Page 46 of Make-Believe Match

Elvis’s lip hooked up on one side. “Dearly beloved...”

NINE

lexi

I actually don’t recall muchabout the ceremony.

We faced each other. Someone took my rose. Someone took a picture. We held hands. We repeated some words. The room was overly air-conditioned, and I felt chilly, even with Devlin’s sweatshirt on. I kept shivering.

At the appropriate time, Devlin took the ring box from his back pocket. I put one on his finger. He put one on mine.

More words were spoken. There was some nodding. Some agreeing. Some polite laughter at Elvis’s jokes. The click of the camera.

“So,” he said after maybe ten minutes. “With the authority invested in me by this great state of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

I closed my eyes, waiting to feel Devlin’s lips on mine. Instead I heard him say, “It’s fine, we’re good.”

My eyes flew open. Devlin winked at me. A laugh bubbled up in my chest.

Elvis, however, appeared taken aback. “You don’t want to kiss your new wife?”

“Well, I would, but it’s against the rules. Thanks, though.” Grinning, he took me by the hand. “Come on, wife.”

We practically raced up the aisle, performing an end-zone run around the befuddled photographer who stood near the door.

“Wait!” she called. “Don’t you want a ‘just married’ photo?”

“No, thanks!” I unclipped the veil from my head and tossed it in the air.

Bursting into the lobby, we raced for the exit and spilled out onto the front steps, where we stood for a minute and stared at each other. We didn’t kiss, we didn’t cry, and we certainly didn’t declare our love.

But we weremarried.

Husband.

Wife.

* * *

I got a little bit tipsy at dinner.

Maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten all day. Maybe it was because I was trying to distract myself from thinking about what we’d done. Maybe it was to fight the fear I had that it would all be for nothing, because everyone would see through this scheme and Gran wouldn’t let me inherit.

Or maybe it was to numb my attraction to Devlin.

Myhusband.

The thought of it sent a secret little thrill up my spine. Maybe it wasn’t real, but it was true.

And tonight was our wedding night.

Seated across from him in a dark corner of the steakhouse inside our hotel, I finished off my second glass of pinot noir and watched him take a sip of his second glass of whiskey. Why did he have to be so hot? Memories of the night we’d spent together were assaulting my mind left and right. He took another drink and set the glass down, keeping his hand wrapped around it. The shiny gold band on his finger reflected the candlelight on our table.

“Are you a lefty?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that about you.”