Chapter 45 Elena
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
elena
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Iget an in-depth flying lesson from Isaac on the way to my family’s home. Once we land, we rush around town, locating a wedding band for him and last-minute items for the ceremony.
If there’s anything I can say about my family, it’s that they can throw together a wedding, a Quinceanera, or any other celebration on a tiny budget with zero notice.
By the time the ceremony starts, my cousin’s backyard looks like an image from a storybook. It’s not exactly my taste but beggars can’t be choosers. And I’m grateful beyond measure. As long as my alcoholic uncle, Miguel, doesn’t show up, we’ll be fine.
The desert wind carries the scent of sagebrush and dust across the yard. Soft guitar chords float from my cousin’s Bluetooth speaker, blending into the rustle of agave leaves and the murmured voices of family. Golden hour paints the adobe walls in honey and fire.
I grip the edge of the carved wooden bench beneath me, heart thundering like it’s trying to outrun everything—my fears, my doubts, the truth I can’t quite admit yet.
This isn’t real.
I have to keep reminding myself.
It’s for my dad. It’s for my job. It’s for the ranch and the production company.
It’s so we can get back to work, back to our lives.
But the way Isaac spent all day saying, “whatever you want, baby,” about setting up this sham of a wedding made it feel very real.
As does the way he looks at me when I step outside, arm and arm with my dad in a simple white dress my aunt had in her closet.
The heat in his eyes makes my breath catch in my throat.
He’s wearing dark jeans, a crisp white shirt and a navy blazer I’ve never seen before. No tie. I doubt the man owns a tie. Hair windswept. Sunburnt skin freckled across the bridge of his nose. That cowboy swagger of his noticeable enough to make my pulse skip.
As soon as we make it down the short aisle, my dad’s arm trembles slightly as he hands me over, but his smile doesn’t waver.
“You’re sure about this?” he whispers.
I squeeze his hand and pass him off to my aunt who has to help him back to his seat and reconnect him to his oxygen tank. “I’m sure.”
Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing at all. But at least I got to do it while my dad was still here to be a part of it.
“Thank you for this,” I mouth to Isaac, who shakes his head.
“I should be thanking you,” he says evenly, like he means it.
I make a show of looking him up and down. “You clean up okay, cowboy,” I tease, trying to make light of the situation because I don’t know how else to calm the ache that’s building in my chest.
He shrugs. “No one is looking at me. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, sweetheart. Even prettier than on TV.”
I laugh lightly. “You’ve never seen me on TV.”
His face changes, a flicker of guilt like a puppy who just told on himself for chewing up someone’s favorite shoes. “Have you?”
He grins. “I might’ve watched a few of your movies.”
Now I’m blushing like I’m fifteen again and the varsity quarterback is flirting with me. “Yeah? Which ones?”
He rolls his lips inward, mumbles what sound like “all of them,” then turns toward the priest.
My cheeks warm. I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling when I whisper, “Are you flirting with your fake bride?”
“Hell yeah, I am,” he murmurs. “Just in case it’s the only wedding I ever get. I’m not wasting it.”
We stand beneath the adobe archway, bougainvillea blooms curl like confetti in the breeze.
The priest finishes speaking with my family, then he begins the ceremony with a prayer.
He speaks in Spanish, weaving blessings into promises.
Isaac doesn’t understand all of it, but Antonio has taught him enough over the years that he appears to get the gist. He never breaks eye contact with me.
He listens with that quiet intensity I’m coming to crave more than I should.
He mouths the words we got this when my voice trembles during the prayer. Reaching for my hand without hesitation, his fingers intertwine with mine.
His thumb traces circles over my knuckles as I say words meant for show. But they feel dangerously close to the truth.
When it comes time to say our vows, he surprises me by telling the priest—who asked me multiple times today if I was sure I wanted this or was it just because of the pregnancy—to hold up a second.
