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The next morning is charged with frenetic energy. We’re seated outside the clerks office, about to be called in for our ceremony, and as much as I’m telling myself it’s just business, we’re anything but business-like. Everett’s fingers are tapping against each other a mile a minute and I can’t stop popping the clasp on my watch. We’re wearing our more typical attire, Everett in a dark suit and black overcoat, me in dark wide-leg pants, a winter white turtleneck sweater, and coordinating coat. I’ve popped the collar and worn my hair down in long, loose curls, a small effort at concealment.
Everett reaches over and puts his hand on my knee, shooting me a reassuring glance. The gesture is a combination of comforting and alerting. I’m hyper aware of how soft his touch is and how warm his hand is, a complete contradiction to my goosebumps and the chill in my bones from late winter in New York. I smile at him and try something new. I give him a wink of reassurance.
He grins, his whole face beaming and blushing. I would pay any amount of money for an artist who could capture that look forever.
“Next!”
We scramble to our feet and make our way to a side room with industrial carpet and fluorescent lighting. A short, round man waits for us behind a small podium.
“Do you have your license?” he asks. Everett pulls the marriage license out of his suit pocket and we both hand him our IDs.
“Alright, and do you wish to exchange rings?”
I’m about to say no when Everett pulls two rings out of his magical suit jacket pocket and hands them to the officiant. I don’t even have a second to protest before the officiant launches into the ceremony.
“Then we’re ready to begin. Would you two please face each other?”
I turn towards Everett, rubbing my cold hands on my coat. When I meet his eyes, I have chills, completely unrelated to the weather.
A lock of his hair is falling out of place, dipping down across his forehead, making him unbelievably more handsome and dashing. My eyes close as I take in the moment. I’m marrying him, right now, it’s in progress. My dad is alive. I’m marrying Everett in secret. My dad is out there somewhere. I’m here. I’m getting married.
“Alright, repeat after me. I, Everett Park…”
I wait for Everett to say the words, but they don’t come.
I look up to find he’s staring down at me, speechless. Does he regret this? Is this a horrible idea after all? Maybe he’s light-headed and dizzy the same way I am. I don’t know how to read his expression. It’s like he’s never seen me before, like he woke up from a dream and found himself in this moment. I take his hands in mine and squeeze, a quiet reminder that it’s just me, just Laina.
“I, Everett Park,” the officiant prompts him.
Alert, on-guard Everett snaps back into place. He clears his throat and stands up straight, shoulders back, his hands tightening around mine.
“I, Everett Park,” he says to a spot on the wall behind my head. “Take you, Laina Milenna, to be my lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
The officiant holds out the ring and instructs Everett to put it on my left hand. As he slides it on, I don’t know what I expect, but it’s certainly not a stunning wide platinum band with pavé-set diamonds around the whole ring. I gasp.
“Wait,” I whisper before finding my voice and saying it louder, “Wait.”
Both men look at me.
“Ev, what is this?” I ask, breathless, holding up left hand. “What is this?”
He shrugs. “You needed a ring.”
“I didn’t think…this isn’t…you don’t-” I try to finish my phrase, but I’m speechless and in grave danger of bursting into tears. Why would he do something so real for such a fake wedding?
But the officiant needs to think this is a true love situation. Heaven forbid someone did leak this to the press, true love with my bodyguard would be a better spin than fake-but-legal marriage. I look down at my ring again and back up to Everett. He shrugs and gives me a small smile.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re Laina Milenna. You deserve beautiful things, the best things.”
He nods to the officiant to continue.
“Laina, repeat after me. I, Laina Milenna, take you, Everett Park, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
I’m shaking, but I manage to repeat after him all the way through. The officiant hands me a ring and I slide the simple but masculine silver band onto Everett’s hand. He flexes his fingers, makes a fist, and the ring catches the light. It’s fitting for him. He looks even more attractive as a married man.
In the saddest part of my lovesick heart, I acknowledge that one day, Everett will get married for real and it won’t be to me. I hope his future wife will be very happy with him. She should be ecstatic to be marrying him. He is the best man I know and deserves the very best love has to offer.
