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pocket. The broad set of his shoulders and his sculpted
features made her pulse spike, just as they had when she’d watched him getting
dressed in his immaculate evening clothes.
    “No, they’re not here,” she told him.
“Are we late?”
    Rory glanced at his watch. “If they
don’t come in the next five minutes, we’ll take a cab.”
    As soon as he finished speaking, a
convoy of jeeps rolled up, this time at a more leisurely pace. The number of
vehicles had increased to three. Grace’s tense frown melted into a smile of
relief. No ripped jeans and dirty T-shirts, no drunken louts. The men must have
gone shopping together, since everyone was dressed in identical khaki chinos and
green polo shirts.
    Overcoming her usual reserve, Grace
called out a greeting as soon as the jeeps had lined up beside the fountain. She
made a sweeping gesture to indicate the matching attire of the group. “You look
wonderful.”
    She continued to beam at them, but no
one replied. They kept staring at her, their mouths agape, a look of stunned
disbelief stamped on their faces.
    When Grace whirled to seek
reassurance from Rory, someone shouted, “Sullivan, you lucky son-of-a-bitch.”
    It was as if the words broke a spell
of silence. Bedlam erupted around her, with whistles and yells and stomping feet
that rattled the jeeps.
    “Sugar, what did you do to the girl
we picked up at the airport?”
    “Turn this way, angel. Let me see the
rest of you.”
    “Do you have a sister?”
    “Sullivan, you bastard. You don’t
deserve her.”
    Laughter bubbled up inside Grace, and
a blush of pleasure radiated from every inch of her exposed skin. She crossed
over to the first jeep in the convoy, where two solders occupied the front seat,
and the rear seat awaited empty.
    “I’d lift you up, I’m worried about
damaging your dress,” Rory told her, his arms half-raised to her.
    She sent him a smile over her
shoulder and offered him her hand instead. He curled his fingers around hers,
supporting her as she hiked up her gown. Grace folded one slim leg through the
slit on the left, and scaled up the long step into the vehicle.
    On the front seat, the soldier with
the coal-black crew cut who had made fun of her on the way from the airport
ogled at her leg and pretended to fall into a dead faint. Beside him, a swarthy
young man Grace didn’t remember from before nodded at her.
    “I’m Karim.” He pointed at the
soldier slumped next to him. “And this is Joe.”
    “Joe and Karim will be the
witnesses,” Rory explained. “Is that all right with you?” He directed a
concerned look at her. “I’ve told the others to wait outside rather than come
into the chapel. It’s quicker and they can keep an eye on the jeeps. And if
there’s no parking, they can drop us off at the curb and pick us up again, since
we’ll all be going on together.”
    Grace nodded, unable to speak as
emotion choked her chest. Instinct told her what errands Rory had spent the day
taking care of. When she said her prayers last night, she had asked for a nice
wedding. He had gone out to make sure she got one.
    “Thank you,” she whispered, reaching
over to squeeze his hand. “Thank you for arranging everything.”
    He clasped his fingers around hers.
“It’s the least I could do. You deserve a nice wedding.” He appeared to
hesitate. “There isn’t much I can offer you, but I’ll try to give you anything
you want tonight.”

Chapter
Seven
     
 
     
    After a drive along the crowded
Strip, the jeeps dropped them off outside the wedding chapel. A white picket
fence surrounded the artificial lawn where another wedding party stood posing
for photographs. Joe and Karim jumped out, and one of the other soldiers took
Joe’s place at the wheel. Grace hurried ahead into the low building, where a
harassed-looking woman with a clipboard met her with an impatient glare.
    “Clements and Sullivan?” the woman
yelled.
    “Yes,”