Susan's POV
The new club was exactly what I needed - dark enough to hide my mascara-streaked face and loud enough to drown out my thoughts. I made my way to the bar, still wearing my graduation dress under my unzipped gown.
"What's your poison?" the bartender asked, eyeing my unusual attire.
"I need your strongest drink," I declared, struggling to get onto the bar stool with dignity. "Something that says 'my boyfriend proposed to his supposed cousin at my graduation and I'm totally fine.' And please, keep them coming."
"Tequila it is," he said, already reaching for the bottle.
Three shots later, I was living my best life on the dance floor, using my graduation gown as a makeshift cape while dancing to "Single Ladies,"
"THIS IS MY SONG!" I shouted to a concerned-looking woman next to me. "I'M A SINGLE LADY NOW! GET IT! BECAUSE MY BOYFRIEND… oh God, I'm so stupid!" the sudden memory of how I'd met Emily hit me like a truck. "I walked in on them studying 'calculus' in his dorm room last year, and they jumped apart like they'd been electrocuted. And I BELIEVED HIM when he said she was his cousin who needed tutoring!" I announced to no one in particular, my drunk brain deciding this was the perfect moment for this revelation.
The woman had already escaped to the other side of the dance floor. I continued dancing and twerking, trying to shake off the memory of how Nick had smoothly introduced Emily as his cousin from Spain, and how I'd spent the next year being the perfect friend to her, helping her adjust to American college life, inviting her to family events…
Stumbling back to my seat for a water break, I found a Greek god occupying my bar stool. At least, he looked like a Greek god. Or maybe Italian. But he looked way out of my league.
"Well, hello there, handsome," I purred or tried to. It came out more like a hiccup. "You're in my seat."
He turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised. "Am I?"
"Yes, but I'll let you stay because…" I squinted at him, trying to focus. "Because you're pretty. Really pretty. Like a statue. Are you a statue?"
He chuckled a deep sound that I felt more than heard. "No, not a statue. My name is Raphael."
"Like the ninja turtle!" I exclaimed, then frowned. "No, wait, like the painter. The one who painted all those babies with wings."
"Angels," he corrected, watching me with increasing interest. "They're called cherubs."
"Are you real? Can I touch your face?" Without waiting for permission, I patted his cheek. "Smooth, very smooth. Do you moisturize?"
He simply smiled. Shaking his head in amusement.
"Well Raphael, thank you for being here, looking like…" I gestured vaguely at all of him, "THAT, while I'm having an existential crisis. You know what's funny?" I leaned in closer, nearly falling off my stool. "I should have known they weren't cousins. They look nothing alike! And cousins don't look at each other like they want to… you know…" I made some hand gestures that could have meant anything. "God, I need to call Laura. She would've seen through this in a second. She always said something seemed off about Emily."
I yawned like a goose, and leaned in some more, my breast brushing against his chest. "Do you want to hear about Emily? Of course, you do. Everybody here needs to know about Emily, that lying, boyfriend-stealing…" I hiccuped, "… eventually-going-to-have-fertility-problems-because-karma's-a-bi…"
"Perhaps some water?" he suggested, signaling the bartender.
"No, no, listen." I grabbed his expensive silk tie. "I come from a long line of very fertile women. My grandmother? Five kids. My mom? Five kids. Emily?" I snorted, releasing his tie, "Only child. Probably can't even keep a cactus alive. But me?" I pointed to myself, nearly poking my own eyes out. "I am a baby-making machine. Just in theory though. But I'm sure Nick won't be getting any children from Emily."
Raphael's eyes had taken on an intense gleam that drunk-me completely misinterpreted as a romantic interest. I smiled at him, suddenly struck by inspiration.
"You know what?" I announced, "We should get married."
"Excuse me?"
"No, hear me out." I held up my hand to stop his nonexistent protests. "You're hot. I'm single, ready to mingle. Plus," I leaned in conspiratorially, nearly falling off my stool, "I have a new rule. No sex before marriage, ever again. So if you want to take me home - which you obviously do because I'm a catch - we need to get married first."
"Is that so?" His smile had turned darker, but I was too busy trying to remember if Las Vegas was within driving distance to notice.
"Yep! So what do you say?" I batted my eyelashes, then remembered I was still wearing waterproof mascara from crying earlier. "Want to be Mr. Susan?"
"I believe you would be Mrs. Marino," he corrected smoothly.
"Ooh, Italian!" I clapped my hands. "Even better! Our babies will be gorgeous and they'll know how to cook pasta!"
He stood up, offering me his hand. "There's a chapel two blocks from here."
"Perfect!" I hopped off my stool, stumbling slightly. "But first, one more shot. And maybe we should get some witnesses. Hey!" I shouted to the club at large, "Anyone want to watch me marry this beautiful stranger?"
*********
The next few hours were a blur of bad decisions and even worse karaoke. I vaguely remember insisting we stop at a convenience store on the way to the chapel because, "you can't get married without something old, new, borrowed, and blue!"
"These blue Doritos," I announced, clutching the bag to my chest as we stumbled down the street, "Will be our 'something blue.' and they're new because I just bought them. And I borrowed twenty dollars from you to buy them, so that counts too!"
"What about something old?" Raphael asked, looking far too composed for someone about to marry a stranger
I hiccuped. "Well, I'm wearing my graduation dress which is like… five hours old. That's practically vintage.
The chapel was exactly what you'd expect from a 24-hour wedding venue - all colored lights and plastic flowers. The Elvis impersonator at the altar looked like he'd seen it all, and our arrival didn't even make him blink.
"Dearly beloved," Elvis began almost immediately, "we are gathered here today..."
"Wait" I interrupted, fumbling with my phone. "We need to document this. Nick needs to see what he's missing!" I shoved my phone at the confused-looking witness - who I'm pretty sure was just a homeless man we'd promised burgers to. "Film everything!"
Then I turned to Raphael, swaying slightly. "I should warn you, I haven't prepared any vows. But!" I held up a finger dramatically. "I can improvise! I promise to... um... make lots of babies. Like, so many babies. And to always remember which one is the Ninja turtle you're named after. And to never, ever propose to your cousin at your graduation because that's just evil. Also, I promise to actually notice when people are lying to my face because apparently, I'm really bad at that!"
"Elvis cleared his throat." Ma'am, those aren't traditional vows..."
"Shush, Elvis! Let me finish!" I grabbed Raphael's hands. "I also promise to learn Italian. All I know right now is 'spaghetti' and 'pizza,' but I'm a quick learner. Oh! And I promise to never ask where all your money comes from because those suits are definitely not from Target and I respect that."
Raphael's shoulders were shaking with what might have been laughter. "I accept these... unique vows."
The rest of the ceremony passed in a champagne-flavored haze. I vaguely remember trying to throw my bouquet - a bunch a plastic flowers I'd stolen from the chapel's decorations - and hitting Elvis in the face instead.
"Sorry!" I called out as Raphael led me toward the exit. "I'll send you a wedding invitation to our real wedding! Wait..." I stopped, frowning. "This was our real wedding. I'll send you an invitation to our funeral!"
"I think you meant something else." my new husband corrected.
"What? No, wait. I mean renewal. Wedding renewal!" I beamed up at him. "See? I'm already getting better at words. I'm going to be the best wife ever!"
The last thing I remember clearly was Raphael helping me into a very expensive-looking car, a smile playing on his lips that should have warned me this wasn't just some random drunk wedding.