He’s as handsome as he was the night I met him. More so because he’s wearing a suit, and this man was made for suits. He stands in his living room, drinking a glass of water, flipping through a magazine as I emerge from the bedroom.
“Ready or not,” I say, my heart skittering around like a wild bird. I set a hand on my chest to try to quell the nerves.
“Wow,” he breathes out, his eyes exploring my body even though he’s seen me so many times. Today I’m wearing a seashell-pink dress that hits at the knees. I decided white was silly. Perfume too. I didn’t bring any.
My stomach flips as he admires me while putting down the glass and magazine. “It’s not that fancy.”
“I don’t give a fuck if it’s fancy. Your legs are spectacular, and you look so sexy in that dress and those glasses.”
I raise my hands to my eyeglasses, adjusting them, though I don’t need to. I’m fidgeting. He walks over to me, setting his hands on my nervous ones. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say, but the word comes out airy, empty.
He tucks a finger under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Are you sure? Do you want to back out? Just say the word.”
I shake my head. “I’m not backing out.”
“You can though,” he says, but his tone is reluctant.
“Hey. I’m here. I’m not backing out. We’re doing this.”
He smiles widely. “Yeah? We’re a couple of crazies, aren’t we?”
“Are we?”
Laughing, he pulls me close. “It’s crazy.”
“But brilliant.”
“It’s bloody brilliant. You know what else will be brilliant?”
“What?”
“Finally getting you naked and under me tonight.”
“You’re assuming I’ll put out since it’s our wedding night, are you?”
“Hope springs eternal. So does my cock when I look at you.”
“I guess we’ll see if the husband can get his wife into the marriage bed,” I say as I press a kiss to his cheek.
He turns and catches it on his lips, and it rockets into a searing kiss. But I stop it before it becomes hot and heavy. Not because I don’t want hot and heavy, but because I haven’t slept with him yet.
But the funny thing is, I’m sort of glad it worked out that way. I’m not trying to make this arrangement with him feel different than my marriage, but there’s a part of me that likes how different it is. Eduardo and I slept together the first night we met. I’ve known Christian for more than a month and he hasn’t been inside my body yet.
Somehow, that seems like the way it should be for us.
We leave, and I stop in the doorway, smacking my forehead. “We don’t have rings. How could we have forgotten rings?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ve got it covered.”
Inside Copenhagen City Hall, the wedding office smells like newspaper and efficiency as Christian Ellison promises in front of the officiant to love me. But the little quirk in Christian’s lips says my husband’s in on the joke. Only this time the joke isn’t on me. We’re both the comedians and the conductors of this love charade, and it isn’t to hurt anyone or trick an innocent party, but rather to right a wrong.
It’s a joke we’re sharing.
But when his eyes lock with mine, he says without a trace of humor or teasing, “I do.”
His words are weighty, and they hang in the air with import. For a fraction of a second, they feel honest, and my heart speeds up.
The officiant asks if I take Christian to be my husband.
“I do.” I’ve voiced those words in the past, but in this moment, I feel the shackles of the first time I said them lifting off me. “I do.”
Christian chuckles. “I do again too.”
He reaches into his pocket, takes out the rings, I presume, and holds open his palm. “A wedding gift from Erik.”
The bands are platinum and unassuming, but gorgeous in their simplicity. He holds mine up so I can see what’s engraved. The simplest words.
Thank you.
His says the same.
We exchange the rings, and the officiant declares us husband and wife.
That’s it. Our ceremony took all of five minutes, maybe less, and yet it feels more real than my lavender one in the vineyard.
