by JoAnn Ross
Although Mitch knew it was his imagination, he was sure he could hear a door close and the lock click behind him.
After a brief discussion, they scheduled the wedding for Saturday night after Mitch’s shift ended. At his suggestion, it was decided that they’d drive to Laughlin, Nevada, a small gambling town situated on the banks of the Colorado River across the border from Arizona.
“We can get the deed done there,” Mitch promised, “then be home before lunchtime Sunday.”
It would be, he assured her, quick and efficient. It also did not escape Sasha’s notice that he didn’t suggest that anyone else in his family be present for the ceremony.
There was a reason for that. Knowing how his mother wanted him to “find a nice girl and settle down,” Mitch purposely decided not to tell her about the plan. Although he’d hoped that Katie and Jake’s new baby would take the heat off him for a while, she was continually informing him that it was his responsibility to ensure the Cudahy name be carried on into another generation. He definitely didn’t want to get her hopes up with this fake wedding.
MITCH WAS three hours late arriving at her rooming house the night they were to get married.
Sasha had given notice that she would be moving out, had packed her meager belongings and then had waited worriedly, afraid he’d changed his mind.
“Sorry,” he said, “there was a fire in a warehouse. I couldn’t get away.”
“I was worried.”
“That I wasn’t going to come?”
“No.” As he watched the soft color bloom in her cheeks, Mitch tried to remember the last time he’d been with a woman capable of blushing. “Well, maybe I did worry for just a little while that you’d changed your mind,” she confessed. “But mostly I was worried about you. When I heard about the fire on the radio, I feared you would be hurt.”
“Never happen,” he said with the same bravado that allowed him to eat smoke for a living. “Well, I suppose we may as well get this show on the road.”
Conversation on the drive to Nevada was stilted. And the mood was decidedly less than upbeat. In fact, Sasha had seen a movie where an old Western outlaw had gone to his hanging with more enthusiasm than Mitch showed for his upcoming marriage.
Like most little girls the world over, Sasha had dreamed of her wedding day. And although that dream had changed as she’d left her childhood behind her, the one thing that had remained constant was the fact that her groom would be handsome. And that he would love her.
Absolutely.
Forever.
Well, Sasha considered, giving a soft, rippling little sigh, at least one of those things would be true. Although Mitch didn’t love her, he would certainly make a handsome groom. Even better than any of her romantic fantasies.
Once in Laughlin, the proceedings moved fast and efficiently, just as Mitch had promised.
“So far, so good,” he said with feigned enthusiasm as they filled out the paperwork. Sasha had seemed down in the dumps since he’d shown up at her apartment and he doubted she’d said two words during the drive from Phoenix.
Her sad little frown kept her from looking much like a glowing bride-to-be. Conveniently forgetting that he’d been the one to insist this wasn’t going to be a real marriage, Mitch figured the lady could at least try to appear a little enthusiastic about the idea.
Didn’t she realize more than one woman in Phoenix would be tickled pink to receive a proposal from all-American hero Mitch Cudahy? Hell, after appearing on “Good Morning America” and “Ricki Lake,” he’d gotten marriage proposals from interested females as far away as Anchorage, Alaska. He’d even received a candygram—accompanied by her centerfold photo—from a former Playboy Miss July.
Mitch handed over his Visa card to the clerk. They waited while the charges were run through the machine, then carried the forms next door to the Chapel of Love.
It was then things got interesting.
“I don’t believe this!” Mitch stared in horror at the overweight man wearing a white jumpsuit.
“Mitch?” Sasha’s eyes widened. It was just like her favorite American film! “This is an Elvis person, yes? Like in the movie, Honeymoon in Vegas.”
“That’s right, honeybun,” the rotund man answered boisterously before Mitch had a chance to respond. He had to raise his voice to be heard over an enthusiastic rendition of “All Shook Up” coming from the oversize speakers hanging on all four walls of the room.
“I’m Elvis Presley.” He flashed a bold, confident grin as he held out a fleshy hand weighted down with diamond rings. “Had my name legally changed for my profession.”
