Page 37 of A Prescription to My Heart

“Today. Before I change my mind.”

Something shifts in his expression, but it’s gone before I can name it. He doesn’t hesitate. He stands, smooths a hand over his coat, and reaches for his phone.

“We’ll have to leave Marigold with Nurse Sasha,” he says, already standing. “I don’t want to risk confusing her, In case we….”

In case we end the fake marriage.

I nod limply. I should feel relief. Instead, something cold settles under my skin.

***

The artificial scent of department store perfume permeates the air as I sift through a rack of dresses, fingers ghosting over fabric. Soren is a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with thinly veiled impatience.

“Just pick something,” he says.

I sigh. “Excuse me for not having a wedding dress ready to go.”

His mouth twitches, like he wants to smirk but won’t allow himself to.

I pull out a cream-colored dress—simple, knee-length, elegant. It will do.

“What about you?” I ask. “You look like you just walked out of surgery.”

He glances down at his scrubs. “Fair point.”

Twenty minutes later, we leave the store—me in the dress, him in a crisp button-down and dark slacks.

He looks—different. Less like a surgeon. More like a man someone might actually marry.

The thought unsettles me.

***

The courthouse is sterile, gray, lifeless. The fluorescent lights hum. Oddly, I’m reminds of the hospital. A clerk at the front desk barely glances at us as we hand over the paperwork.

Everything moves too fast.

A judge officiates. A stranger serves as our witness. The vows are skipped. No rings. No ceremony. Just legal words exchanged over a polished wooden desk.

I keep my hands clasped in front of me, my posture straight. Soren, beside me, is composed as ever, signing the papers with a steady hand.

Then it’s my turn.

The pen feels cold in my grip. The ink stains the page. My name, binding me to his.

A shudder moves through me. I refuse to acknowledge it.

The judge clears his throat. “By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

I force myself to look up. Soren is already looking at me. His expression is unreadable. But there’s something there, flickering beneath the surface.

It’s not smugness. Not victory. Not even relief.

It’s something unfamiliar. Something that makes my pulse stutter for half a second.

And then it’s gone.

“Congratulations,” the judge says, uninterested.

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