Chapter 12
Jack
I WAS NOT prepared for the sight of Nora in a veil. Who knew that one flimsy, sheer piece of material could make a woman look so beautiful? That it could make her look like my wife?
And yes, I do mean that in the primal, that’s my wife sort of way.
Which is ridiculous because none of this is real.
We’re back in the judge’s chambers now; Lucy and Emily huddled in the doorway watching with gleeful expressions. Nora is facing me looking calm and composed, her hands—per Lucy’s pointed suggestion—are in mine, the sensation of the contact stifling in its intensity. Especially since I’m still trying to get my bearings back after Nora sent my world spinning.
She wants to help pay my mortgage. And I don’t like it. If this marriage were real then sure, I’d see her point. Married couples share the burden of expenses. But our marriage isn’t real. So Nora’s offer makes me feel…insufficient…and inadequate…and...like a complete failure. I should be able to provide for myself without someone else’s help.
Why doesn’t she see it that way?
And perhaps even more confusing—why isn’t she put off by it? On the contrary, she seemed almost excited to be able to help me.
“We are gathered here today,” Judge Karplin recites the familiar lines and I attempt to pay attention to him rather than the distracting woman in front of me.
It is not an easy task. The green dress she’s wearing brightens her already green eyes to a striking jade color, there’s an alluring pink flush to her cheeks, and she keeps running her tongue across her upper lip as if she wants to call attention to the fact that she has very kissable lips. You know, in case I forgot that fact these last three years.
Spoiler: I did not forget.
What I did forget: the standard kiss at the end of a wedding ceremony. But my new fixation with her lips brings the reminder of it rushing to the front of my mind.
The judge has reached the part leading up to my “I do,” and my heart starts to pick up speed. I’m going to have to kiss her. If Emily and Lucy weren’t here then maybe I could’ve gotten away with not doing it, but with them watching there’s no way to get out of it.
And if I kiss her things are going to get even more confusing than they already are when it comes to my feelings for her.
Which is why it makes no sense that my whole body is buzzing with anticipation, every cell acutely aware of her nearness, of her impending touch.
“Jack?” Her lilting voice pulls me from my wandering thoughts, and I realize that I missed my line.
“I do,” I rush out. The worry crease on her forehead smoothes out and her shoulders relax.
“Good, good,” Judge Karplin says with a nod. “And do you, Nora Grace Evans, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”
I find myself holding my breath as I wait for her answer, as if her yes has any actual meaning.
It doesn’t, I remind my wayward heart.
“I do,” Nora murmurs and something long broken inside me starts to mend.
“Repeat after me,” Judge Karplin instructs. “I, Jack, take thee Nora to be my wife.”
I open my mouth to say the words but nothing comes out. There’s a lump in my throat I can’t seem to work around.
“Oh look at him getting all choked up,” I hear Emily whisper.
“If only he’d invited Anderson,” Lucy whispers back. “Seems like he could use one of his legendary knock-knock jokes right about now.”
A laugh bubbles up inside me, saving me from the emotion building in my chest. I send Lucy a silent thank you as I manage to repeat the sacred words. “I, Jack, take thee Nora to be my wife.”
Dang it. The emotion is back. The lump larger than before. It’s so unexpected that I don’t know how to control it. The last time I cried was when my mom died and—mercifully—those tears were shed in the privacy of my own home.
“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health,” Judge Karplin intones, as if this promise is no big deal.
But I know better. These words mean something to me, and as I hoarsely repeat them the promise takes root in my heart. Nora is staring up at me, but the buildup of tears behind my eyes blurs her face so that I can’t make out her expression. I can imagine it, though. She’s almost certainly alarmed by my display of emotion.
“To love and to cherish till death do us part,” Judge Karplin concludes.
“To love and to cherish till death do us part,” I choke out. I’ve been bluffing since Nora showed up at my door last night, but now it feels as if I’ve played all of my cards. There’s no way she doesn’t know I’m still in love with her now.
And if she knows that, will she still marry me? Or is running away to Antigua starting to look like the more attractive option?
“Your turn, Nora.” Judge Karplin turns to her and I deliberately focus on her feet instead of her face. No need for me to watch her reject me—or worse, deliver the words without the passion they warrant.
It’s unfortunate that her feet are so cute. Pink-painted toes peek out of the strappy pair of wedges I grabbed from her shoe shelf last night. Memories of playing footsie with those cute feet every chance I got crowd my thoughts, so I move my gaze off her feet and up her legs.
This helps me in no way.
Apparently there is no part of this woman that is safe for me to look at.
“I, Nora, take thee Jack to be my husband,” Judge Karplin supplies her with the words. I shut my eyes, preparing myself for the worst.
