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My body stirs to life.
She’s beautiful, sure.
But beautiful women are the most dangerous.
I know that firsthand.
Love hasn’t been kind to me and all the emotions that come with it have my fair and equal scorn.
It was just a kiss.
A kiss between strangers.
Something new and strange and different.
Nothing to get excited about. Even if I am, naturally, responding to the near-chaste touch.
It’s been a while.
That’s all it is.
“Would you like to take a picture?”
I defer to Elizabeth.
Releasing a shaky breath, she nods at the pastor.
We stand side-by-side. Close, but not touching.
It’s slightly awkward. Not very lovey-dovey. Reminds me of the old, black-and-white photographs of my grandparents as a couple. Both staring the camera head-on. Holding themselves straight. Faces as sober as a funeral shot. The opposite of romantic.
But then again, this isn’t the moment for romance.
And it will never be.
The next few days are about survival.
Steph’s.
As we catch a taxi and head back to the airport, Elizabeth is uncharacteristically quiet.
Not that I know her well enough to say whether being chatty is in her character. But, both times we’ve met, she’s always had something to say. Some fact to share. Some joke to make.
Right now, she’s sitting on the opposite end of the backseat, as far away from me as humanly possible.
Her hands are gripping the fake bouquet tightly. Brown fingers rub a leaf. Then the stem. Then up to a pink petal.
Her straight white teeth snag on her bottom lip.
Is she regretting the marriage already?
It’s a little too late.
We’ve got a contract binding us together for the next seven days.
I blow out a breath. Stare at the silver buildings glinting outside.
I’m married.
