We sign the final paperwork and leave city hall legally wed, with the man in the charcoal suit poised to take control of his grandfather’s company so that his brother’s soon-to-be-ex-wife can’t get her slimy paws on it.
A gift to his brother indeed.
As Christian holds open the door, I’m keenly aware that I don’t want this union to feel less than the marriage of mine that was truly false.
Because in some ways—no, in nearly every way—it already feels like more of a marriage than the one I had before. It’s an honest, open one.
On the steps, under a clear blue sky, with a view of Tivoli Gardens across the street, I grab my husband by the tie. “Do you want to kiss the bride?”
His blue eyes hook into mine, heat flashing across his irises. “So incredibly much.”
I’m nervous, my fingers shaking, as I loop my hands around his neck. My heart stutters.
Even if marriage is a sham, even if this marriage is a sham, my emotions right now are anything but. They rise in me, climbing my throat, fighting to escape. They’re unexpectedly real and true, filling me with want and perhaps that hope I felt so long ago when I played in the park as a girl and imagined this day.
This isn’t what I pictured at all.
But somehow, it feels like exactly what I need.
Christian seals his mouth to mine, and it’s a soft and tender kiss. It’s an exploration and a promise, and something about it is different from all his kisses that have come before. The gentle brush of his lips on mine makes me woozy. My knees go weak. He loops his arm tighter around my waist, tugging me close.
I’m the bride who’s not in white, who wears no perfume, who is married for a deal the second time around.
But this kiss doesn’t feel like it’s part of a pact. It feels like it could become a new way of kissing.
When at last he stops, Christian looks dazed. “You smell fantastic.”
“I’m not wearing anything.”
“I guess it’s the scent of you.”
I suppose it is.
20ELISE
His mother engulfs me in a hug. “It is so good to finally meet you.”
“And it is a delight to meet you,” I say, enjoying that we don’t have to pretend for his family—his mother knows the score. Even so, my brain lingers on one word. Finally. Everything has happened so lickety-split, I don’t know why his mother would feel like we’re finally meeting.
The three of us take seats at the outdoor café that overlooks the harbor, and we order a round of champagne. She clasps her hands under her chin and fixes a steely blue-eyed gaze on her son. Her cheekbones are carved, and I can see where Christian’s blond good looks come from. “Tell me everything about the ceremony that you didn’t let me attend this afternoon.”
Christian rolls his eyes. “Because I’m sure you’ve been dreaming of watching me get married at city hall.”
She swats his elbow. “I don’t know why you didn’t let me go.”
He gives her a look.
I smile, loving the ribbing that they give each other, but especially loving that I get to witness it. I like that he’s so open with his family, that his mom knows what we’re up to. Mostly I love that he wanted me to meet her.
“It wasn’t that kind of a ceremony.” He looks across the table to me, his eyes holding mine for a beat that extends longer than I expect it to. “Besides, it was just between us.”
My heart does something that feels like it’s rolled over, flopped on its back, and put its legs in the air. Dog that it is, I tell that organ to sit up and focus.
“Be that as it may,” she says, looking to me, “I am delighted to meet you, Elise. Now, tell me everything about the wedding.”
I laugh, then give her the sparse details about our brief and perfunctory ceremony and show her the rings.
She sighs happily, shielding her eyes from the bright afternoon sun reflecting off the harbor. “Thank you for allowing me to experience it vicariously. He didn’t let me go to his first wedding either.”
I tilt my head, surprise hitting me hard. “You didn’t?”
Christian shakes his head. “We were married in the United States. Vegas, baby, Vegas.”
“You eloped,” I say, as if the plot is thickening.
“Sort of,” he says, laughing as he points at his mom. “Anyway, she gave me hell then. No need to do it again.”
“That’s my job. To give you hell.” She snaps her gaze to me. “Although, I do hope you’ll pick up the slack when I’m unable to give him hell. You have free rein to give him a hard time as much as you want.”
“I appreciate the maternal blessing, and I will do my best to follow the directive,” I say as the waitress arrives with three flutes of champagne.
His mother raises her glass, and we follow suit, clinking. “To the brilliant plan my sons hatched, and to the brilliant woman who’s making it all possible.” Her voice lowers. “My father—their grandfather—had the softest heart, but perhaps not always the most realistic expectations. I appreciate you making everything right for my Erik. I feel terrible for what happened to him.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I say, and I’m glad this deal has been beneficial for both of us, or else I’d feel like some sort of martyr to the cause. But Christian has already prepped loads of business analysis and insight for my upcoming meeting with the travel client. His market analysis was spot-on and seems like something of a secret weapon.
“It’s not nothing. It’s everything.” She glances at her son. “And maybe when you knock her up and have a baby, you’ll at least let me come to the birth.”
I nearly choke on my champagne. Bubbles shoot up my nose, tickling it, and a cough bursts from my throat.
