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I step into her office, hoping to catch her before she leaves, but she already bolted before I got down there. She was obviously in a hurry to get out of here. If she heard what I think she heard and misconstrued what I was saying, I guess I can’t really blame her.
I need to find her to set her straight. Something on her desk catches my eye and I step forward, picking up the sheet of paper she left sitting there. It’s a copy of our marriage certificate. As I look at it and remember being with her in Vegas, a feeling of warmth spreads through me. It was only a couple weeks ago, and yet – given everything that’s happened – it feels like a lifetime since we shared the feelings and that sense of connection that led us to doing something so utterly careless and reckless in the first place.
Yeah, there was a lot of alcohol that went into it too, but there had to be some underlying feeling. The booze was just the key that unlocked the box of emotion we obviously feel for each other.
If it was only that easy. If only this piece of paper in my hand could promise us a happy ending and make everything okay again. So much has happened, and there are suddenly so many obstacles that need to be overcome that it’s gotten well beyond complicated.
The truth is, for as close as we’ve gotten, there is still so much we don’t know about each other. Our whirlwind romance has been amazing and incredible in a thousand ways, but there are still so many unknowns. There is still so much we haven’t had a chance to reveal about ourselves. So much we haven’t learned or shared.
I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I care for Emily. I care about her more than I’ve ever cared about a woman before. I have since college. But that’s my worry – that the feelings that still burn inside of me for her are residue from a time long gone. Part of me still wonders whether my feelings for her today are as true and genuine as I want them to be. As true and genuine as I think they might be.
But between the baby, Robert, and everything else going on, we haven’t had a chance to get the answers to those questions.
As I stand there staring at the marriage certificate in my hand, a thousand different thoughts flash through my mind. But then one thought cuts through them all – where is the original?
I look at the big red ‘copy’ stamped onto the page I’m holding. It’s obviously not the original. They told us they’d be sending along the original to mail in, so I look around for it frantically. In Emily’s recycle bin, I find the opened envelope from the chapel in Vegas. It’s empty.
“Where in the hell is it?” I mutter as I search her desk.
As I’m searching, my eyes fall onto her outbox – the small basket where she keeps her outgoing mail – and see that it’s completely empty.
“Shit. No. Oh shit.”
“Problem?”
I turn to see Pete leaning against the doorframe, a look of mild alarm in his eyes. I turn back and give Emily’s desk another once-over and come up empty again. I hold the marriage certificate up for Pete to see.
“The original is missing,” I explain.
“What do you mean missing?”
Grabbing the larger manila envelope from the recycle bin, I hold that up too. “They sent us a copy of the original and the original itself for us to mail in,” I continue. “Here’s the copy, but the original is nowhere to be seen.”
“Maybe she took it home with her?” Pete offers. “Or maybe she shredded it.”
“Or maybe she accidentally mailed it out,” I mutter as I point at the empty outbox.
Pete’s expression alternates between amused and horrified. “You can clear it up with one phone call. Make the call and figure it out.”
“This seriously cannot be fucking happening,” I growl. “Not with everything else going on.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and quickly punch in Emily’s number. My stomach churning, I press the phone to my ear as the call goes through. It rings one. Twice. Then goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I spit. “She’s not answering.”
Given the way she sprinted out of here after presumably overhearing Pete and I talking, I guess I can’t blame her for refusing my calls. Depending on what she heard and misinterpreted, she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole.
It’s no wonder she won’t answer her phone.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Turning away from her desk, a thought occurs to me. I head out to the lobby, Pete hot on my heels. I make my way down to the main reception desk and Audriana, a young brunette, looks up from her computer screen.
“Mr. Steel,” she says. “How can I help you?”
“Did Emily happen to drop off the mail for today?”
She nods. “Yeah, a little bit ago.”
