Page 30 of Be My Wife

His lips twitch.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

I stalk down the strip and enter the first marriage chapel that doesn’t boast an Elvis impersonator. Elvis is great and all, but I’m not in a rush to fulfill that particular stereotype of a Vegas wedding.

The pastor of the chapel seems nice enough and he even asks his wife to stand in as witness for us since we didn’t bring our own.

“Would you like to say your own vows?” he asks, after making us join hands in front of a fake-flower archway.

I nod enthusiastically.

Since we’re planning to divorce, vowing to love Brogan ‘in sickness and in health till death do us part’ doesn’t sit well with me. I’m no liar and, when I make a promise, I keep it.

He takes my hand.

We face each other.

It’s weird.

This is…

I don’t know.

It almost doesn’t feel real. Like we’re playing a part. Like some director will yell ‘cut’ and we’ll throw each other’s hands away.

But there’s no director.

No cameras.

No audience.

There’s just Brogan, telling me he’ll take care of me and honor me for as long as we’re married.

And me, repeating the same, cold, formal words to him.

It’s a business transaction.

It feels like one.

No butterflies.

No smiles.

No… kiss?

“You may kiss the bride,” the pastor says again, as if we’re both hard of hearing and didn’t catch the instruction the first time.

Brogan remains in place. Studies me with his intelligent blue eyes. I know he’s thinking about our contract. Weighing whether this moment falls under the overarching principle of keeping our ruse.

I shrug. Beckon him over. We might as well get used to it. My parents will think it’s weird if we have our first awkward kiss in front of them.

Brogan gets my drift.

He steps in. Grasps my chin. Tilts my head.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes. Sadness, maybe. Regret? A bad memory?

And then his lips fall on mine.

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