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For a thick second we stared into each other’s eyes, as we had done in the Lexus, but this time we knew what the other was thinking. Shit.
“Go on and kiss her, son!”
The officiant was directing Luke to kiss me, as if I were his property now. Screw that. I took Luke’s face in my hands and brought his mouth to mine, hoping he would take it from there. Long peck or actual make out? Open mouth?
Somewhere in between, it turned out. His lips were quite soft, yielding.
After a long moment, he tried to pull away, but my hair had snaked its way around one of his suit buttons. The result was a painful yank of my entire head.
“Ow!” I yelled. “Fuck!”
“What happened?” Luke said, touching me in a genuine way for the first time that day.
“That’s hair! That’s attached to my head!” I cried.
“Wait, hold still,” he said, trying to disentangle the strand but pulling too hard.
“Careful,” I scolded.
“Sorry!” he snapped.
Frankie put down the camera with a sigh. The next couple and their friends gathered near the entrance of the ceremony room, their made-up faces expectant and curious. I heard titters and frowned.
This was a sign, I was pretty sure. Our marriage was doomed. Either that, or it was time to cut off all my hair.
