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Skeletons in the Closet
[Arthur]
The sun is slowly rising over the desert as we exit the chapel, the press and paparazzi are all long gone, thankfully.
Faye is practically falling on her Manolo-clad feet, so I sweep her into my arms and gently carry her to the waiting car. The stretch limo has been replaced with a vintage Rolls Royce in Ivory. Our driver, sent by the hotel, opened the back door for us with a flourish as I gently placed my bride in the car. He tipped his hat to me as I handed him a $100 bill, and within minutes we were swept off to our honeymoon suite at the top of one of the most prestigious hotels in all of Las Vegas.
It was a short drive, but as soon as Faye rested her head on my shoulder, she began yaw
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