“Pull over!”
The cab driver’s gaze flicked to his rearview mirror. “I thought we were going to the airport.”
“We are. But pull over. Go back. Make a U-turn.”
Broch scowled. “Whit are ye doin’?”
Catriona grinned. “I have an idea.”
“Aw, Catriona. Ah just wantae gae hame noo. Fast as possible. Ah don’t even care we hae tae get on that infernal jet.”
“I think you’ll like this.”
The cabbie made a U-turn and in a moment she saw her destination coming into view again. “Pull in here.”
Broch peered out the window. “A church?”
“A chapel.”
“A wedding chapel?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
“Whose?”
“Ours.”
Broch arched an eyebrow. “Ah don’t remember askin’—”
She slapped his chest. “Yes you do. You’ve asked me like a million times.”
“Ah think t’was more lik’ twa times.”
“Whatever. If twa means a million.”
“And I don’t remember ye ever sayin’ aye.”
“No. I didn’t.”
“Bit noo you’re aff tae drag me tae the altar lik’ a pregnant farmer’s daughter?”
“What? Ew. No.”
“Then whit are we doin’ here?”
Catriona sighed as the taxi came to a stop in the parking lot. “Think of this as a dry run for the real thing.”
“Ah dry run?”
“Yes. It won’t be official, we won’t get the paperwork done, but it will be fun and you can consider it a sort of promise from me.”
“A sort o’ promise. Ah loue the way ye modern fowk ne’er commit tae anythin’. Even a promise is sort o’.”
Catriona reached for the handle of the taxi’s door and immediately regretted stretching as her ribs ached. Pausing, she bobbed her head to try and catch a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror.
Oh my.
Her lip was split. Something was off with her cheekbone too, though she couldn’t quite place what. The rest of her body felt even worse.
“I hope there’s not a swimsuit competition,” she mumbled, sliding from the car.
She asked the taxi driver to wait and led Broch inside.
A man looked up from behind a counter, dipping his magazine, but not fast enough for Catriona to not see it was a men’s mag.
Classy.
“I didn’t think they sold them anymore,” she said, motioning to the magazine.
“Huh?”
“With the Internet and all.”
The man snorted and put the magazine somewhere under the desk. “Can I help you?”
“We want to do the marriage thing.”
He nodded. “Full photography and video?”
“Oh a few pics. No video. This isn’t real. It’s just a dry run. For fun.”
“Uh huh. Music?”
“Sure. I mean, just the basics. Not a choir or anything. The wedding march bit.”
He pushed a few sheets of paper in Catriona’s direction. “Uh huh. Sign here. Need a dress? Tux?”
Catriona concentrated on scribbling her name as the man pushed one sheet after the next at her while taking a few moments to glance at Broch.
He wore jeans.
That wouldn’t do.
“You need to get your kilt.”
Broch looked down at his legs. “Aye.”
Before he could run outside the man caught his eye and pointed at him and then a paper. “You.”
Catriona handed Broch the pen and he scribbled his name before jogging out to the taxi.
A woman pushed aside a curtain separating the front area from the chapel. Her hair was dyed bright red.
“Are ye ready, me dear?” she asked.
Catriona chuckled. Having had to listen to Broch’s heavy brogue for weeks on end, the woman faking her way through the accent sounded a little like the Lucky Charms leprechaun.
“Just a second, I have to wait for—”
Broch jerked open the door and entered in his kilt.
Catriona eyed him. “Did you get changed in the parking lot?”
He nodded.
She shrugged. A Scot dropping his drawers in public was surely not the most scandalous thing to happen in Las Vegas that week.
That day.
Probably that minute.
“Come with me meh sweeties, and I’ll tack ye toooo da altar.”
“She’s speaking in your native tongue,” whispered Catriona as they pushed through the curtain and followed the woman down the aisle. She couldn’t help giggling. It had taken them hours to finish with the police after her ordeal. She was running on no sleep for over twenty-four hours and felt absolutely giddy.
Broch winced. “Whit she’s sayin’ is supposed tae be Scots?”
“I think so.”
He snorted a laugh through his nose.
The woman stood behind a dais and motioned to the spot in front of it. “Have a stand der will ye? Where should we send yer pictures toooo?”
“Tae,” mumbled Broch.
“What’s that nooo?”
“Send the pictures tae. Not toooo.”
The woman scowled and looked at Catriona. “What’s your email?” she asked, effecting no accent at all.
Catriona covered her mouth to hide her giggles and rattled off her email.
The woman jotted it down.
“Did you come with vows?”
Catriona squinted at the woman. “Vowels?”
“Vows. Did you write your own vows?”
“Oh, no. Sorry. I’m, I’m really tired.”
The woman nodded. “We get that a lot.”
Broch looked at Catriona and took her hands in his.
“Are ye sure ye want tae dae this?”
A warm feeling flushed Catriona’s cheeks as she realized she did.
She really did.
“When I thought I’d lost you I—”
Broch kissed her and she leaned in, feeling as if she could fall asleep that way, on her feet, her lips pressed against his.
When he pulled away she nearly fell forward.
I really have to get some sleep.
He sniffed and took her hand again, staring into her eyes. “Ah love ye, Catriona.”
Catriona felt her own eyes begin to well. “I love you, too. It feels like we’ve known each other forever.”
“Ah think mibbe we hae,” he whispered. “Ah came through time tae find ye. Ah’m sure of it.”
She touched his face. “And I was here, waiting for you.”
“Holy shit.” The woman pulled a
