Page 76 of Beyond the Stroke

“I do.” Rory’s voice resonates loud and clear.

“Summer, do you take Rory to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

My throat is suddenly tight. My lips part to utter the words, but nothing comes out.

“Summer?” Judge Clayborn prompts.

“I-I do,” I finally manage the words.

“Rory, please place the ring on Summer’s finger and repeat after me.”

Rory nods and reaches for my hand. I want to will it to stop shaking, but my body is off the rails, doing things I’ve not instructed it to do.

Trembling hands.

Racing heart.

Throat tight and impossible to swallow past.

The ring on my finger, though delicate, has an unexpected weight to it.

As Rory recites his vows, it takes everything in my power to stay rooted to the spot. To not fidget under his thoughtful gaze.

It’s just for show,I repeat to myself. But in my head, it’s become more of a chant set to the tune of “Here Comes the Bride.” So much so that I’m afraid I’m going to blurt it out in the middle of the ceremony.

Somehow, in the chaos of all that, I manage to repeat the vows after Judge Clayborn.

“…for better or worse, in sickness and in health…”

We sign the marriage certificate and I breathe out a sigh of relief that this stressful moment is over.

We did it.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Judge Clayborn announces to the handful of people in the tiny courtroom.

“Okay, so we’re good to go?” I ask, glancing around at the smiling faces, my feet ready to rush for the door.

Judge Clayborn smiles from his perch, then nods to Rory. “You may kiss your bride.”

You may kiss your bride.

I’ve been to weddings. I’ve seen them on television. I know the gist of the ceremony, yet I’d completely forgotten about this moment. We hadn’t discussed how we’d handle it. I’m just about to tap my cheek to cue him for a polite, harmless kiss, but the way Rory’s lips slowly tilt into a devilish smile makes it impossible to focus.

His hands lift to frame my face. The firm pressure of his fingertips as they slide against the base of my neck causing heat to coil low in my belly like a struck match.

His eyes search mine, the moment stretching out between us, thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

Then, his mouth claims mine.

It starts out soft. Gentle. Almost reverent. But there’s a tension beneath it, a tether pulled tight. Just when I think he’ll pull back, he doesn’t. He deepens it, mouth firmer, kiss hungrier, like he’s not acting. Like he means it.

His thumb brushes over my cheek, coaxing me open for him—and I do, helplessly, willingly.

My thoughts scatter as my body takes over. My fingers move to grip the lapels of his suit jacket, dragging him closer.

I feel the slide of his mouth, the press of his chest, the possessive tilt of his head. We’re kissing like we’ve been waiting for this for years.

Tasting.

---