We all watch as Isaac pulls a folded-up napkin out of his jacket pocket. There’s a lipstick kiss and a coyote on it.
This man wrote his vows on the napkin I left him after our one-night stand. A napkin I didn’t know he kept.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
When he begins to speak, I notice his hands are shaking too.
“I never took life very seriously,” he admits.
“I worked hard all day then focused on the fun. I thought joy was fleeting. That forever was something only my old-fashioned parents could have.” He clears his throat and continues.
“But I’ve never felt more serious than I do right now, standing in front of you, Elena Ortega, holding these words I tried so hard not to get wrong. ”
I smile at him. He smiles back. For a moment, there’s only us.
My mom, dad, aunt, nieces, and several cousins disappear along with the priest and the rest of the world around us as Isaac Logan says, “Every day you write down three real things to help you stay grounded. To remind you what’s real.
Some days the lists change. Most days I make an appearance on them. If I’m lucky and on your good side.”
There’s a small titter of laughter from our small audience.
He inhales deeply before he continues.
“I don’t know if this counts as wedding vows, but I wanted to share my three real things.”
My mouth is probably hanging open in shock as he continues.
“Number one. I always thought a wife would be something other guys had. Someone they complained about having to get back to during nights out. I counted myself lucky I was free, untethered to anyone or anything except my family’s ranch.
” In the audience, someone, my dad I think, clears his throat.
Isaac keeps going. “But then you made me tamales and paced on my porch because you didn’t want me to see how nervous you were.
And you bandaged my hand when I cut it. And you trusted me, with your body, your heart, and your soul. ”
His green eyes shimmer with emotion.
“And now, the thought of going out without you, of going anywhere without you, sounds awful. Because there’s nothing and no one I want to be around more than you.”
I give him a soft smile because this sweet serious side of him is kind of sexy. For a fake wedding, this is beginning to feel awfully real. Unless Isaac Logan picked up some acting skills on the set recently.
“Number two,” he continues. “I see how dedicated you are, how hard you work, and it makes me want to work harder, to be the kind of man who is worthy of you. The kind of man who deserves to stand beside you.”
Someone sniffles back tears. It might be my mom. Or my aunt. Hell, it might be me.
“Number three. There will never come a day where I don’t give you everything I am.
There may be days it’s not much or not enough, but I swear on everything sacred, that I will do everything in my power every day to make you happy.
Because I see you, Elena Maria Ortega. Your strength, your fierce unbreakable spirit, and your beautiful, guarded heart.
And I see that you deserve the world. And I am going to spend the rest of my life doing my best to give you the love, life, respect, and happiness that you deserve. ”
Oh God, was that number three? I hope so, because if he’s not almost done, I’m doomed. My eyes are filling, and my vision is blurring. I don’t think anyone here has seen me cry since I was a small child.
As if he’s trying to push me over the emotional edge, Isaac squeezes my hands. “Those were my three real things. And these are my vows.” He tucks the napkin away, and looks deeply into my eyes.
“I vow not to take you for granted or take for granted the fact that you trust me.. And that’s the greatest thing anyone’s ever given me.
I will never stop earning that trust. Not for a single day.
I vow to show up, even when I mess up. To tell you the truth, even when it’s hard.
To be your safe place, your soft place to land, and to bring you your favorite snacks when your blood sugar is low and you’re cranky. ”
Someone laughs but I have to dab my damn eyes. I widen them at him as if to say what are you doing?
Clearly, this man missed the fake wedding memo.
He’s not deterred by my stop this immediately glare either.
“I vow to build a life with you where our kid never wonders what love looks like. They’ll see it, every damn day, in the way I look at you. Because you’re the one for me, Elena. The realest thing I’ve ever known. And if you’ll let me—I’ll spend forever proving it.”
More sniffles from the crowd.
I have to compose myself to recall the vows I memorized on the way here.
“Wow, I wish I’d have known your vows were going to be so eloquent. I would’ve gone first so I didn’t have to follow that.”
