"Welcome," a porter told Aria and Hallbjorn the following afternoon as they walked through the revolving doors at the Borgata Hotel Casino & Spa in Atlantic City. "Enjoy your stay!"
"Thank you," Aria chirped, pulling her wheelie bag behind her. She and Hallbjorn had just endured a very long journey to get to Atlantic City—he'd insisted that they wait six hours in the cold bus station for the only Greyhound that ran on natural gas.
But none of that mattered now. Aria looked around the lobby, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sprawling space of marble and glass that smelled like a mix of expensive perfume and seared steak from a restaurant down the hall. Through an archway, slot machines stretched as far as the eye could see. All of them hummed, sounding like a massive swarm of bees. A couple of old ladies were sitting at the machines, robotically pulling the levers. A cheer went up from a blackjack table, and a croupier gave a roulette wheel a spin. It all felt very glamorous, and suddenly what they were about to do hit her again. They were getting married!
"Reservation or Montgomery," Aria said to a woman at the front desk who wore her dark hair in a French twist and had a pin on her jacket that said Maureen, Reservation Associate.
"Of course." Maureen clacked her long nails across the keyboard. "Aha. Here you are, in room 908. The suite overlooks the ocean. Also included in your stay is a complimentary dinner at Wolfgang Puck's restaurant and two tickets to tonight's floor show."
Aria paid for the room in cash, using money from the small nest egg she'd amassed from of paid essays she'd written recently about her experience with Mona-as-A. She'd felt a little squeamish exploiting the situation, but she was happy she had the cash now, especially since most of it would be needed for the marriage license and the application fees for Hallbjorn's permanent visa.
Another porter who looked like the human equivalent of Humpty Dumpty loaded their luggage onto a cart and gestured for them to follow him to the elevators. When the doors shut behind them. Aria shot Humpty a smile. "Excuse me, do you know of any wedding chapels in the area?"
Humpty raised his eyebrows. "I do. If you'd like, I can have our concierge make all the arrangements."
Aria and Hallbjorn exchanged grins. "That would be great," Hallbjorn said. "Maybe for tomorrow evening?"
"Certainly." Humpty grinned and tugged at his collar, which looked like it was buttoned too tightly. "We can even have a limo pick you up and take you there."
"Not a limo," Hallbjorn said quickly. "A bicycle built for two."
Aria balked—biking in the snow? But Humpty didn't bat an eye. "Not a problem. I can just tell by looking at you two lovebirds that you'll be very, very happy together."
Aria took Hallbjorn's hand and squeezed it lightly.
The elevator doors swung open with a ding. Humpty carried their luggage down the hall and unlocked the door to room 908, which was tucked into a back corner. Inside was an enormous bedroom with sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an uninterrupted view of the Atlantic Ocean. A chilled bottle of champagne sat on the glass table in the corner, as well as a basket of small bags of chips and candy. a giant flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. The king-sized bed was huge and had about a zillion pillows, and the claw-foot tub in the bathroom was bigger than the hot tub at Spencer's house.
"This is amazing," Aria breathed.
"I'm glad you're satisfied. Just let us know if we can get you anything else." Humpty placed their luggage on a little stand at the foot of the bed. Aria handed him a ten-dollar bill, and he bowed and backed out of the room.
"Then she faced Hallbjorn and bounced excitedly on her toes. "We're getting married tomorrow!" she squealed.
"Yes, we are." Hallbjorn walked toward her and took her hands. "You'll be Mrs. Gunterson."
"Mrs. Montgomery-Gunterson," Aria corrected him. Then she widened her eyes. "I have to find a dress!" In her hasty packing, she hadn't brought one. "And flowers! And what should we do about a wedding cake?"
"We could order a whole cake from one of the restaurants," Hallbjorn suggested. "Have it delivered here through room service."
"I bet room service is kind of expensive." Aria glanced out the window. "I think I saw a Wawa on the way in. They probably have Tastykakes."
"I'm always up for gluten-free organic cookies, if we could find some of those," Hallbjorn said.
Aria pressed her lips together. Gluten-free organic cookies as a substitute for full-fat, full-butter, full-gluten wedding cake made her kind of sad. Not that she'd imagined her wedding very often, but she'd always thought she'd have a three-tiered confection with two figurines on the top. Except for a bride and groom, they'd be a horse and a pig. Or two Lego space people. Or a knife and a fork.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped through the binder that had come with the room, searching to see if this place had a spa. It would be nice to get her hair done for the wedding, not that she had money for that, either.
Hallbjorn pulled her backward onto the bed, which was as plush and comfortable as Aria had imagined. They kissed for a few long beats, the sound of the pounding surf in the background.
"I'm going to take a lot of pictures," Aria murmured as Hallbjorn flipped her onto her back. "I'm going to hang them up all over my room so I'll remember this weekend for the rest of my life."
Hallbjorn let out a chuckle. "Your bedroom? Won't it be both of ours, once we get married? Or do you expect me to live somewhere else?"
Aria frowned. She hadn't really thought about the logistics of what would happen after they got married. Would she have to tell her parents? Would she have to tell her parents? Would she get in trouble? Then again, what could they really say? Byron and Ella had eloped their last year of college; then parents had come around eventually. But what would Mike think? And what if people from school found out? They would never understand. Not that Aria cared what people thought about her, of course, but gossipy whispers behind her back were getting kind of old.
"Let's worry about where we're going to live later," Aria said shakily. "We'll have plenty of time to figure it out."
"Whatever you say." Hallbjorn leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Aria tilted her chin so that their lips met next. They kissed for a long time, disappearing into the mound of pillows, and just like that, all of her concerns dissipated. This was about them, not their families or people at Rosewood Day.
Hallbjorn slid Aria's T-shirt over her head, and she did the same to him, letting out a pleased groan as their care skin touched. She rolled over, accidentally squashing the remote. The TV clicked on at maximum volume.
Aria looked up. The hotel's in-house channel, which advertised the resort's various restaurants, casinos, and pay-per-view options, was on the screen. Then, two silvery panthers appeared. "Now at the Borgata, Biedermeister and Bitschi will blow your mind," an overenthusiastic voice said. Then came a snarling eighties guitar lick, and two magicians marched onto a stage. They waved their capes like bullfighters. The panthers roared, and the crowd looked dazzled.
Aria snickered. "Do you think our floor show tickets are for that?"
"I hope not," Hallbjorn said, pausing from kissing her to glance at the screen.
Suddenly, a faint giggle sounded outside the door. Aria hit Mute on the TV. "Did you hear that?"
"What?" Hallbjorn raised his head.
Another giggle floated through the vent. "That." The hair on the back of her neck rose.
"It's just someone laughing." Hallbjorn massaged Aria's shoulders. "You're being paranoid."
"It's not just someone laughing." Aria stood and crept past the bathroom as the giggle intensified. It sounded like the person was standing at their door, wanting to get in. She pulled on a robe, took a deep breath, and whipped the door open.
The hall was empty. All of the doors were shut; an empty room-service tray with two drained glasses of red wine waited on the carpet outside room 910.
Aria slumped against the jamb and rubbed her temples, wondering if Hallbjorn was right. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Maybe she was hearing things that didn't really exist.