They didn’t get married that night. Instead, they got tacos, laughed until they cried, and Leo moved into Clara’s spare room “temporarily.” A year later, on a Tuesday, with proper paperwork and zero Elvis impersonators, they tied the knot in a quiet courthouse.
She exhaled. “Saved by the bell,” she whispered.
As “The King” cleared his throat to begin the vows (“ Love me tender, love me sweet, or get the hell out of this seat ”), Clara’s phone buzzed. Then Leo’s. Then the chapel’s landline – yes, a landline – started ringing like a fire alarm.
Scene: The Little White Wedding Chapel, Las Vegas, 11:47 p.m. The air smells of cheap champagne, desperation, and synthetic flowers.
Clara’s left eye twitched. The Elvis reached for the register. “Folks, the bell’s about to ring. You say ‘I do’ and it’s a done deal. No refunds, no annulments before sunrise.”
Just as Clara opened her mouth – possibly to say “I do,” possibly to throw her bouquet at Leo’s head – the chapel’s ancient clock struck midnight. And from the back room, a dusty, brass bell (the kind from an old schoolhouse, bolted to the wall for “good luck photos”) fell off its mount and crashed onto the floor with a deafening BONG .