Page 10 of Accidental Groom
The closer she gets, the more I see it, though — the way her mouth trembles, the tightness in her jaw, the uneven swelling of her chest on each inhale. She’s beautiful, but the context is tragic.
I hate myself for the heat she stirs low in my spine.
She’s not mine. She wasn’t evermeantto be mine. And even now, walking toward me, she’s still not. She is a deal beingbrokered, a name being preserved, a girl doing what she has to while looking fucking beautiful doing it, even while seeming uncomfortable with not just the situation, but the dress itself.
Ralph leads her to the end of the aisle and pauses, his grip tightening on her just enough for me to see it. When he lets go, there’s no affection given to her, no sentiment, like he’s handing over a check or his credit card.
He turns to me, offering a small, clipped nod. “You’re doing the right thing,” he says.
I want to vomit.
But I nod back.
Elena steps into place beside me, her eyes locked wholly on me, ignoring everyone else like I had done. She leans into me just slightly, her voice dropping low enough for only my ears. “Thank you.”
Fuck.
The ceremony begins.
It unfolds in a blur of holy language and practiced rituals. The priest speaks, and I repeat, though the words come out on instinct rather than actually meaning them. Elena does as well, her voice steady and clear but soft enough that I doubt many more than just me and the priest hear it. Mine is hoarse, but loud enough to get the job done for the room.
When the priest asks if I take her to be my wife, I feel like I’m somewhere far back in my mind, watching the scene in front of me play out like a movie. There are no choices here. Only actions I’m not entirely in control of.
“I do,” I say.
She echoes me when asked. “I do.”
And just like that, it’s done.
The priest smiles with practiced warmth as he shuts his book, cutting through the thick, overwhelming silence. “You may now kiss the bride.”
The words hang in the air like a challenge.
I take a single step closer.
She tilts her chin up.
And I know in my bones that she expects something cursory, something quick and polite to seal the contract. Nothing more than a business handshake disguised as intimacy.
But I’ve never been good at restraining myself.
My hand rises.
I cup her jaw.
Her skin is soft and warm.
She inhales sharply when I lean in.
My lips brush against hers for a fleeting second, her exhale warming my mouth.
And then it’s more.
I move forward far too easily, giving her pressure, heat,intent— my lips sliding against hers with too little control.
She gasps, just barely, just enough that I can feel it, and her body sways forward into me like gravity is pulling her.
A sharp jolt of want snakes its way down my spine, spreading out like a wildfire, only igniting further when I deepen it and her tongue slides against mine. She tastes like champagne and something far sweeter, like overripe strawberries, something that makes me want to take more than I should.
