Scene: The Little White Wedding Chapel, Las Vegas, 11:47 p.m. The air smells of cheap champagne, desperation, and synthetic flowers.

Clara stared at the fallen bell. Then at Leo. Then at her phone, now showing a calendar reminder: “Tuesday: Leo’s divorce final.”

She exhaled. “Saved by the bell,” she whispered.

As “The King” cleared his throat to begin the vows (“ Love me tender, love me sweet, or get the hell out of this seat ”), Clara’s phone buzzed. Then Leo’s. Then the chapel’s landline – yes, a landline – started ringing like a fire alarm.