“I, Nora,” she begins, then stops. I pop one eye open. Here we go. “Jack,” she pulls one hand free from mine and reaches up to take hold of my chin, “will you please look at me?”
In spite of my resolve to appear unaffected, I do as she says. Her green eyes hold me completely captive as she finishes the words. “Take thee Jack, to be my husband.”
Judge Karplin continues to deliver the requisite monologue, and Nora must repeat it, but I don’t hear another word.
My husband. I’m her husband.
And it’s fake! I tell myself sternly. Repeating the word for good measure: Fake.
But darn it, I want it to be real.
And gosh darn it, for a second there it seemed like maybe it was.
But I’ve seen enough over-the-top performances in my line of work to know when I’m being played. And although I know Nora is acting infatuated for the benefit of our audience rather than to actively deceive me, that doesn’t make the reality of her indifference any less painful.
“Do you have the rings?” Judge Karplin asks.
“Rings?” Nora echoes, looking panicked.
“I have them,” I say, releasing her hand to reach inside my pocket. “Did you really think I’d forget rings?” I murmur so only she can hear. Twin spots of color bloom high on her cheekbones, begging me to press my lips along their curve.
But instead I pass the rings to the judge and await his instructions.
“Repeat after me,” he says, passing me back Nora’s ring. It’s not the ring I proposed to her with. I returned that ring after we broke up, desperate to rid myself of that painful reminder of what could’ve been, but that I thought was never going to be. No, this is my mother’s ring. It’s simple, a slim silver band set with small diamonds across the top. Its value is purely sentimental—or I probably would’ve already sold it to help with Joy’s expenses—so I’m not expecting much of a reaction when I slide it onto her finger.
“I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love,” I murmur the words the judge supplied for me, a shiver running down my spine as I move the ring slowly across her knuckle and into place.
“Oh, Em, look—now Nora’s crying. They’re just so cute,” Lucy’s soft whisper floats over, and my head jerks up to Nora’s face to see that she’s right. Nora is in fact crying.
Crap. That’s not good. Sure, Lucy thinks it’s sweet, but I know better. These are not happy, sentimental tears. They’re more like oh, crap I’m marrying a man I don’t love tears.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, taking my hand off hers and stepping back, giving her space to process. “Antigua is still an option,” I add, keeping my voice light.
“Antigua?” Lucy says to Emily. “Wait, are they seriously talking about a destination wedding? Because that’s going to need to take place asap or I’ll be too far along to go.”
“Seeing as they’re seconds away from being pronounced husband and wife, I’m thinking they’re talking about a honeymoon destination, Luce,” Emily replies.
“Nobody is going to Antigua,” Nora cuts in quickly, swiping a finger across her wet cheeks and setting her shoulders. “My turn for the ring, right?” She holds her hand out expectantly to Judge Karplin, who nods, unperturbed by the drama. Given that he marries people at a courthouse on a regular basis, he’s probably seen it all before. He passes her the ring. This one belonged to my dad. After he died my mom used to wear it on a chain around her neck. I got so used to seeing it there, that after she died the ring became an item that reminded me not just of my dad, but of her as well.
Judge Karplin feeds her the line and Nora begins to slide the ring onto my finger, her touch sending sparks through my body.
“I give you this ring as a token and pledge of our constant faith and abiding love,” she repeats the same words I said to her, but unlike when I said them, there’s no tremor in her voice. Instead she says them with a sureness that unnerves me. Don’t read into it, I remind myself, wondering if this is my life now: constantly having to give myself pep talks so I don’t do something stupid like tell my wife I love her.
“By the power vested in me by the State of Michigan I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Judge Karplin looks my way as Lucy and Emily cheer. “You may kiss the bride,” he tells me.
Nora’s eyes pop wide as if—like me not too long ago—she’s just remembered this part of a wedding ceremony. I search her eyes for permission, jerking my head infinitesimally in the direction of Lucy and Emily. She nods, looking terrified. Not exactly encouraging, but since I can hear the two women squealing in anticipation I don’t have much choice but to go in for the requisite kiss.
I attempt one more quick pep talk as I close the distance between us, telling myself not to make this kiss into something that it’s not, but then my lips are on hers and my anxious thoughts go blissfully quiet as I lose myself in kissing her.
Muscle memory takes over and my arms lift to pull her closer to me, my hand sliding into her hair, my mouth moving against hers in an achingly familiar dance. When she wraps her arms around my neck and the tips of her fingers graze softly against my skin, heat blazes through my body. I’m on the edge of a precipice, ready to tumble down with her—and then someone shouts her name and we rip apart.