Chapter 14 – Wylie
“Can we get this over with?” I whispered as I tapped my foot impatiently while sweating in the tuxedo that my dad had insisted I wear. I hadn't worn a tuxedo for a day in my life and the last time I'd worn a suit had been my mother's funeral over ten years ago.
“You do realize for ownership of the ranch to fully transfer over to you, you have to stay married for twelve consecutive months, son? This is only the start,” my dad responded from where he was standing next to me.
“Yea, but the sooner this becomes legal, the sooner I file that paperwork with the law offices to prove I got married and those twelve months can begin.”
He chuckled softly; his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders as he stood next to me. I may have given my dad shit for most of my life, but deep down, we both knew the truth. When we were miles away from anyone else, facing the elements, wild animals, and countless dangers while managing Cameron Ranch, we had each other's backs. And no matter what life sent our way, we’d continue to stand by each other to the end of time which is why I'd opted for him to be my best man instead of Nash.
Nash and Clay may be good at what they do, but no one had been my dad’s shadow like me. Even as a toddler I’d followed him out into the fields while my mom yelled behind us about me being too young for ranch life. I didn’t care about heeding her warning and neither did my dad. I lived it, breathed it, and bled it. I would do the same just as soon as this fake marriage was over and the deed to the property read my name, 'Wylie Rig Cameron.'
An old Shania Twain song started playing from the speaker Jovie had set up for the ceremony, and I reflexively rolled my eyes. This had Jovie written all over it; there was no way Stevie was this sentimental about our fake wedding. Since she agreed to marry me over a week ago after I brought her to orgasm two more times and then left her to sleep at Ashwood alone, we hadn't seen each other.
I had figured giving her space was the best move, so I started having my meals back at my own house in order to avoid any close encounters. I didn’t want to risk saying or doing something stupid that might cause her to back out of our impending nuptials. She'd agreed to this reluctantly, and the last thing I wanted was to spoil my only chance of getting the ranch with a woman who was willing to marry me on paper and wanted very little in return.
As Shania’s voice crooned about ‘ still being the one ,’ Jovie and her mom emerged from the house and took seats in one of the six folding chairs set up on the lawn behind my house. The only people present to witness this fake, completely legal occasion was the photographer Stevie had hired, preacher, our parents, siblings, and Savannah. Even that felt like too many people.
The back door to the ranch creaked open. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and steeled myself for the presence of the woman who had managed to drive me absolutely insane, and yet I was willingly tethering myself to her for the next year.
When I reopened my eyes, they found her walking down the small, makeshift aisle scattered with soft rose petals. She was wearing cowgirl boots, her long, tan legs on display beneath a tiny white dress that hugged her curves and had fringe on the bottom, giving her a dixie cowgirl style. Her face was stunning with just a hint of makeup, her lips painted the shade of wildflowers, and her wild blonde locks tamed with small, twisted braids, blew gently in the warm Texas breeze.
But it wasn’t her dress, her beauty, or even the unexpected boots that left me in awe. On her head, she wore a cowgirl hat—and not just any hat, but my mother's favorite.
I hadn’t touched that hat in close to ten years, kept it tucked way back in my closet so I wouldn’t have to be reminded of the last time she’d worn it.
It’d been a beautiful spring day just like the one we were having today. She’d gone out for a ride on her favorite horse, Georgia, something she always did when the weather was nice, and she felt healthy enough to. I’d met her on the back deck for sweet tea and pulled pork sandwiches and we’d talked about death.
My mom rarely ever wanted to talk about her diagnosis or how it had claimed so many things she loved. But on that day, amid the chemo treatments and before her beautiful, sandy brown hair had begun to fall out, she’d wanted to talk about it.
I remembered how her hair blew in the breeze under the hat as she spoke to me about love, life, and how things had a way of working themselves out, even when they seemed to be falling apart. I’d never thought she looked more beautiful than she did in that moment, the delicate feather tucked into her hat only amplifying her grace and the wide smile she wore the whole time she spoke.
Another round of chemo had been scheduled for the following week, but my mom never made it to the appointment. She’d died two days after our talk and my last memory of her in the hat had caused me to bury it deep in my closet the same day that we buried her.
