26. Graham
26
GRAHAM
The courthouse is unimpressive. A nondescript brick building with outdated carpeting and fluorescent lights that flicker slightly in the waiting area. It smells faintly of paper, ink, and cheap cologne. A handful of people sit scattered in the chairs, waiting for their numbers to be called.
A teenage couple in jeans and sneakers, shifting nervously. An elderly couple holding hands like they’ve been doing it for decades. A man in a pressed suit, tapping impatiently on his phone.
It’s just another day. Another wedding on a docket full of them. But to me, it feels different.
Because today, I’m marrying Francesca Ashburn.
I stand by the window, hands clasped behind my back, staring out at the parking lot. My suit jacket feels too tight, the tie around my neck a fraction too snug. I roll my shoulders, trying to dispel the tension coiling in my muscles.
It’s just nerves, I tell myself. Perfectly normal wedding day jitters.
Except this isn't a normal wedding day. And what I'm feeling isn't just nerves.
It’s anticipation. Eagerness. A bone-deep certainty that this is right, even if it’s unexpected.
I think back to the first time I saw her. Dancing in the middle of the baseball house at Sterling University all those years ago. The way my heart squeezed at the sight of her carefree smile, her hair whipping around her face as she twirled. I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Even then, there was something about Francesca that drew me in. A light, a warmth that radiated from her very being. She was magnetic in a way I couldn’t define, but felt deep in the small, soft space behind my ribs.
I didn’t believe in love at first sight. I still don’t. But something shifted in that moment. A recognition, deep in my bones, that she was important. That she would change everything.
It took nearly a decade, but here we are. Minutes away from becoming husband and wife. I’m sure it’s not the way she’d planned it. And I never really thought much about marriage, even less when it became apparent that would be the only way I’d get Nana Jo’s inheritance.
But as I stand here waiting for my future wife to arrive, I realize there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. No one else I’d rather pledge my life to, even if it’s just on paper.
For now.
I don’t know what to expect from this marriage, and ironically, that’s the most alarming part of this whole situation. The unknown.
What Francesca will want it to be. A friendship? A partnership of convenience? Or something more?
My mind spins with the possibilities, each one sending a different thrill down my spine. I picture lazy Sunday mornings, waking up to her soft curves pressed against me, her hair tickling my nose. I imagine quiet evenings on the couch, her feet in my lap as we both read, content in each other’s company. I see us cooking dinner together, laughing as we move around the kitchen in sync, stealing kisses between stirs of pasta.
“You sure about this, bro?” Beau claps me on the shoulder. His tone is jovial and upbeat but his words are wrapped in concern.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Jesus, don’t get all emotional on me.” He grins. “You got everything?”
“All set. Just waiting on the bride.” I glance at my watch, more out of habit than any real concern for the time. “Do you ?”
He presses a hand against his chest, his mouth curved into a faux frown. “You wound me, brother. As if I’d forget your fucking wedding rings. Give me a little credit.”
I roll my eyes with a low scoff. “The last time you asked me to give you a little credit, you showed up at one of my rental cabins and went for a midnight swim with your girlfriend. Naked.”
Beau drags his hand over his grin with a low laugh. “Yeah, you got me. That was a good night though. Maybe you should take a page outta my book and do the same thing, yeah?”
“I’m good.”
He whistles under his breath. ”Never thought I’d see the day. Graham Carter, nervous about a girl.”
I shoot him a look. “That’s not just some girl. That’s my future wife.”
His expression softens, his gaze bouncing between mine. “Are you really sure this is what you want to do? Just say the word or grunt or whatever, and I’ll have you gone in sixty seconds or less.”
His genuine concern feels like a balm around rough edges I didn’t even realize I had. I exhale slowly, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. “I appreciate that, brother. But I’m good. If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here.”
He studies me for a long moment before nodding, seemingly satisfied with what he sees. “Alright then. Let’s get you hitched.”
The words send a thrill through me, anticipation and nerves tangling in my gut. I’m about to marry Francesca Ashburn. The woman who’s captivated me from the first moment I saw her.
“Oh shit. What about the marriage license? When do I sign it?”
“I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” I checked the marriage license this morning, tracing my finger over her elegant signature next to mine. It made something clench in my chest, a visceral satisfaction at seeing our names linked together in stark black ink. Legally binding us as partners, a team.
I remind myself it’s just logistics. A solution, a means to an end. One year, and we both walk away with what we want. I tell myself that the weight in my chest is just practicality settling in.
But then she appears at the end of the hall with Romeo in tow, and my brain empties out of any reasonable thought.
