Page 23 of Never Marry the Best Man (Whatever It Takes #4)
"Then this is just till you get your dual passport. Or before that, if you find someone else you want to marry."
"You are making marriage sound like choosing flavors of ice cream."
"For some people, it is."
"Not me."
"Look, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose but the legal fee to annul it. We’re both single and neither of us is in a relationship.
We don’t need to tell our families. We don’t need to move in together or even see each other in Boston.
It’s a technicality, a marriage of convenience. Eyes on the Prize.”
As she listened to her own voice painting this transactional picture, though, less transactional images were forming in her mind.
This would in no way be a traditional situation, not at all, but surely they’d see each other occasionally?
Just to check in, catch up, maybe have dinner?
They wouldn’t be together, really, but she had to admit he was right.
In some way they would be bound. Her pulse quickened.
“Why would you do this?” His eyes searched her face, but he was smiling. Broadly. “You have a life, a daughter, friends. You barely know me, and a few hours ago, you didn’t want to get to know me any better. So, why now? ”
"A rabbi I know once told me not to ask the why questions,” she smiled. “He said there are some things that cannot be explained.”
He squeezed her hands, then used one thumb to stroke a spot on her wrist that made her blood race. “This is crazy.”
“Everybody should do something crazy once in a while. Too much sanity makes you old.”
“How would you know anything about that?”
Putting his hands on her shoulders, he pulled her forward suddenly and kissed her hard on the mouth, pulling her closer, his chest against hers, arms wrapped around her, his tongue parting her lips. This wasn't a professional kiss, far from it.
His thighs, taut and strong, pressed against hers, Ranney's arms about his waist, the scent of him intoxicating as he kissed her with a passion she'd never felt before.
When she broke the kiss they smiled at each other and laughed.
“No pressure,” she said with a sigh. “Goodness, no. Just an offer to be a bit offbeat and help you win the prize you deserve. It’s not as if there’s a line of men waiting to marry me. Might as well use it for a good cause.”
“I find it hard to believe there’s not a long line.”
She looked behind him. “Empty.”
“That is a travesty.”
Her heart picked up its pace. Poh, this man. She could fall, couldn’t she? Hard, too.
"I don't care if it's insane," he said as he studied her face.
"This is the nicest, most impulsive, irredeemably capricious thing anyone has ever done for me, and I love you for it.
" Tom's voice dropped low, her distaste for British accents suddenly flipping to an unmistakeable yearning to be in bed with him.
Then he took her hand and they walked back to the car, the word love thudding inside her chest.
“Achilles, my good friend,” Tom said when he lowered the window, “would you do us the honor of witnessing our marriage?”
When they emerged from the chapel forty-five minutes later, Tom was carrying their paperwork and Ranney held a bouquet of white flowers provided by Achilles’ brother (for a modest extra fee; Tom had insisted).
Week in and week out, Ranney saw bridal bouquets that were created by the finest and most talented floral designers in the business.
The one that she held now, crossing the hot pavement to Achilles’ car, was not that.
A dozen or so white roses, slightly brown around the edges, were filled out with eucalyptus and some ferns and wrapped with white polyester ribbon.
If it had been delivered to a client’s ceremony, she would have dropped it in the trash and made an emergency call to Wedding Protectors’ go-to florist.
But this one was hers, and she liked it just fine. She liked her tired bouquet, she liked the plain gold band on her finger, and she liked very much the way Tom had kissed her when prompted by Achilles’ brother.
The bouquet was only one choice from an extensive array of goods and services intended to “allow each couple to create their customized dream wedding, while still enjoying a convenient and affordable experience.” Among many other things, they passed on the tiered wedding cake, the sparkling wine toast in souvenir crystal flutes, and the commemorative photograph in a silverplated frame engraved with their names and the date (option for Old West costumes in sepia tone).
As an industry professional, Ranney would have given anything to share the Aegean Wedding Chapel’s menu with the entire Wedding Protectors staff.
It resembled the events they handled in the way that a Winnebago resembled Kensington Palace: vastly smaller and less expensive, yet the basic necessities were all there.
Also like the RV, Las Vegas felt spontaneous and transient. Married today, on the move tomorrow.
Impermanent .
An odd feeling for people to start a marriage with, but who was she to judge?
She’d gone into her marriage – first marriage, now , she thought with a tingle – with all the traditional trappings, witnessed by family and friends, and that hadn’t made it any more permanent.
Maybe this was the better way, no burden of expectations.
Tom, it turned out, was strongly in favor of having the Elvis impersonator perform the ceremony and he lobbied hard, but Ranney convinced him that a recording of “Love Me Tender” was an acceptable substitute.
“It’s not your real wedding,” she’d whispered. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“Right, but it’s Vegas! And I’ll never have another chance!”
“You never know,” she smiled. “Anything can happen.”
‘It’s not your real wedding.’ Her own words reverberated in her head. ‘ It doesn’t have to be perfect.’
Tom had handed over his credit card and was finishing filling out the forms. “And you’re quite sure this marriage is valid even though I’m currently a British citizen?” he asked Achilles’ brother.
“Oh, yes, sir. It is permitted by law, recognized by both countries. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to look at our selection of wedding bands?
That is another way to let the world know you are married to this lovely lady.
And she to you, of course. We have many styles to choose from, some matching sets. Very reasonable prices.”
Pulling a tray out from under the counter, he placed it squarely in front of Ranney.
Not your real wedding. Her own words.
This entire charade had been her idea. Nobody needed to explain to her what they were doing there or why. And yet, the moment her eyes lighted on those rings, she wanted one.
Badly.
“Maybe,” she said, smiling at Achilles’ brother, “hm, I wonder… I’ve heard immigration sometimes checks the details in these situations. Down the road, you know, when citizenship is applied for. Maybe if we had rings it would, ah, help prove to them that this is a… a real wedding.”
The brother, who had two children at the University of Nevada and tuition bills to pay, nodded supportively. “Yes, you could show them the receipt. And a photo, if you would care to reconsider that amenity?”
“No photo!” Ranney reiterated, thinking of her now-baggy top and the wrinkles in her… skirt. “But maybe the rings?” Looking up at Tom, she gauged his reaction, ready to back off if he resisted. “We wouldn’t have to wear them all the time.”
He was studying the tray. After a long moment, he picked up a plain gold band.
“What do you think? Which one do you like?”
“I think… the same thing would be nice,” she answered tentatively. What had been almost a comedy skit–sham wedding in Las Vegas! May-December! What a joke!–had somehow taken a serious turn. Feeling awkward, she asked, “Do you have a smaller one?”
“I have many sizes,” the brother replied, opening a drawer.
So that twenty minutes later, when they had arrived at the exchange of rings during the ceremony, Achilles was able to produce a matching pair from his pocket.
Ranney had some difficulty sliding Tom’s onto his finger, but hers slipped on easily, and she stood staring down at it as if she couldn’t quite understand how it got there–which was more or less true.
She was married. To Tom. They were married.
But not really.