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“By the power vested in me by the laws of the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
I forgot about a kiss. My heart pounds as my stomach fills with butterflies. I watch Everett, trying to anticipate his next move. I don’t know what’s worse, leaning in for a kiss and being denied or staying still as a statue.
Everett decides for me. He takes my left hand, raises it to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of my hand, never breaking eye contact with me. His brown eyes darken and my breath catches in my chest. His soft mouth lingers for a moment and the kiss is sure and firm. There’s a force behind it, an intensity and intentionality that makes my lips part in a gasp. He just kissed me. Everett kissed me.
My cheeks must be flushed neon pink and my knees are weak. This kiss to my hand has only made me desperate to know what it would be like for my lips to meet his. For a brief moment, Everett’s eyes go to my mouth, then just as quickly look away.
“Congratulations,” says the officiant. “Please make room for the next couple.”
Right. The door of reality slams in my face. This isn’t marriage, it’s legal protection. My mission for Dad can start now. But how am I supposed to concentrate on anything other than Everett’s lips after that kiss?
* * *
When we get back to the house, all my nerves are jittery as Everett takes my coat and hangs it up. We can talk now, I can tell him everything. But first, I want to discuss the matter of the rings.
As he loosens his tie and takes off his jacket, I open my mouth to address it. Right as he starts rolling up his shirt sleeves. His wedding ring adds a mesmerizing flash of silver with each movement. Has he always done that, the whole shirt rolling thing? No, I know he hasn’t. This is new and…sexy. I can’t stop staring at his flexing forearms.
“Ev,” I say, sharper than I intended. His head snaps up and whirls around, immediately looking for danger.
“What?”
I hold up my left hand.
“I can’t go around wearing this. It’s too noticeable.”
His lips form a little grin that’s alluring and infuriating. He’s grinning like he’s proud of himself.
“You can do whatever you want with it,” he says.
“Everett, this must have cost a small fortune.”
“Does it matter?” he asks, casually making his way down the hall. I follow him, my heels not making a satisfying click on the floor until we reach the tile of the all-white, modern kitchen. I make sure to stand on the opposite side of the island from him.
“You don’t mind if I put it on my dresser and never wear it again?” I ask.
“Nope. But that’s the one thing I want back in the divorce.”
He grabs a glass bottle of water out of the fridge and takes a long, slow drink. I try to look away, to not take in the way his throat moves as he swallows, but it’s futile. He’s a magnet for my eyes.
“You can’t wear yours either,” I say, flustered.
“I won’t let anyone see it,” he says with a shrug.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why are you being like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like nothing about this bothers you.”
“Because it doesn’t.”
“Ev! Come on! You-” I’m about to say “kissed me” but Everett cuts me off.
“There are more important things to worry about than our wedding rings.”
Our. Wedding. Rings. Nope, professionalism demands I not go anywhere near that delightful phrase.
“Right. Let’s talk about what’s really going on,” I say.