Isaac winks at me. I resist the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my dress.
Damn him.
“You, Isaac Logan, are on my list of three real things every day. And yeah, sometimes it’s because I want to throw things at you.
” I smile up at his tall frame. “But mostly because I have always been full of darkness, and you, you are the sun. You make every moment of my life brighter—whether I want you to or not.”
My mouth twitches like I might cry and fuck me, I did not know I was going to feel like this.
I suck in a deep breath and say the words as quickly as I can manage. “You taught me that being strong doesn’t always mean standing alone. That rest isn’t weakness. That softness doesn’t make me less fierce. You take care of me when I’m sick. You hold space for me when I need it.”
I glance over at my mom and dad, and I see a new side to them. The side where they committed to a hard life together, where they didn’t bail on each other when it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. And it never was.
“I didn’t grow up watching fairy tales,” I admit.
“I’ve never expected anyone to ride up on a fancy horse and save me.
I grew up watching my parents work themselves to the bone.
I watched my mom count every penny and my dad fight for every breath.
And I learned that love—real love—wasn’t some fluffy dream in a white dress.
It was keeping someone warm when the heat got cut off.
It was spending your last twenty dollars on their medication instead of your own. ”
I wave my hand around at the flowers and my family. “I never let myself hope for something like this. For a soulmate. For someone who would have my back and make me laugh. Until you.”
He blurs before me and I’m crying.
What is happening to me?
This has to be pregnancy hormones. Has to be.
“You saw the real me when I was trying hard not to be seen. You didn’t give up when I made you work for every inch. You made me feel like I wasn’t too much. Like maybe, for you, I was exactly enough. So these are my vows.”
My voice trembles and my hands shake and I might as well be standing up here stark naked in front of everyone for how exposed and raw I feel. But I push through, saying words I hadn’t planned and meaning them.
“I vow to meet you halfway, even when I’d rather win the argument.
I vow to kiss you like it’s the first time, every time.
I vow to be the best partner that I can be.
Even when I’m tired. Even when I’m scared.
Because you make me feel special when the world makes me feel small.
You never ask me to shrink to fit beside you.
And for the record? I never dreamed of a wedding.
But if I did, the view from where I’m standing would look exactly like this.
Like you. I don’t know if I need to make my lists anymore because you’re my real thing, Isaac.
And the person who reminds me that I’m real.
That I’ll never disappear. And I hope you always will be. ”
“I will be,” he says solemnly, his own eyes watering.
We exchange the rings. His is a vintage silver band I found in a market stall a few hours ago. Mine is something Ivy helped him pick out last-minute—simple, delicate, vintage. The exact kind of thing I would’ve chosen if this were real.
Somehow, they match perfectly.
We agreed that this was for show, but I suddenly feel guilty that his family isn’t here.
When he slides my ring on, his huge warm hands linger on mine.
“You good?” he murmurs, voice low so only I can hear.
I nod. “Little overwhelmed.”
He smiles. “Me too, spitfire. Since the day we met.”
We kiss because we’re supposed to.
It starts off gentle. A press of lips meant to seal a deal.
But something shifts between us when his tongue touches mine.
His hand curves around my body, the other around my jaw. My fingers clutch his lapel. And suddenly I forget where I am, who’s watching, and that this whole thing is built on paper-thin lies.
Because it doesn’t feel fake. I wasn’t acting. I meant what I said and I’m betting he did too.
When we finally part, my mother is wiping her eyes. My father’s smile is watery but proud. Somewhere behind me, my aunt whispers Gracias a Dios.
I lean my head on Isaac’s shoulder during the small backyard reception. He tells stories of the ranch to my younger cousins in broken Spanish, and my aunt winks at me when she notices the way I watch him.
When we slow dance, he holds me like he never plans to let go.
And I admit something difficult to myself.
I don’t ever want him to.