Francesca rounds the corner and my breath catches in my throat. She’s a goddamn vision in her dress. It’s softly neutral, some kind of mix of beige and soft white. And fuck me, it hugs every single curve in a way that makes my mouth go dry and my pants get tight.
Her hair tumbles around her shoulders in loose waves, a few tendrils framing her face. She’s holding a small bouquet of sunflowers, their cheerful yellow a perfect contrast to the elegant lines of her dress.
But it’s the look on her face that steals my breath entirely. And her eyes— Jesus . She meets my gaze without hesitation, and my stomach fucking drops. She looks calm, sure. Like she’s exactly where she wants to be.
Walking straight for me.
I didn’t ask her what she was wearing, but maybe I should have. Then I could’ve at least prepared myself a little bit. Instead of being blindsided by her beauty. I school my expression as best as I can, shoving my hands into my pockets before I can do something stupid like whisk her away before this even starts.
“Damn,” Beau mutters beside me. “I can’t believe you pulled her .”
I cut him a look. “That’s my wife, asshole.”
He flashes me a shit-eating grin. “Not yet, she isn’t.”
I hold his gaze. “Eloise?”
“Yeah?” Eloise stops next to Beau. “What’s up?”
I let my own shit-eating grin grow wide on my face as I stare at my brother. “Beau here was just telling me?—”
“About how much I love you,” Beau interrupts, throwing his arm over Eloise’s shoulders and steering her in the other direction. “Let’s give the happy couple a minute, yeah?”
Francesca’s still halfway down the hall, but I can’t wait any longer. My feet move of their own accord, carrying me toward her in long, purposeful strides. The low murmur of conversation fades away, the bustling courthouse narrowing down to just her. Just us.
Francesca’s steps falter for a moment as she sees me approaching, her eyes widening slightly. But then a slow, radiant smile blooms across her face, and my heart stutters in my chest.
That smile, it’s everything.
“Francesca.” I stop in front of her, reaching out and taking her free hand in mine. I bring her hand up to my lips, flipping her wrist over and placing a kiss on the delicate skin over her pulse. I linger for a breath, inhaling the scent of sugared lemons. “You look exquisite.”
Her cheeks grow pink as she ducks her head, peering up at me through thick lashes. “Thank you, Graham. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
I press another kiss to her ring finger and straighten up. “Do you still want to do this? We can leave right now if you’ve changed your mind.”
I search her face, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all I see is calm certainty, a quiet confidence that settles something deep inside me.
She squeezes my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I’m still in if you are.”
The words wash over me, sinking into my skin and wrapping around my heart. I exhale slowly, some tension I didn’t even realize I was carrying melting away.
“Always.” I slide my fingers between hers and lead her down the hall. The moment Francesca and I turn the corner, all conversation in the waiting area quiets.
She tenses, just slightly, but I feel it. The way her fingers twitch in mine.
“I’ve got you, sunshine,” I murmur, low enough for only her to hear. I squeeze her hand, a gentle reassurance.
She glances up at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I know.”
We approach the group and introductions are made. My parents, my sister Cora and her boyfriend, Jagger. Eloise and Beau. And my sister, Abby, who flew in just for a few days.
My mother moves first. Of course she does. She steps forward, her eyes already glassy, already too full of something that makes my throat tighten. He palms Francesca’s shoulders and pulls her into a quick hug.
“Oh, Francesca, it’s wonderful to meet you finally.” Mom’s voice is soft but sure, like she’s trying not to scare Francesca off. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Carter. It’s so nice to meet everyone.” Francesca swallows, blinking too fast.
Mom pulls back, reaching for one of Francesca’s hands and cradling it between her own. “Please, call me Hazel.”
Francesca inclines her head, her gaze flying to me for a second. I start toward her, but my father’s hand on my shoulder stops me.
“She’s alright, son. Let your mother get her fill. She’s been crying off and on for months now. Joy, mostly, but with her, it’s hard to tell sometimes, yeah?” Dad says, voice pitched low.
“It’s past the prime for me to settle down with someone. She should’ve expected this already,” I grumble, keeping my voice low. I strain my hearing, trying to eavesdrop on my siblings talking to my future wife.
Dad steps around me, offering his hand to Francesca. “Welcome to the family. And please, call me Lucas.”
She shakes his hand with a dip of her chin and a small smile. “Thank you, Lucas. It’s so nice to meet you.”
My siblings flock to me the moment our father steps toward Francesca.
“When did they start allowing pets in here?” Abby asks as she leans in for a hug.
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here for this, you know,” I murmur, hugging my youngest sister.
She pulls back with a scoff, glaring at me. “As if I’d miss your wedding.”
