eyes meet mine, and I can sense a trace of vulnerability replacing his usual confidence. “When I met you, Lot, something changed. I started caring about more than just the next bet or the next case. I wanted to be better. And I was terrified of losing that—of losing you.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard.
“The past is the past,” Everett says after a moment, surprising both Noah and me. “We all have things we’d rather leave behind.”
“Exactly,” Noah agrees, relief washing over his features. “I just wanted you to know the full truth. No more secrets.”
“Well, that’s refreshing,” I say, trying to lighten the moment. “But I have to say, finding out you once had a gambling issue is way less dramatic than some of the theories I’d concocted. I was somewhere between secret government spy and underground Elvis impersonator by night.”
I can totally envision Noah in a rhinestone-encrusted jumpsuit—a green one to match his eyes. So very hot. But I wouldn’t dare say that out loud.
Noah’s dimples make a tentative appearance. “I’m both flattered and concerned by your imagination, Lot.”
And I bite my lip because a part of me is afraid I’ve just said that whole green jumpsuit thing out loud. I can’t trust my mouth or my brain these days.
“My imagination has served me well in murder investigations,” I point out. “And diaper blowout catastrophes. Both require creative problem-solving and a strong stomach.”
The tension dissipates like steam from a kettle, replaced by something lighter yet somehow more profound—the kind of understanding that comes from surviving chaos together and possibly sharing too much personal information inpublic places.
Everett clears his throat, checking his watch with unusual attentiveness. “Speaking of Elvis impersonators, I believe it’s time for that surprise I mentioned.”
“Please tell me it doesn’t involve me wearing a jumpsuit,” I say. “I’m still recovering from the steam spa incident. My body can’t handle any more trauma this week.”
Both Noah and Everett wince, and neither is willing to ask for an elaboration.
“No jumpsuits required,” Everett assures me. “But I can’t promise a complete absence of rhinestones. This is Vegas, after all.”
Before I can press for details, Pacy Morgan appears with a microphone as his too perfect teeth gleam under the lobby lights. The security director has evidently decided that his part in Chuck’s downfall outweighs his previous misdeeds, and he’s embraced his role in the aftermath with suspicious enthusiasm.
“Ladies and gentlemen, visitors and guests of the Bellanova!” Pacy’s voice booms across the lobby, causing several tourists to jump and a few to spill their drinks. “As our Elvis Tribute Artist Championship reaches its grand finale, we have a brand-new special tradition to share with you all!”
The crowd gathers with the collective curiosity of people who’ve learned that loud announcements in Vegas usually mean either free drinks or entertaining spectacles. And our own family and friends form a loose semicircle with our curiosity piqued.
“Vegas is famous for many things,” Pacy continues as his voice takes on the cadence of a carnival barker. “Gambling, shows, and, of course—weddings!Tonight, we start a new Bellanova tradition of closing our Elvis competition with a mass renewal of vows, officiated by our finest tribute artists!”
The idea of what’s about to take place forms in my mind as a line of jumpsuited Elvises assembles near the grand staircase, each striking a different iconic pose.
This is Everett’s surprise—a ridiculously delicious, over-the-top, perfectly Vegas moment of romantic absurdity.
I look up at him and gasp with delight and he nods, letting me know I’ve solved yet another mystery for the night.
“Anyone who wishes to renew their vows or just celebrate theirrelationship in true Vegas style is invited to step forward!” Pacy announces with a catcall to punctuate his words.
Everett leans in as his glorious blue eyes sparkle with mischief and perhaps something deeper. “What do you say, Lemon? Ready to get re-hitched in the most uniquely ridiculous way possible?”
“You bet I am! Is this legal?” I ask with a laugh, as we begin to move forward.
“About as legal as anything else that happens in Vegas,” he replies with a grin.
Noah steps forward instead of back, catching my other hand with that crooked smile that’s gotten me in trouble ever since I’ve met him. “Can’t let you two have all the fun without me.” His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and familiar. “Besides,” he adds with a wink, “someone needs to make sure this marriage actually sticks this time.”
“Third time’s the charm?” I squeeze his hand right back and give a cheeky grin. “Although technically, we’re already batting a thousand in the till death do us part department.”
Everett’s blue eyes shift to Noah with that razor-sharp look he reserves for perjuring witnesses. “Don’t worry, Fox. I’m sure this one will be just as legally binding as your last attempt at matrimony.”
Other couples begin to form around us—Keelie and Bear holding hands with easy affection, Lainey and Forest exchanging glances, Meg dragging an amused Hook forward. Even my mother and Wiley step up, though Mom keeps checking her phone for baby updates.
“This is insane.” Lainey laughs as she pulls Forest closer.