“You thought it would help your ministerial business to be named after a dead singer?” Mitch asked.
“Not just any old run-of-the-mill singer, boy. The King.” He gave Sasha a broad smile. “I’m an Elvis impersonator, all right, little lady. Just like in that nifty movie, only I’m too old and too chicken to go jumping out of airplanes. And aren’t you the prettiest little bride I’ve married all day?”
Mitch had been regretting his decision to propose since he’d first heard the words coming out of his mouth. There was no way he was going to go through with a farce like this.
“We’re getting out of here.” He grabbed hold of Sasha’s hand and began to pull her out the door.
To his surprise, she dug in her high heels.
“Sasha?” Impatience surged as she held her ground. “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing is wrong, Mitch.” The way she was looking at the ridiculously clad minister reminded him of the way Dane, the six-year-old boy assigned to him in the Big Brother program, looked at the latest Power Ranger action figure in the toy store window. “This is wonderful!”
“It’s ridiculous, is what it is,” he corrected gruffly, immensely relieved that none of the guys from Ladder Company No. 13 were here to witness this debacle. “Let’s go. There’s gotta be another minister somewhere in town.”
“But, Mitch—”
“The little lady seems real happy right where she is,” the minister observed in a deep Tennessee drawl.
“When you suggested coming to Laughlin, I never expected anything like this, Mitch,” Sasha said.
“That makes two of us.”
“It is so exciting. And romantic,” she wheedled prettily. “We would never have anything so wonderful like this back in Russia. Ever since I was a little girl, I have dreamed of such a wedding.”
“You dreamed of getting married by an old fat Elvis?” Realizing that he’d just insulted the minister, he said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that personally.”
“No offense taken,” the man said cheerfully as the Muzak system segued into “Don’t Be Cruel.” “And, hell, I know I’m old and fat. But the original Elvis was carrying a few extra pounds, too, at the end. So the way I figure it, if it was good enough for the King, it’s good enough for me.”
“please, Mitch.” Sasha removed her hand from his iron grip and placed it on his arm. “We’ve already paid for the license. This nice man is ready to marry us—”
“Nothin’ I’d like better than to unite you two lovebirds in holy matrimony,” the minister broke in.
“See.” She pressed her case. “Doesn’t it make sense to exchange our vows here? Instead of driving all over town looking for a substitute minister? Or perhaps having to go all the way to Las Vegas?”
“Aw, hell.” He wondered what kind of man that unyielding immigration officer was to be able to refuse this woman anything. Obviously Donald O. Potter had a heart of stone. “Okay. Here’s the deal... If I agree to go along with this ridiculous circus, you have to promise never to tell Jake, or Glory, or anyone else we know.”
“I promise.” Her slender fingers squeezed his forearm with surprising strength. “It will be our secret. But, Mitch, it would make me so very, very happy.”
Mitch didn’t know which one of them was crazier. The old guy in the rhinestone-covered polyester jumpsuit with about a quart of Valvoline in
his hair; Sasha for wanting to get married by an Elvis impersonator—and not a very good one, at that, or himself for even considering going along with the cockeyed scheme.
Looking down into her warm, brown, hopeful eyes, he felt himself giving in again. “All right,” he agreed with a deep, resigned sigh. “If it’s really what you want.”
“Oh, thank you!” Excitedly, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him.
At the first touch of her mouth, Mitch experienced a momentary surprise. Then, as her silky lips melded into his and her wondrous breasts pressed enticingly against his chest, he decided not to think of all the reasons why this was a big mistake and dove headlong into the kiss.
Her generous mouth was as soft as it looked. But much, much, warmer. Mitch had given the matter a great deal of thought since that fatal day when, after putting out the fire in the diner, he’d looked up to see her standing in the doorway, pale as a wraith and trembling. Her lips had quivered in a way that practically begged for a man to kiss away her fears, and Mitch had suspected that Sasha’s mouth would be sweet. And innocent.