“So,” Beau starts, eyebrows raised. “How much did you have to pay for them to allow her dog in here?”
Cora cuts me a look. “Please tell me you didn’t bribe someone, Graham.”
I shrug. “I didn’t bribe someone.” I used a monetary incentive and a small reminder of how laughable their firewalls and security measures are. We came to an agreement.
The Avalon Falls county clerk’s office is Aegis Security’s newest client.
“Carter,” someone calls from inside the room.
“You’re up, bro.” Beau claps me on the back.
“Wait, where’s Francesca’s family, Graham? We can’t go in there until everyone is here,” Mom says, glancing up and down the hallway.
Francesca stiffens, her knuckles turning white in her grip on Romeo’s leash. Her gaze flies to mine, lips parted, like she’s looking to me for help.
I don’t fucking hate it.
“Her family’s here.” My voice is steady and firm, the implication clear. Final.
And for the first time since we walked in, Francesca’s shoulders relax. Her smile is soft and small. And entirely mine.
We step into the small, utilitarian courtroom, and suddenly, everything feels too quiet. The judge sits behind a raised desk, flipping through a stack of paperwork. The chairs are old, the walls bare except for a framed photograph of the state governor. No flowers, no candles, no romantic ambiance. Just the clinical efficiency of a government office.
Francesca shifts beside me, adjusting the fabric of her dress. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but I catch it. The faint flutter of her fingers, the way her shoulders tighten for just a second before she lifts her chin.
She’s uncomfortable, nervous. My fingers twitch to comfort her. But when she turns toward me, there’s no hesitation in her eyes. Just quiet, steady resolve.
I squeeze her hand and lean in slightly. “Okay?”
A slow breath. Then a small, confident nod. “Okay.”
She holds my gaze for a second longer, and my stomach pulls tight. Something about the way she looks at me, like she trusts me, like she means this. It undoes me a little.
The judge clears his throat, pulling us back to reality.
We move through the ceremony quickly. Too quickly.
The judge’s voice is a monotone hum in the background as we exchange the legal vows, his words devoid of sentiment or flourish. There are no dramatic pauses, no heartfelt speeches. Just the cold precision of legality.
Except none of this feels cold.
Not when Francesca’s voice catches slightly as she repeats the words. Not when my pulse hammers in my ears as I slide her wedding band onto her finger. Not when she looks up at me with something unreadable in her gaze. Something that makes my throat feel too damn tight.
The moment should feel transactional. It should be clean and simple, nothing more than a signature and a formality.
But then the officiant says, “You may kiss the bride.”
And everything shifts.
Francesca tilts her head up, just slightly. I can see the way her breath catches, the way her fingers flex against my wrist. She expects me to keep it light, quick. A formality.
But when my eyes meet hers, something inside me hesitates.
“Ready, sunshine?” I murmur, my voice too low for anyone else to hear.
She grins, the apples of her cheeks pink as he teases, “Ready, husband .”
I close the space between us, my lips pressing to hers in a kiss that’s supposed to be simple. Quick. A peck for show, to seal the vows.
But then her lips part and my brain catches up with the fact that she just called me husband. And it fucks me up a little. I take it as a sign to do something spontaneous. It’s out of character, and if I had even sixty more seconds to consider it, I’d talk myself out of it.
But Francesca Carter brings out the recklessness inside of me.
So in front of my entire family, I palm the sides of her neck, using my thumbs to angle her chin toward me and kiss her like I’m a man starved and she’s my salvation. Like I’ve been wandering the desert for years and her lips are the first taste of water. Like I’m drowning and she’s my only source of air.
I kiss her like she’s my goddamn wife.
Her lips are soft and pliant beneath mine, parting on a surprised gasp. I take advantage, my tongue delving into her mouth to stroke along hers. She tastes like honey and lemons. Like something warm and bright, something that makes my ribs go tight. She’s soft, so goddamn soft, and her breath stutters against my lips.
And I’m so fucked, because I’m already addicted.
I feel her fingers tighten in my suit jacket. The faintest tremble in her frame, so slight I almost miss it. I should pull back. I should .
Hoots and hollers erupt behind us, and I pull back, resting my forehead against hers.
She looks up at me through the dark fringe of her lashes, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Jesus, Graham. That was?—”
“Perfect.” My thumb grazes the hollow of her throat. And in that moment, something becomes painfully clear.
Francesca Ashburn is my wife. And in a year, I have to let her go.
But as she looks up at me, lips swollen from my kiss, breath shaky against my skin, I realize something that makes my chest go tight.
I don’t know if I can.
I don’t know if I want to.