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“Hey, Lucas. What’s going on?” James asks quietly as he moves to stand beside me.
“I’m getting married, James. This is Amalie, my bride-to-be,” I reply, walking up to Amalie and sliding a possessive arm around her shoulders. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
I don't care what James thinks; I just want to compliment my woman. James's eyebrows rise into his hairline, and he rocks back on his heels as he looks between Amalie and me. “I-I had no idea! Pleasure to meet you, Amalie. Congratulations.”
James holds his hand out to Amalie and then me to shake. I clasp the other man’s hand and nod my thanks.
“Have you seen anything you like, Amalie?” I ask, tugging her closer to the counter.
Amalie points at a row of gold wedding bands. Some have intricate designs, while others are beautiful in their simplicity. She looks at me, her eyes shining with love and devotion. I know it's for James's sake, but fuck, I wish it was real. One day, it will be, I vow.
“That one will do nicely if you have it in my size,” she says, pointing at one of the plain bands.
It's thin, as delicate as her fingers, and buffed to a high shine. She has small hands and slim fingers, but James finds a size that fits her perfectly. I see him eye her bandaged wrist as he carefully slides the ring on and off her finger. He opens his mouth, no doubt to enquire about her injury, but I cut him off before he can speak.
"We'll take it." My warning look tells him not to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. I won't have Amalie the subject of gossip about how she received her injury.
I pick out a similar style for my band and we're soon walking out of the shop toward the courthouse. James isn't exactly discrete, and I have a sneaking suspicion that half the town will know we're on our way to get married before we reach the courthouse steps.
The townspeople go about their daily routines, but everything feels different. The air seems charged with energy at the thought of my impending marriage to the beauty at my side.
I glance at Amalie, and her expression radiates excitement and nervousness. Taking her hand, I twine our fingers in a gesture of reassurance. And because I need to touch her. We climb the steps and enter the grand building that will seal our union.
It’s still early, so the courthouse is quiet, but the few people milling around know who I am. They talk in hushed whispers and steal glances at us, noting Amalie's hand wrapped in mine. The curiosity over our presence here will undoubtedly cause a stir.
The magistrate’s office is tucked away on the second floor. I lead Amalie past the signs directing us up the stairs, our footsteps echoing on the wooden staircase. As we reach the landing, a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile emerges through an open door.
“Lucas! Good to see you,” the magistrate greets me, extending her hand. “And who is this lovely lady?”
“This is Amalie,” I introduce, unable to keep the pride and possessiveness from my voice as I shake Linda Wagner’s hand.
Our paths have crossed plenty of times over the years due to our line of work, and she's always been fair and professional. She's also discreet, for which I'm thankful because what I'm about to say will no doubt surprise her.
“We’re here to get married.”
Linda’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh. You have the marriage license?”
I give her a sheepish grin. “That’s what I was hoping you could help me with.”
“You know as well as I do that I can’t perform a marriage ceremony until seventy-two hours after the license is issued, Lucas.”
“I do, but I also know there are exceptions to that rule.”
“Yes, if you were still on active duty,” Linda points out. Her gaze moves to Amalie and back to me. “What’s the rush?”
“You know how things work in this town, Linda, and you know me,” I say, leaning on our long acquaintance. “Let’s just say it’s a matter of Amalie’s safety.”
Linda looks at Amalie again. “Are you being coerced into this in any way?”
Amalie shakes her head firmly. “No. Lucas is telling the truth. He’s helped me more than I can tell you. I want this too.”
Linda sighs and falls silent for a moment, obviously thinking. Finally, she lifts her eyes to mine. “You’ll need to go to the clerk of court’s office downstairs and get a license. You don’t have to do blood tests anymore. I’ll keep the next hour clear for you.”
Chapter Seven
Amalie
Once we have all the necessary paperwork, we head back to the magistrate's office. The walls are adorned with framed photographs capturing moments of joy from previous weddings she's officiated. I notice a well-organized desk with two chairs in front of it.
