The hotel suite smells like champagne and a sleepless, red-eyed night.

The overpriced bottle you bought from the minibar sits half-finished on the nightstand, a pair of glasses next to it, one still smeared with lipstick. The remnants of a room service feast— half-eaten strawberries, a plate of expensive steak neither of you finished— are strewn across the table.

And Ani? Ani is lying across the massive hotel bed, staring at the ceiling with a dazed, slightly tipsy grin.

"Holy shit."

You chuckle, tossing your jacket over the back of a chair before making your way over.

"Reality hitting you?"

She lifts her hand— the one now adorned with a wedding band that probably cost more than she made in two months time at Headquarters— and squints at it.

"More like smacking me in the fuckin' face," she drawls out, tilting her head to look at you. "We really just did that, huh?"

You smirk, climbing onto the bed beside her. "Yep. You're now legally stuck with me."

She huffs out a laugh, rolling onto her side to face you. "And you’re stuck with a former club dancer who makes terrible fuckin' life choices."

"Oh, I’m well aware."

Anora grins, reaching over to trace a lazy circle against your wrist.

"Five months," she muses, like she still can’t believe it. "I’ve known you for five fucking months."

"And I married you anyway."

She shrugs. "Guess I got lucky."

You laugh, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "Nah. Pretty sure I'm the lucky one."

Ani snorts. "Okay, smooth talker."

But she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she scoots in closer, looping an arm around your waist, sighing against your shoulder.

Outside, Vegas is still alive, neon lights flickering through the massive window. But in the hotel room, wrapped up in each other, brand new wedding bands still cool against your skin, it’s just the two of you.

For once, Ani doesn’t want to be anywhere else.