Seeing Stevie wearing it today stirred something in me. It wasn’t anger at my bandit bride taking yet another one of my belongings, especially one that meant so much to me, but something deeper. I hadn’t cried in ten years, swore I’d keep it together for my dad and brothers, but in that moment, watching her hair whip around in the breeze, the scent of wildflowers drifting my way as she stood before me fidgeting with her hands, I did perhaps the stupidest thing I could—I took her hands in mine as the preacher began speaking.
Our eyes locked at the touch, hers, two large, wide, and shaped like almonds. Her lips parted slightly as she drew in a shallow breath and that tiny pink tongue, I’d watched swirl around the tip of my cock peaked out as she wetted her lips.
She was nervous. Though this whole affair was as artificial as food dye, her fear was palpable. For the first time since hearing her agree to the marriage, I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. It seemed like I had coerced her into this marriage, pressuring her into something she didn't truly want. My mom wouldn’t have been proud of my actions, and seeing Stevie in my mom’s hat made it feel like she was present, silently observing us from above.
I was no longer listening to the preacher's words, completely consumed by Stevie's gaze and my own inner turmoil, berating myself for what I was putting her through. I had no idea where he was in his speech when suddenly, my voice rang out loud and gravelly across the gathering.
“You don’t have to do this, Stevie. We can call the whole thing off now.”
The preacher stopped talking and a soft gasp came from somewhere in the front row as Stevie's eyes widened before she plastered another fake smile across her lips nervously and mustered an unconvincing giggle.
“No, no I want to. Please continue,” she said smiling like an angel at the pastor before she turned and gave me the devil.
There’s the Stevie Vector that I know.
The pastor continued speaking, but I couldn't bring myself to release her hands. I held onto them throughout his entire speech, and when he finally concluded and we both uttered our "I dos," he signaled for the exchange of rings.
Just as I was about to present Stevie with the ring I had prepared, she reached into the pocket of her fringed dress and slid a plain black ring onto my finger—an item she must have acquired sometime within the past week I'd been avoiding her.
"I got it in San Angelo," she murmured, avoiding my gaze. "It's nothing fancy or expensive, but it's practical. Easy to cut off if you ever get into an accident at work though I don't expect you'll be wearing it much after today."
I nodded silently, glancing down at my left hand. Her gesture had caught me off guard; the coolness of the unfamiliar ring on my finger felt strange, yet strangely not unwelcome. She turned to the preacher, as though she had finished her part and was ready for him to conclude the ceremony—as if I wouldn't have a ring for her as well.
I reached for her hand, placing it in mine as I slid my mom’s ring on to her finger. Her eyes widened as she looked down at the shiny rock.
“It was my mom’s,” I leaned closer because I could see the wheels of fear turning and it looked like she was considering yanking it off and tossing it at the crowd, “don’t read too much into it. I didn’t have time to find anything else and you said that you wanted this to look legit.” I whispered in her ear so no one else could hear.
That seemed to cool her tension a bit as she visibly and audibly relaxed. Though I hadn't thought much about it earlier this week, now I knew why I'd chosen to give her my mom's ring. Because Stevie could be trusted to give it back and because Mom would have wanted her to wear it. That felt even more true as she stood in front of me, saying 'I do,' to a marriage that would secure my family's legacy.
The preacher clapped his hands signaling the end of the ceremony and then said those infamous words, " you may kiss the bride."
Stevie looked at me like she didn’t know what to do. She turned her cheek ever so slightly as if she was expecting a kiss on the cheek in front of her family.
I scoffed.
Like I haven’t already kissed every inch of that creamy skin and memorized the way it pinked under my touch
I gripped her waist, winked at the photographer, and dipped her properly, covering her gasping mouth with mine. Her lips parted and our tongues intertwined and for a moment, I considered if this was the way a real first kiss should feel.
As I helped her stand upright, she swayed slightly, and I steadied her, whispering, "Even if it's a fake marriage, it's still your first marriage. I don't want you to have a bad memory of your first kiss as a married woman."
She forced another one of those smiles that didn’t quite touch her eyes and nodded before we turned to our family and smiled, fingers intertwined as everyone cheered.
Two had become one.
I didn’t know what we were doing.
It felt wrong.
It felt right .