Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Pressing my lips together, so he knows I’m done speaking, I clasp my fingers in front of me.
“Okay. We’ll apply for a marriage license next week, and we can be married the same day.”
Oh my god. Oh my god. OH MY GOD!
My racing pulse radiates a deafening whoosh to my ears. I hope he’s done speaking because I can’t hear right now.
This is happening. I’m getting married next week.
Zach gives me fifteen minutes because he has a dental appointment at four, so we need to get going.
Fifteen minutes to get ready for my wedding? Marriage? Nuptials? I don’t know what to call it, nor do I know what I’m supposed to wear. I go through five outfit changes.
“Emersyn, let’s go!”
“Shit …” I mumble, not happy with the itchy fabric on my body. In less than ten seconds, I swap out the itchy dress for a knee-length skirt and pink, three-quarter-length sleeved sweater. It’s not fair to ask someone like me—someone with such passion for clothes—to just throw on something to wear for my wedding.
“Emersyn—”
“Coming!” We’re on the verge of our first fight, and we’re not even married yet. I shove some makeup and my hair brush into my bag before running toward the backdoor with ballet flats in my other hand.
Zach's brows stretch toward his hairline.
“What?” I glance down at my outfit.
“Nothing.”
I eye his jeans and pocket tee. It’s basic, but unfaded and free of wrinkles, maybe something from J.Crew. “You think I’m overdressed? I wear skirts all the time. Don’t read into this like I think today is special. I simply threw on the first thing I found that didn’t need to be ironed.” He’s not a real husband. I’m not taking an oath to be honest. I don’t think wedding vows address honesty. And lying is sometimes necessary.
The hint of a smile touches his lips. “You look nice.”
After a quick pause to gage his sincerity, I mumble, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s go.”
On the way to the courthouse, I ignore his sideways glances while I apply a little makeup. Again, I wear makeup on days I don’t get married. It’s no big deal.
It’s a huge fucking deal!
What I don’t ignore is Zach singing to the radio, Imagine Dragons’ “Next to Me.” Suzanne wasn’t lying; he has a great voice. I hum along since I don’t know all the words. From the corner of my eye, I see him grin, but he doesn’t stop singing. The words are poetic and oddly poignant for my life. Someone standing by you despite the messiness of life, believing in someone when they’re at their worst, loving them unconditionally. Zach doesn’t love me, but he’s unquestionably a saint in my life right now.
A marriage license requires two forms of I.D. And in Zach's case, proof of death. I don’t know if Zach feels my guilt and remorse when he has to hand over the certificate to prove that his previous wife died, but I turn to stone and hold my breath. Even my heart slows to act as invisible as possible.
With the license in hand, we head straight to the judge’s chambers with a few minutes to spare before our scheduled appointment time.
“He’ll use traditional, generic vows. It’s not a requirement to exchange rings, so we won’t.”
I nod a half dozen times and swallow hard at least as many times. My nerves fire into overdrive as my gaze attaches to his left hand and ringless finger. He had it on earlier this morning.
“Is everything okay?” He brings me out of my racing thoughts.
“Um … the kiss. Will he ask us to kiss?”
Zach shrugs like he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. But it does matter.
“I think it’s just permission,” he says. “Not a requirement. Like you may kiss the bride. Doesn’t mean we have to kiss.”
“Okay. But won’t it look suspicious if we don’t kiss?” My voice won’t stop shaking.
“If you’re worried about it, then we’ll just kiss.”
We’ll just kiss? Really? He’s fine kissing me. Fine not kissing me. I’m a hot mess and anything but fine.
“Okay,” I squeak out that one word.
“Okay to the kiss? Or it’s okay if we don’t?”
Before I get the chance to answer, the door opens, and we’re beckoned into the judge’s chambers.
I’m going to puke.
Don’t puke!
The he judge is a she judge, and she greets us with a warm smile. I suppose she reserves her scowl for the days she sentences people to jail—like people who commit insurance fraud through a fake marriage. Zach stays cool. That’s his gift. Flying hundreds of passengers through the skies and delivering them safely to their destinations is what he does best. A fake marriage must be an afterthought compared to that.
I excel at the nervous smile and occasional nod. After a little chit-chat that he handles, we get down to business. No coffee or last-minute counseling. Nope. She’s reciting vows before I realize it’s happening.