Page 17 of Honeyed

Wow, he’s just doing the damn thing. My mind spirals as I feel out of control, my lungs begging to protest that this is all moving way too fast.

“I do.” Warren sounds so sure, and it instantly eases some of my worry.

This is my best friend; he’s always had my back. So I’m not surprised he does at this moment.

“Alana, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

Without hesitation, and hoping my voice doesn’t crack, I answer, “I do.”

The judge smiles again. “Okay. Repeat after me. I, Warren, take you Alana, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Easily, like he’s waited to do this for years, Warren turns to me. I watch his face as he parrots back what the judge said and see the easy grin he wears. Is it an act for the people in the room? Or is he sincerely pleased to be tying himself to me?

The judge asks me to do the same, and I find my voice faltering as I push through. To anyone else, it might sound like emotion. It might look like it too, since a tear slips down my cheek as I say the words. Only Warren knows why I’m crying.

Because this isn’t forever. And I’ve wanted forever with him for my entire adult life.

“We’ll now exchange the rings,” the judge informs us, and Warren pulls the jewelry box from his front pocket.

Yesterday, he drove to a jewelry store a few towns over after we applied for the marriage license. He sent me a picture of two simple, identical gold bands, and I okayed it.

I’m like every other woman on the planet; when I pictured my engagement and wedding rings, I imagined big fat diamonds glistening on my left hand. So it’s fitting that with this sham of a union, I wouldn’t get those either.

The judge then instructs Warren, “If you could place the ring on her finger and repeat after me; I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love.”

My best friend, who is seconds away from becoming my husband, does so. His fingertips leave sparks up my hand as he pushes the ring past my knuckle. I return the favor, and then we’re just standing there, eyes locked on each other.

“By virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the State of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Holding my breath, I watch as those gray eyes lock in on my lips. Lust, unbridled and all too familiar when it comes to him, unfurls low in my belly. We may be in front of a stranger, standing on worn maroon carpet in a room where traffic offenders are sentenced, but I might as well be back on that purple blanket by the canal.

Ten years ago. It was the last and only time my best friend ever kissed me. And now he’s about to do so for the second time …

As my fake husband.

Warren’s head descends, and I stand perfectly still, my eyes fluttering closed at the last second. Lips meet mine on a warm breath, gentle and soft, as I part mine slightly to meet his mouth. We rub together, the contact lighting a fire in my bones, even if the gesture is just a hairbreadth past a peck.

Then he’s pulling back, the kiss over far too soon. A blush blooms on my cheeks as I catch a slight smirk tipping Warren’s lips up.

“Congratulations. May your marriage be healthy and strong.” The judge claps for us, as does the receptionist, and we both bow our heads in thanks.

Hands still linked, we walk out of the courtroom two brand-new people.

In the light of that municipal hallway, we emerge husband and wife. And the world seems like it’ll never be the same again.

7

WARREN

On the first night of our marriage, I dropped my wife off at her house, drove home, and fell asleep in my own bed alone.

Alana had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive back from the courthouse. I stopped at a diner just outside Hope Crest to get us burgers, and she insisted I go in by myself and bring out take-home containers. We ate them in the parking lot in a stilted silence. Our wedding meal had been awkward and rushed, two things that Alana and I never were with each other.

Fear grips my chest on the drive to work, because by trying to fulfill Arthur’s wishes, I might have ruined the best relationship I’ve ever had in my life. After all of this, I’m going to have to go on living without my best friend by my side, I just know it. And the only person to blame is me for convincing her to go through with this.

We sat in her driveway early evening yesterday, looking out the front windshield and not at each other, discussing the terms of our marriage. I’ll move in with her, seeing as my apartment is much smaller, but I won’t give up paying rent there, just in case. While everyone will think we’ll be sharing a bed and each other’s bodies, I’ll move into the guest room.

Alana nodded her agreement, looked at where my left hand and new ring gripped the wheel, then got out of the car and let herself into her house without a backward glance. I drove home and lay awake all night, picturing what our wedding night might have been in an alternate universe.

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