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Potted magnolia branches (a nod to Wes’s childhood in Atlanta) lined the space. The pair were walked down the aisle by their mothers, Diane Gordon and Jody Arnhold. Paul’s 95-year-old grandfather, Henry Arnhold, served as flower boy. The couple’s younger sisters, Julia Arnhold and Lindsay Gordon, became ordained for the occasion, marrying their brothers (“Not like that,” they teased the rows of seated guests) with a touching tag-team speech that was both heartfelt and hilarious in turn. The brand-new newlyweds’ clinch was interrupted only by a triumphant Elvis, who burst through the door after the ceremony had concluded, crooning “Viva Las Vegas” flanked by white marabou–clad showgirls who encouraged friends and family members (all gamely decked out in feathers, spangles, and sequins) to get up and groove along. It was, all agreed, an excellent first dance. (More would follow—after a three-course dinner, speeches, and a trio of enormous ice cream sundaes in lieu of a wedding cake—at a nightclub fete deejayed by David Guetta, this being Vegas, after all.) On Saturday, guests repaired from the night before, taking lunch poolside, before trying their luck at the various games tables inside. That evening, dinner was held in the newlyweds’ suite, which had been transformed into a carnival, replete with enormous playing cards, giant mushrooms, funhouse mirrors, chess pieces, Greek busts, massive masks of the couple’s faces, a ceiling covered in black and white balloons, sword swallowers, contortionists, fortune tellers, magicians, and an electric violinist. Later, party buses (and one very accomplished pole dancer) brought partygoers to the Britney Spears concert.
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