Page 43 of A Storybook Wedding

“I mean, unless you have other plans this weekend.”

“I don’t,” I admit. “Although getting married is not something you do because you don’t have other plans.”

“Typically,” she concedes. “But this is not a typical situation.”

“True,” I say.

“So…” The sound of CJ’s voice lingers in my ear. The muscles in my stomach clench tightly.

“So,” I reply. It’s a means to an end, Nate. She’s trying to help you, to give you an out. It’s really generous of her. And she’s owning the fact that the little stunt she pulled could destroy your reputation. She wants to fix it.

Let her fix it.

It’s all just fake anyway.

Plus, it’s not like you have any other options.

It’s just one little white lie.

Just take a deep breath and do it, Nate. You’re fine. You got this.

I inhale. “Are you sure about this?” I ask.

“I think so. I mean, I don’t really see any other way to make this whole thing go away. Also, I feel terrible. I never meant to do anything that could potentially hurt you. You and Dillon Norway are the only two people in the program who I actually like.”

“Okay.” I wipe my sweaty hands on my pants and take a deep breath. I blow it out, hard, and the question follows. “CJ Allerton, will you marry me?”

I feel like a complete tool. Those words sound ridiculous coming out of my mouth to this girl who, in reality, I barely even know.

But then she says, “I’d love to, Pen.”

And somehow, I instantly feel better.

CHAPTER 7

Cecily

Welp. There you have it. I guess there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Looks like I won’t be a total spinster after all.

In fact, one day I’m sure this will all be fuel for a brilliant story. By that time, Nate Ellis will be a distant memory—some (admittedly very attractive) guy who I married once to repent for the sin of letting loose and having a good time one random Wednesday night a million years ago. I mean, if there’s a lesson in all this, that would be it, right? Have zero fun in life. Fun only gets you in trouble. I’ll be able to check off the divorced box on future medical forms instead of the perpetually single box.

Talk about a long-term win.

Real talk though? I feel awful. It was a stupid, alcohol-induced transgression, and now poor Nate has to worry about losing his teaching job and sullying his reputation as a result of it. That’s not okay, and there’s no way I can let it happen on my account. Also, if the roles were reversed, I would be shitting a brick right about now.

So it’s simple logic. I screwed it up. I’ll go ahead and fix it.

I ask Nate for his personal information so that I can fill out the application, and then I schedule the appointment for us to get the license on Friday at 10:00 a.m. It’s better this way—nice and early, so neither one of us has time to back out of it. It’s online, so basically just wake up and click a link, answer some questions, and they email you a temporary license while the real one is sent in the mail. Then you have sixty days to actually get hitched, or else the license will expire. (Who knew?) So I think just knowing that even once you have the license, it’s not a done deal is maybe a little bit comforting to Nate, who is clearly sweating on the screen when I see him there the following morning.

The lady on the other end of the screen asks us questions confirming our relationship, asks us to take vows that are largely similar to the vows one would take at a wedding, and, at one point, asks why we’re not on in the same location for this appointment. “I’m very old school,” I reply. “No sex before marriage,” I whisper. “He’s at his apartment and I’m in mine.”

Later, on the phone, Nate tells me, “You know, you could have just said you were at work or something.”

“I suppose. But I’m really trying to own my role here. When we’re done, I expect an Emmy award. Or at least a Golden Globe.”

On Monday morning, with our printed license in hand, Nate and I head over to the Queens City Clerk’s office in Kew Gardens. Project Cupid doesn’t allow virtual marriage ceremonies anymore, but the website does still allow you to make an appointment for a live ceremony. The only problem is because they’re a government agency, they’re only open Monday through Friday. So I make our appointment for Monday at 9:00 a.m., figuring after that, I can drive Nate back to my house in Little Neck, and he can take the Zoom from there, with me. It’ll really give credibility to the marriage if Dillon Norway sees that he is in my house—a space we Zoom from every month.

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