Page 7 of The Marriage Mistake

Then it was my turn to speak the vows: In good times and in bad, sickness and health, for richer or poorer (hopefully richer), for better or for worse. It was a heavy promise. A terrible, terrible lie. My throat was tight and my voice scratchy as I whispered, “I do.”

“The rings?” The reverend looked at Jack. “Have you got them?”

“Uh—” He glanced at his grandmother, who pinched her lips. “No,” he finally admitted.

“That’s fine,” I hurried to say. “We’ll get some later.”

The reverend frowned at us, then glowered at the old woman in the front row. “Etta, I was willing to perform these weddings as a favor to you, because I believe in your mission. The town—the congregation—needs to grow in order to thrive. But this”—he waved at me and Jack—“is wrong. A wedding is a sacred covenant, and you’re making a mockery of it.”

I bit my lip. He was a tiny ball of righteous anger, but he wasn’t wrong.

“Say the words, Reverend,” Etta replied, unbothered.

Jack’s fingers tightened on mine, thumbs stroking over my knuckles. I shivered. The reverend glared at the old woman, then turned his ire to me.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he grumbled. “Jack, kiss her and let’s get this mockery of a wedding over and done with.”

I hadn’t expected to ever get married, but this was a low point, even for me. My stomach went hollow, dread pooling at the base of my spine.

A mistake. This was definitely a mistake.

But I couldn’t turn back. I couldn’t let my father win.

I wanted that money. I wanted what it could give me. I wanted out from my sad, boring, safe life. I wanted to do something. To live.

Jack’s eyes sparkled. He could read my distress. My anger. My resentment. His lips twitched as I stood there, trembling, and I realized he was enjoying himself, the jerk. He tugged on my fingers, pulling me closer. “Ready?” he murmured.

“Just do it,” I snapped, tilting my head toward him as I closed my eyes.

“Lord above,” Reverend Strife complained, closing his eyes against the train wreck that was our union.

Jack chuckled. His palm slid over my cheek, thumb brushing my lips. Despite myself, I softened. He held me gently, waiting for me to open my eyes and look at him. His eyes looked darker in the low light of the chapel. Behind him, a shaft of light illuminated thousands of dust motes dancing in the air and limned his chestnut hair in gold. Stillness settled around us, the moment stretching as he held me.

I’d never had a man hold me like this. Look at me like this.

I inhaled, mortified that my breath trembled as it went in. Jack stroked my jaw, expression softening as his gaze circled my face.

“Ember,” he said, voice soft as velvet. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

I looked at him. Really looked at him. The mirth and the mockery had disappeared. In their place was a man who was made of steady strength. A pillar of reliability. Startled, I blinked up at him, my throat bobbing as I tried to swallow past its constriction.

His mask of charming indifference had shattered, and I was utterly sure that I was seeing the real Jack Mars. Deep blue eyes stared into mine, promising to stand beside me against the world. My heart cracked open; no one had ever made me feel like that before—like I wasn’t on my own anymore.

Before I could scramble to put my walls back up, Jack dipped his head and kissed me. Even though I’d known it was coming, it still startled a noise out of me. I clung to him, to the fine knit of his black sweater and the bulk of his shoulders beneath. His hand stroked my cheek as he kissed me longer and deeper than was strictly appropriate. His stubble was rough, his scent heady. Spicy and subtle and male.

In an instant, I was on fire.

Tearing myself away from him, I blinked rapidly and tried to come back to myself while the world whirled around me. His arm had wrapped around my waist. When had that happened? I tried to pull away, and Jack resisted, holding me against his chest. His eyes burned. Beneath my palm, his heart thudded. Not unaffected. Not repulsed.

Finally, he released me.

I rocked back on my heels, staring at the center of his chest, falling apart. My breaths were harsh in the silence of the chapel, my heartbeat thunder in my ears.

What had I done? What had I done?

“Well,” Etta Mars pronounced in a quiet voice that carried through the chapel. “That’ll do.”

I jerked my head up to scowl at her, and she gave me a sharp, all-knowing smile. Her eyes were glittering and all-seeing. A hand heavy with rings clasped the arm of the pew, and she hauled herself up to her feet. “Let’s sign the paperwork, and the two of you can get on with it.”