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My heels tap on the hard surface of the floor as I cut our distance until I’m standing right before him. “You look very handsome, Mr. Moore,” I tell him, wanting to adjust his shirt simply so I can touch him but refraining. “Are you ready to get married?”
He gives me a firm nod, takes the shopping bag holding my old clothes and undergarments from me, and retakes my hand. I’m positive he can feel my pulse thrashing against him, but thankfully he doesn’t comment. I haven’t told him where we’re getting married yet. He tried asking on the plane, but I was mid-panic attack, so it never happened.
I picked the least romantic or special wedding chapel in the hotel.
This isn’t about love, and there is no romance between us. It’s business, and the last thing I wanted was a beautiful location to haunt me in the future for when I do actually get married to someone I love and want to be with.
Making our way through the casino floor, we stop in front of two double doors, and after sucking in a deep breath, I pull one open. The wedding organizer, who is acting as our witness, along with the officiant, are already here, talking up by the front of the room, standing in front of a gaudy painting of a Romanesque building.
“You have your license on you, I take it,” I murmur to Lenox, my heart rioting in my chest, pumping blood noisily through my ears.
A nod. That’s it. Oh, Lenox, how I wish this was the moment you’d bestow me with soothing words.
We make our way up to the front of the chapel, and the moment the organizer sees us, she immediately goes after Lenox, hugging him like they’re ancient friends. Lenox is not a hugger, nor is he a people person. He throws me a what do I do mixed with a what the fuck is going on look.
“I’m sorry,” the woman exclaims, still hugging him fiercely even though he’s trying to pull away as gently as he can. “I just love you so much. Central Square is my all-time favorite band, and you were my favorite member. I love the piano.” She pulls back, her cheeks flushed as she bats her eyes up at him. “I play the piano too. I could play for you now if you’d like, or even better, we could play a duet.”
I choke on a laugh and cover it as a cough. It’s almost fun watching Lenox suffer. Still, as the man marrying me, I feel the need to save him. Just a bit.
“Um. I’d rather there not be any music,” I state, and she rolls her head over her shoulder and throws me a scathing look like I’m keeping her from showing off for the love of her life.
She turns back to him. “I can’t believe you’re getting married. And to a Monroe! That’s just so perfect. And wow, to do it like this… on the fly.” She fans her face. “It’s so romantic. I wish the other members were here. I’d love to meet Greyson, especially. Zax is a bit intimidating.” She emits a girlish giggle. “But oh, Asher and Callan are dreamy too.” She gives me a brief side-eye, hating me on sight, and then it’s all about him once more. “You know, I haven’t heard anything about the two of you even being together. Last I knew, she was engaged to someone else. Are you sure this is the right thing for you to do?”
Is she for real?! “Uh, yeah, he is. You know, since he’s my fiancé and we’re about to get married here. That is what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?”
“Right. Of course.” Her eyelashes flutter up at him like a hummingbird’s wings. “You must have kept it a secret then.”
“We did,” I say, my tone short. “But our love was the stuff of Shakespeare for years.” Unrequited and tragic. Lenox throws me an amused look, and I shrug at him. “Anyway, can we get this going? Young love is impatient, as I’m sure you constantly witness.”
More rapid blinking at Lenox, and if she keeps this up, I think she’ll use her lashes as wings and fly out of here like a goddamn fairy. Finally, she reluctantly peels herself away and takes our bags, promising to have them delivered to our room. I wouldn’t be shocked if she slips her digits and maybe her underwear in his bag.
After that, we get down to business as she and the officiant proceed to go over everything with us, asking us a few last-minute questions about music—I decline again—us saying our own vows—again, I decline—or if there is anything special or meaningful we want to incorporate in our wedding—that’s a hard no.
We sign our marriage license, which feels so strange to do, and it’s already been requested that it remain private so the press doesn’t get their hands on it before I want them to know about it.
Once all the business is concluded, the planner asks, “Ready?”
No. That’s the first word that comes to my mind. No, I’m not ready to marry Lenox. Because when I was a little girl and I’d imagine this moment, I imagined it with my father walking me down the aisle, and me in a large Cinderella-style gown, and Lenox smiling at me like he loved me instead of glaring warily at me as if I’m the bane of his existence and he’s suddenly doubting himself.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Even what I was planning with Ezra, though not quite my dream wedding, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me standing in an orange room with awful carpet and a gauche painting of a random building with two strangers marrying me.
I start to tremble. Maybe I don’t need to do this. Maybe I don’t need to actually marry him. I mean, if I keep telling Alfie and Ezra no, eventually they’ll give up and the press will give up and I’ll be fine. I’ll figure out my father’s company and?—
“Yes,” Lenox finally says in a low voice. “We’re ready.” He gives my hand a small jerk, snapping me back and my eyes up to his. “We’re ready,” he repeats, this time for me, and I swallow hard and force myself to nod.
It’s a year at most. I’ll hardly ever have to see him. Everything will be fine.
“Fantastic,” the woman exclaims, all fucking jubilant like this is the best day of my life, and I’m so tempted to tell her, Honey, this ain’t it. “Do you have rings?”
Rings? I bark out a humorless laugh. How could I have forgotten to purchase rings? I meant to. When we were shopping, that was part of my plan, but between all the hair and makeup and lingerie, that somehow got lost.
Lenox reaches into his pocket and pulls out two boxes, and my eyes narrow in on them. He opens one of the boxes to reveal a thick, black band—so very Lenox—and slips it out, then hands it to the wedding planner to hold for me since I’m supposed to put it on his finger. He doesn’t open the second box. Instead, he slides it back into his pocket and bows his head toward the officiant, indicating that we should begin.
There is no walking down the aisle to my groom. There is no music.
It’s just the four of us in this room as Lenox retakes my hands, holding them between us with his eyes locked on mine. The officiant begins saying the standard words of love and commitment, and I can’t stop the tears as they start to fall.
