Page 11 of I Almost Do

She’s trying to lighten the mood and turn my smile into something real. We both know I'm giving more Glinda the Good Witch vibes than sex kitten in this dress.

When the wedding planner had asked about my dream wedding, I'd just pointed her to my old Pinterest board—the one I'd made right around the time I'd started practicing my signature as "Mrs. James Mellinger.” So… yeah. This wedding is a bit of a hot mess express. Though no one can say the planner didn'ttry.

We had a month to plan this thing from start to finish, so I'd sent her the Pinterest board and said, "Figure something out, and please don't bother me with the details."

Spending time with Dad was more important to me than picking out napkins and cake toppers.

Now, my bridal party, flowers, and dress are giving "A Very Barbie Wedding" vibes.

Not that I care. It's not a real wedding, anyway.

I finally get up the nerve to look at James as he stands there at the altar in a black tuxedo. His face is even more serious and stern than usual, his posture stiff.

We stop just in front of him, and Dad turns to me, whispering against my temple, "You will always be my baby girl. Don't you forget that."

I choke out a watery “I love you, Daddy.”

When my father hands me over to James, they do that man-hug thing that practically looks like assault, with the mutual back slapping. It's intense. Then Dad kisses my cheek and puts my hand in James's.

James's expression is severe. He almost looks angry, so I fix my attention on the minister instead.

James's hand, however, is steady as a rock when he slips his ring on my finger. And his voice is strong and confident when he makes his vows to love, honor, and cherish me.

When the minister says, "You may kiss the bride," I shoot a startled glance up at my new husband and feel my nerves twang.

How did I not think about the fact that our first kiss was going to be in front of a cathedral full of witnesses? We didn't have a wedding rehearsal, or I might have thought of it then. But we were trying to minimize the number of activities Dad would feel he needed to participate in.

And it hits me all of a sudden that I've just married a man I've never even ki—

"Hey," he murmurs quietly in my ear while he trails his knuckles down my cheek. "Stop worrying. It's not that kind of marriage. Ialsovow not to attack your lips with mine," he says dryly.

He leans down and rubs the tip of his nose against mine, then kisses me on the cheek.

That's my wedding kiss? A peck on the cheek?

I know this marriage isn’t normal, but did he have to make it so publiclyobvious? Now the minister is introducing us as Mr. and Mrs. James Mellinger. I spent years doodling that name, but now that it's here, I'm not sure I want it.

I'm not giving up the name that defined me to this point in my life. I'll beHarcourt-Mellinger. I can't just become an entirely new person in the course of one afternoon, an extension of a man who isn't even in love with me.

Then Bronwyn is handing me back my flowers, arranging my train, and James and I walk back down the aisle. We prepare to take the short drive to the location for pictures, both of us sitting quietly in the car.

James clears his throat and says, "You look beautiful, Clarissa."

I want to sink into the leather seat because I don't feel beautiful. I feel pretty silly, and I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the idea that he wouldn't even kiss me the one darn time in front of an audience.

I tip my head at him, force a smile, and say, “Thank you.”

He runs his thumb over his new wedding band and says, “The ceremony was nice.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, but I squelch it quickly.

He frowns. “Are you okay?”

I lie like a Persian rug. “Just nervous. There were a lot of people there.”

“I see.”

And then the man who expects me not to catch feelings reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Can I make a confession?”

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