The Forever Experiment

6. Maya

6

Maya

“Who the fuck is Arnold?” Easton asks, rubbing the scruff on his jaw as we study the marriage certificate in front of us.

Arnold was our witness, apparently.

The signature is messy enough that whatever last name he signed isn’t legible, not that it matters. Neither of us know a fucking Arnold.

And next to Arnold’s signature is mine, Easton’s, and the minister’s. Fuck.

“Why did we do this?”

“We must’ve thought it was a good idea at the time.” Easton lets out a breathless laugh, pointing at the date on the certificate. “Look, we must’ve got married after midnight, because it’s dated February fourteenth.” He lifts his head smiling at me. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Isn’t Valentine’s Day the same day we…” I trail off, pretending like I’m not sure, though I remember the date Easton ravished me in that library thoroughly. Ten years ago to the day.

“This cannot be happening,” I mutter, because if it was, that would be fucking kismet, wouldn’t it? I rub a hand down my face, biting back a yawn. “There is no way that two people who are so intoxicated they won’t remember their wedding the next morning can be legally bound.”

“I think that’s what Vegas is all about, baby.” Easton places a hand on my lower back in what I know is meant to be a reassuring gesture, but I shake off the touch. I’m too overwhelmed for it right now, and while he does have an uncanny ability to settle my nerves, it won’t work this time, since he’s the goddamn cause of them.

“Well, as long as we don’t actually file this with the county, we should be fine. We’ll just…shred it and forget this ever happened.”

Easton points to the fine print at the bottom of our marriage certificate. “It says that this is a keepsake copy, not an official document.”

“Fuck.” I should’ve known, based on the showgirls and poker trips on the page, but I was being hopeful Vegas is just festive about its court documents.

“I think the official certificate is with the minister. They’ll probably file it today.”

I turn to face Easton. Even disheveled and in last night’s clothes, he looks damn good. I like the way his five o’clock shadow has grown out, the tousled mess of hair atop his head, the way that even though I know he didn’t sleep well, his blue eyes sparkling when he looks at me.

This entire situation is a fucking disaster, but I’m not sure I’d want to be caught in a storm like this with anyone other than Easton Mason.

“Do you think if we caught the minister before he delivered the marriage certificate, we could intercept it and stop this thing from being made official?” I ask.

“Maybe.” Easton sighs, and it almost sounds disappointed.

I glance at the watch on my wrist, noting the time. I have forty-five minutes before I’m supposed to be at my first workshop of the day. I’m not leading it, fortunately, but considering I missed last night’s dinner, I can’t afford to be absent from anything else.

“I’ve got it, Maya,” Easton says, eyeing me. “You get ready, and I’ll head down to the chapel. The address is here on the certificate. I’ll see if I can speak to the minister and get this all cleared up.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, easier than I have all morning.

Easton tosses me a crooked smile, and a need surges through my being that has me raising on my toes, pressing my lips against his cheek. I think that need is gratitude.

Easton makes me feel supported, never makes me feel alone.

He grabs my hip, steading me before placing a quick kiss against my forehead.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like that. I’m the oldest daughter of three, and my parents got divorced when I was only nine. Sure, my mother and father have always been present in my life, supportive and nurturing, but when they were single, they both worked full time. It meant a lot of walking my siblings to and from school, cooking them dinner at night, and helping them with their homework. It meant living out of a duffle bag for the vast majority of my childhood, switching from Mom’s to Dad’s every Friday, never really feeling like I had a home.

My parents are great. They did their best, and in the grand scheme of things, I have very little to complain about, but I’ve been hyper-independent through no choice of my own for as long as I can remember. I wouldn’t trade the skill. I like being able to take care of myself and those I love. It’s a comfort to know that no matter how many times I’m betrayed or disappointed, I can rely solely on myself to survive.

But fuck, it feels nice to have someone else take care of me for once, to have someone want to take care of me the way Easton seems to.

“I’ll come find you later,” he whispers into my hair before heading to the door and pausing with his grip on the handle. “Oh, and Maya? The ring is real.” Tossing me a wink, he adds, “Looks real fuckin’ good on you too.”