Innocent, it definitely was. From the way she kept her lips pressed tightly together, he suspected she had not been kissed very often. Or very well. And yet even with her obvious lack of experience, her kiss was far more potent than even he, who’d certainly known more than his share of women, could have imagined.
The dark, rich taste of her seeped into his mouth, into his blood, causing it to burn. When he caught her full lower lip between his teeth, her resultant shudder sent all that heated blood shooting south, below his belt.
Even knowing that such a scenario was impossible, Sasha had dreamed of this moment innumerable times over the past weeks. But never could she have imagined the power of Mitch’s kiss. Her head filled with sounds like the roaring winds of a hurricane, and her body began to glow as if somehow the sun had fallen from the sky and entered her bloodstream through Mitch’s hot, hungry mouth.
And then, just like that, it was over.
The strong, dark hands that had created such heat as they’d roamed up and down her back, settled at her waist as Mitch put her away from him. He was looking down at her, but his shuttered gaze gave Sasha no inkling of what he was thinking.
“Well, we’ve wasted enough time,” he said. He had no way of knowing how his brusque words stung Sasha who was still caught up in the glory of that wondrous kiss.
“I’d say so,” the minister said with a bold laugh that made his belly shake and the rhinestones flash. “Because if there was ever a couple ready for a honeymoon, I’d say it was you two.”
At the mention of a honeymoon, Sasha blushed. As Mitch’s body continued to throb, on cue, the King began belting out “A Big Hunk O’ Love.”
“So, you two kids got a ring?”
Mitch cursed. “I forgot all about a ring.”
“It’s all right,” Sasha said quickly. Her brave little smile only served to make him more irritated at the entire situation. And even more, at himself. “I do not need a ring.”
“Maybe you don’t. But I’ll bet Potter will.”
“Oh.” She sighed as she envisioned the grim immigration officer. “I suppose you’re right.”
Elvis rubbed his beefy hands together with robust satisfaction. “You’re in luck. Because I just happen to have a real nice selection right here.”
He pulled a black velvet tray out of a drawer beneath the counter. The rings ranged from a simple silver band to a sparkling diamond the size of Vermont.
Mitch scanned the tray, his gaze settling on a gleaming woven gold ring boasting a small but good quality diamond. “How about this one?”
“That’s a dandy choice,” Elvis agreed. “It’s one of my most popular styles.”
“Sasha?” He held the ring out to her. “What do you think?”
What did she think? She thought the delicate gold mesh was the loveliest thing she’d ever seen. And the diamond glittered like a midnight star! She also worried he couldn’t afford such a glorious piece of jewelry on his modest civil servant’s salary.
“It’s very pretty.” With effort, she dragged her eyes back to the tray. “But this one will be fine.” She pointed to a thin, plain silver band.
“That’d be nice, too,” Elvis said agreeably. But with less gusto, Mitch noticed. And for good reason. The silver ring practically shouted “Cheapskate budget special.”
“I like this one.” Telling himself that he had a reputation to protect, that he didn’t want his new bride returning to Phoenix and showing off that miserably mediocre excuse for a wedding band, he held his ground. “Let’s try it on.”
Sasha obediently held out her hand, embarrassed by the way it was trembling.
“Don’t worry about the shakes, honeybun,” Elvis said reassuringly. “I’ve done over a thousand marriages and, believe me, every one of those brides-to-be had prewedding nerves.”
Sasha thought that could well be true. But, of course, she was not really a bride. So why was she so nervous?
“It fits!” The ring slid onto her finger so easily it could have been made with her in mind. She held it out, admiring the gleam of the yellow gold, the flash of the diamond.
“Okay, that’s it, then.” Mitch dug his billfold out of his jeans and again handed over his Visa card.
“How about flowers?” Elvis asked.
An instantaneous flash of pleasure lit Sasha’s dark eyes. When it was just as quickly extinguished, Mitch realized that she was trying to be frugal on his account.
“Can’t get married without flowers,” he said.
