she heard Genna. Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing, as she glanced between them. "I, uh… I'll just take this when you're ready," she muttered, dropping the check on the table before scurrying off.
Matty shook his head, picking up the check, when Genna muttered, "Oh fuck, I did that."
He pulled out his wallet, grabbing a few bills to pay. "Traumatized the waitress? Yeah, you did."
"No, I sucked a dick in a stolen Honda," she said just as the waitress again approached. The woman took the money, dashing away, as Genna rolled her eyes. "You remember when we met at the courthouse? I said I was there for stealing that car?"
"I remember," Matty said. "I'm guessing it was a Honda?"
"An Accord," she said. "Wow. I can't believe I actually sucked a dick in a stolen Honda."
An exasperated sigh echoed around them as the waitress tossed Matty's change down on the table before stalking off. Genna glared at the woman's back.
"Well, then," Matty said, leaving his change on the table. It was more than he'd usually tip, but he figured the waitress deserved it this time. "Guess it's a cold day in Hell, Princess."
"Yeah, well, it's not happening ever again," she said, pointing at him. "Don't go thinking I'm some cheap floozy just because I let you fuck me on a pool table that first night."
"I wouldn't dream of thinking that about you. No baby mama of mine will ever be a cheap floozy."
"Ugh, don't call me that." She grimaced. "This isn't an episode of Maury we're living. If you cheat on me and deny my baby, I'm not going to give you some DNA test on national television. I'll cut your dick off and make you suck it in a stolen Honda. You got that?"
"Jesus Christ," someone muttered nearby.
Matty glanced to the next table over, watching the waitress shake her head as she delivered a few plates. Leave it to Genna to shock a woman who works in Vegas, a woman who has probably seen and heard everything. He almost felt bad for her. It was hard to tell sometimes with Genna whether or not she was being serious. There was still a bitter coldness to her exterior, the rigid façade that had earned her the Ice Princess nickname. It wasn't really her, of course. The Genna that Matty knew was warm and loving.
Loving enough to see past his name, to judge him for him, knowing it was a risk. The fact that he was a Barsanti should've scared her away, but she gave him a chance. She was one of a kind. There was nobody else like her—nobody as brave, and as beautiful, and as downright crazy as Genevieve Galante.
"Got it," he said, turning back to Genna. "How do you feel about being called a Barsanti?"
"I don't see how that's better."
"It's probably not," he admitted, "but you wouldn't be my baby mama anymore… you'd be my wife."
"What?"
"Like you said, there are a lot of wedding chapels in Vegas. I'm sure one can squeeze us in."
She stared at him, her expression blank.
Matty wasn't sure what that meant.
"Are you joking?" she asked finally.
"No," he said. "I mean it."
"You want to get married."
"Yes."
She stared at him a bit longer, long enough for him to question if maybe he'd screwed up by suggesting it. He got that it wasn't ideal, and she deserved more than a quickie wedding in Vegas that wouldn't even be legal, considering they couldn't use their real names, but it would still count where it mattered. They'd know, even if nobody else would.
"I'll marry you," she said quietly, "under one condition."
"Anything," he swore.
Genna leaned closer to the table, her voice dead serious as she said, "There can be no goddamn Elvis Presley in the building."
A smile slowly formed on Matty's lips as he mirrored her, leaning her direction. "Deal."
Two hours later, as the sun set over Vegas, Matty and Genna found themselves in a little chapel on Las Vegas Boulevard, one that didn't even have a name. A blue sign stood out front of the old stone building, 'wedding chapel' shining bright in lights. A few white pews lined the sides of the aisle, soft lighting bathing everything in gold. The room was vacant except for them and the minister, the lady who worked the front desk stepping in as a witness. It hadn't taken long to secure a marriage license, a hundred bucks and a form filled with lifetimes of lies that nobody questioned. Another two hundred dollars later, there