Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Seamus
"Seamus O'Malley, do you take Rosanna Lopez to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
The judge is waiting. Rosanna is watching me with wide eyes, her hands still trembling slightly at her sides.
I think about the contract—the protections, the boundaries, the clear terms that make this bearable for both of us.
"I do," I say.
Judge Whitmore turns to Rosanna, and I watch her face as she hears the same impossible question.
"Rosanna Lopez, do you take Seamus O'Malley to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
There's a pause. Brief, but noticeable. I see her swallow hard, see the war happening behind her eyes.
She could still say no.
Could still walk out.
The contract protects her even if she changes her mind right now. But then her chin lifts slightly and I see that same determination I saw at the community meeting.
"I do." Her voice is quiet but clear.
"The rings, please," Judge Whitmore says.
Tessa steps forward with a small velvet box. Inside are two simple platinum bands. They are nothing elaborate, nothing personal. Standard ERS provision, probably. They look expensive but impersonal, like everything else about this ceremony.
I take Rosanna's ring first. She shifts her bag with her sketchbook and extends her left hand.
I take her hand gently, carefully, acutely aware of how small it feels in mine. Her skin is warm and soft. When my fingers close around hers to steady them, there is that jolt again. That spark of electricity I felt the first time we touched.
I slide the ring onto her finger slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.
She watches the band settle into place like she's witnessing something surreal and slightly terrifying. The ring fits perfectly.
Then it's her turn. She takes my ring with unsteady hands and reaches for me. I offer my left hand, and when she takes it, her touch is feather-light.
She slides the band onto my finger, and I feel the cool metal settle against my skin.
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh, but I keep my expression neutral.
Rosanna's hands are still shaky as she pulls back. I catch her eye, and for just a second, I see past the fear to something else.
Judge Whitmore smiles at us both. "By the power vested in me by the state, I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Husband and wife. The words settle over the room like a weight. I'm married. Officially and legally married to Rosanna Lopez. The woman who stood up at a community meeting and challenged everything my company was doing.
The woman I can't stop thinking about.
"Congratulations," Judge Whitmore says warmly, as if we're a real couple starting a real life together. "Please sign here."
We move to the table where the marriage certificate is laid out. She sets the sketchbook down beside it, but keeps one hand resting on top. I pick up the pen and sign my name in the designated space.
Rosanna does the same.
Tessa and another ERS staff member step forward to sign as witnesses.
Their signatures are quick and practiced.
They've done this before, probably dozens of times.
To them, this is just another contract. Another couple navigating an unconventional arrangement.
They have no idea what this cost us to get here.
Judge Whitmore adds her signature last, then looks up with that same warm smile. "All set. You're officially married."
Married.
Our signatures sit side by side. That’s all it took.
We stand there for a moment, neither of us quite sure what to do next.
Tessa hands us a folder.
“We recommend establishing residence quickly.”
That’s a clinical way to say Rosanna is moving in with me.
"We'll schedule your first public appearance for next weekend."
Public appearance. The reality of what I've agreed to settles heavier with each detail.
Tessa smiles. "Wonderful. I'll leave you both to coordinate. Congratulations again."
She leaves, taking the judge and the other staff with her, and suddenly Rosanna and I are alone in the conference room.
She's shoves the folder into the pages of her sketchbook. I'm standing three feet away, hands in my pockets, trying to look more composed than I feel.
We're married. We're alone. And neither of us knows what to say.
"So," Rosanna finally breaks the silence. "I guess... I should give you my phone number? Since we're married and all."
The absurdity of it hits me. We're legally bound to each other and we don't even have each other's phone number.
"Yes. That would be a good first step."
We exchange phones, and I type in my cell and work numbers and my email.
When she hands my phone back, I see she's listed herself as Rosanna - wife. I almost smile.
I hand her phone back. She glances at the screen and something flickers across her face.
I listed myself as Seamus - husband.
"I should go," she says quietly. "Luna is waiting outside. I need to... process. And pack. And figure out how to explain this to people who aren't ERS staff."
"When should I expect you?" The question comes out more formal than I intended. Like I'm scheduling a business meeting instead of asking when my wife plans to move in.
"Is tomorrow too soon?"
"Tomorrow is fine." I pause. "I'll send you my address. And the building access codes. And... anything else you need."
She nods, clutching the sketchbook to her chest like a shield. "Okay. Tomorrow then."
She turns to leave, and I watch her walk toward the door. She's almost gone when I hear myself speak. "Rosanna."
She stops, turning back. "Yes?"
I should say something reassuring. Something that acknowledges the enormity of what we just did. Something that makes this feel less like a business transaction and more like... I don't know. Something human.
Instead, what comes out is: "I'll make sure your suite is ready."
Something flickers in her eyes.
"Thank you." Then she's gone, the door closing softly behind her.
I stand alone in Conference Room B, married and wearing a ring that still feels foreign on my finger.
I pull out my phone and look at her contact: Rosanna - wife.
I gather my things, and leave the building. Outside, the city moves with its usual indifferent rhythm. People going about their Saturday, unaware that my entire life just shifted in the space of fifteen minutes.
Tomorrow, this arrangement becomes real in ways a signed contract can't capture.
I'll have to figure out how to live with someone without letting it dismantle the control I've spent six years building.
But today, I'm just going to go home and sit in the silence and try to process the fact that I'm married.
To a woman who wore a burgundy dress instead of white.
Who brought her sketchbook to her wedding. Who unsettled me with a single touch.
So I go home alone.
I sit in the silence and try to get used to the weight of the ring on my hand.
To the fact that Rosanna Lopez is my wife.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel entirely in control of what comes next.