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The Hunk-A-Hunk-A Burning Love Chapel smelled like stale beer and BO. The only light source came from the afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass shrine to Elvis. Instead of it inspiring any spiritual feelings, it simply reminded her of the plastic trinkets she'd painted and baked as a child.
Brandy Summers shuddered and wiped damp hands down the front of her wedding dress, trying to keep the god-awful stench out of her nose.
She dropped her gaze to the floor. The carpet, shaggy and orange, had probably been purchased from some clearance room back in the seventies. The fan in the room barely circulated the stagnant air, but did cause the inflatable arch over the altar to lean to the right.
Be happy, this is your wedding day for goodness' sake. And it wasn't so bad. It could've been worse.
The fluorescent neon guitar behind the altar crackled and then flickered out.
Okay, it was officially worse.
"Brandy? Is everything all right?" Gordon whispered as the Elvis minister, who'd stopped midvows, flipped through his notes and muttered to himself.
Was everything all right? Talk about a loaded question. She'd barely had time to even think since Gordon had walked into their hotel room five hours ago after his seminar. He'd dropped to his knees in front of her, clutching a wedding dress as he declared they should be spontaneous and get married.
What just might be stranger was the fact she'd decided it was a good idea.
"Everything's fine." The two words took a heck of a lot of energy to get out. Which was a little bizarre, seeing as this should've been the happiest day of her life.
"Wonderful." For a moment she thought she saw the flash of irritation in Gordon's eyes, but then his grin widened.
Was it wrong to compare his glaringly white teeth to the minister's white polyester jumpsuit?
Lord, her parents were going to have a conniption when they discovered she'd gotten married in some rat-infested Elvis chapel in Vegas. No matter how often they told her to let loose and enjoy life, the wedding of the only Summers heir should've come with at least a six-figure price tag.
Sweat beaded on the back of her neck. Heavens, her career choice alone had already drawn severe disapproval.
Wait. What was that in the corner? Oh dear God. A rat trap. She groaned, the sound barely audible behind her compressed lips.
Why? The question finally erupted in her head. Okay. She understood the wanting to be spontaneous part, but why did he choose this place? This was the Las Vegas Strip; it was loaded with places to get hitched. This chapeland only a mental case would even consider it onewas beyond gross.
"You know how much I love you, right, love muffin?"
She winced at Gordon's endearment. Love muffin. Why on God's green earth did he insist on calling her that? She hated it and had told him as much on more than one occasion. It made her feel like an amorous Twinkie. How was that remotely sexy? She bit back a sigh. Not that she'd ever been mistaken as sexy.
You should be concentrating on the fact that he said he loves you, not his tacky pet name for you.
Gordon was a good man. He was. Nice in appearance, charming, kind and even volunteered with a handful of charities. Any woman would be thrilled to marry him. So what was wrong with her?