As he watched Sasha dip her head and breathe in the sweet scent of carnations, Mitch remembered the elaborate preparations for his sister’s wedding to Jake. Katie had driven everyone crazy, insisting the formal ceremony live up to the one she’d always dreamed of.
Although at the time he’d found her behavior incomprehensible, now he began to realize that wedding fantasies were apparently one thing all females—from Phoenix to St. Petersburg—had in common.
“Is that it?” His irritation at himself for being miserly at a time like this made his voice harsher than he’d meant it to be.
Sasha jumped, dropping the edge of the lovely short white lace veil she’d been fingering. “You have already bought more than enough, Mitch. Truly.”
“Fine.” He turned to the minister. “Let’s do it.”
“You got it, young fella. Soon as I call my wife, Annie, so she can be a witness.” He tapped on a small bell and a door behind him opened and out came a tall, curvaceous redhead.
“Don’t tell me,” Mitch groaned as he recognized the woman’s uncanny resemblance to Ann Margaret. “Viva Las Vegas. ”
“Got it on the first try.” Elvis grinned conspiratorially.
If he ever got married again—which he had no intention of doing—Mitch vowed he was going to insist on a civil ceremony at the Phoenix courthouse.
Mitch and Sasha followed Elvis and his wife into an adjoining room where an ivory satin runner led to a small altar set up in front of a white satin curtain. On the altar, a vase in the shape of the young Elvis holding a guitar, held a fragrant assortment of fresh gladioli.
“Sorry, little lady,” Elvis said, “I can understand how you probably hate to part with it, but I’m going to have to ask you to give me that ring. Just for a few minutes.”
Sasha took the diamond ring from her finger, experiencing a sense of loss as she handed it over.
“All right,” he said with robust satisfaction, “it’s time for the show! Sasha, honey, you start at the door and walk toward your fella, while Annie and I sing your wedding march.”
“Is that really necessary?” Mitch asked.
This was already dragging on a lot longer than planned. And, although he kept telling himself that it wasn’t real, despite the surrealistic aspect of the ceremony, it still felt too much like a wedding for comfort.
“All brides dream of walking up the aisle, don’t they,
honey?” the older woman said to Sasha.
“I would like that very much,” she agreed, casting a hesitant glance Mitch’s way. “But if Mitch would rather just begin, that would be all right with me, as well.”
Damn. She’d gotten that whipped cocker spaniel look in her eyes again. “We’re wasting time arguing,” Mitch said. “Why don’t you just walk up the aisle?”
“Thank you, Mitch!”
Once again that warm pleasure flooded her eyes, making him feel like the grinch who’d tried to steal Sasha’s wedding.
Holding the overpriced flowers in her hands, she walked slowly up the white satin runner toward him, while Elvis and Annie sang a medley of “Love Me Tender,” which Mitch had to admit wasn’t half bad.
As Mitch watched her approach, he realized that somehow, even in her ugly-as-sin severe black suit and starched white blouse, Sasha was still lovely.
When she reached Mitch’s side, Elvis pulled a white satin cord. The curtain behind the altar opened, revealing a largescreen television. A moment later the wedding scene from Blue Hawaii flashed onto the oversize screen and the deep tones of the King crooning “The Hawaiian Wedding Song” filled the room.
“Oh, Mitch, isn’t it romantic!” Sasha clapped her hands in pleasure.
Immensely grateful that Jake wasn’t there, Mitch shook his head and imagined his brother-in-law telling this story at the firehouse. Hell, he’d never be able to live it down.
“Dearly beloved,” Elvis began, raising his voice to be heard over the ballad.
The images on the television screen began to shimmer. As the music swelled, the vaguely familiar words of the wedding ceremony began to sound like a dull roar in Mitch’s ears.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and above his upper lip. As he heard Sasha promise to take him as her lawfully wedded husband, his legs began to shake. But not from fear, Mitch assured himself, stiffening his knees as he managed to shove the ring onto her outstretched finger.
He was a smoke eater. A hero. Guys like him lived on the edge; they weren’t afraid of anything.
