Chapter 10 #2
I bite my tongue so this argument doesn’t spiral. He knows I respect his opinion and want him to be happy. If he firmly said that I shouldn’t do this, there’s a chance I wouldn’t, at least in normal circumstances. But now I have to follow through with this plan, no matter what.
“Yes, you don’t know me right now. But you know your daughter,” Ash says.
Despite his tense posture, his voice is soft and smooth.
It dials the intensity between us all down several notches.
“And you know that she’s incredibly smart and a good judge of character.
She’s not going to make a decision like this without thinking about it or making a bunch of lists to get her thoughts out clearly. ”
Dad’s shoulders relax, and so do mine. The compliments feel nice, even if he doesn’t completely mean them.
“So we’ll get to know each other over the next few months,” Ash says to Dad.
“And years,” I add.
Dad blows a breath out of his nose. “I suppose we will.”
“We should go in,” Ash says, glancing at his watch. It’s a classic silver link one, and it almost looks anachronistic against his tattoos. “It’s almost time for our appointment.”
I nod. Dad gestures for us to go first, and Ash leads us in.
Inside of city hall beyond the area where tourists are allowed is much less grand than the outside, having been renovated at some point in the late seventies or eighties and rarely updated since then.
It’s small, too, so we make our way to the marriage license office quickly.
Dad holds up his phone and points to the seat, answering a call.
Putting a little distance between us doesn’t help my nerves.
My stomach is churning so hard, and it feels like everyone is staring at us. Everyone is at least glancing our way. Both of our families are well-known enough in the community for someone to know who we are.
“We’re here to get married,” Ash says to the plump, older man at the desk. He squeezes my hand, even though mine is sweaty. “Today. I made an appointment online.”
“Oh, lovely! It’s a beautiful time of year for a wedding. I’m Bill.” The man beams and looks between the two of us. “Y’all can fill out your application over here and bring it back to me. Then we’ll get you married.”
The man hands us a form on a clipboard and sits back down. We take it over to the seats, where I start filling it out. My hand is still sweaty, and I have to brace my elbow against the armrest to steady it.
I start filling in my details, making my handwriting as legible as possible.
Ash drums his fingers on his knees in a quick rhythm. I finish putting my information down, and Ash takes the clipboard.
His handwriting is nicer than I assumed it’d be, and he writes out his full name in the spouse section.
“Your middle name is Beauregard?” I blurt. He is so not an Ashley Beauregard in any universe. One man’s name has never been less of a fit to what he looks like.
He sighs the way he probably has countless times in his life when people find out his middle name. “It’s like someone asked my mom how Southern she wanted her sons’ names to be, and she just said yes.”
I laugh, because he’s right. Waylon and Wes’s middle names are equally Southern.
Ash finishes quickly and hands it over to the man, who takes a few minutes to put it into the system before he stands.
“Alright.” Bill grunts as he pushes himself to his feet. “We typically do the weddings under the historic arch outside, if you’ll follow me.”
Great, so we have to be in full view of all the tourists milling around. My chest is so tight that I’d be worried I was genuinely having a heart attack if I didn’t know my own anxiety so well.
The arch is beautiful, and the perfect spot for photo ops. A few tourists are lingering, looking at the plaques nearby. Bill sets us up, standing across from each other with Dad close to us.
I look at Ash. His expression is pleasant and neutral, even though I’m sure I look like a wreck. He takes both of my hands, his warm and callused. My stomach flutters despite myself. I sense Dad standing near us, but the whole world shrinks to a tiny bubble of just me, Ash, and Bill.
I barely hear what Bill says, but it’s quick and no-frills. Thank god. Some people around here are way too chatty and if I had to sit here and listen to Bill opine on some bullshit about the love we definitely do not have for each other, I’d lose it.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Tennessee, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride, Mr. Stryker.” Bill smiles and steps back.
My heart starts pounding and against my will, I’m thrown back to high school.
Sitting outside of the gym in the dark, Ash sitting with me while our school’s basketball team lost the homecoming game.
Flirting with me (or so I thought). The stupid way my heart skittered all over the place and I thought I was the lucky one for getting the perfect first kiss, when it was anything but.
This feels different than the kiss we shared on my couch. Like it’s a seal on this whole mess.
That little bubble that we were in disappears, and I’m hyperaware of everyone around us. I need to play it cool, but also seem overjoyed, somehow.
Just like before, Ash has no problem acting. He cups the back of my neck, pulling me so our bodies are just flush. The kiss he plants on me, unfortunately, makes my knees weak for the lingering moment it happens. It’s the kind of kiss that wipes away everything in my brain.
When we pull back, he smiles down at me and I smile back. For a second, I’m elated, like he’s soothed a spot I didn’t know I had. But then I remember where I am and what happened, and the smile turns stiff.
Dad and a few tourists clap. I resist the urge to leap back while also trying to ignore the feeling of his hands on my body.
He extracts himself from me but slides his hand down my arm and links his fingers in mine.
Our wrists are close enough for me to feel the fluttering of his pulse, faster than I thought it would be. Like he’s nervous.
“Congratulations. Just need you to sign one more thing and y’all can go celebrate,” Bill says.
We sign the paperwork, and Bill tells us we’ll get our official license in the mail in a week or two. I’ll be able to take that to the lawyer and get the inheritance sorted out.
“Congrats, guys.” Dad holds up his phone. “I got a few pictures, if you want them.”
“I want them,” I say. Dad takes pictures like an old person—I don’t know what the hell he’s produced, but I want to see if they’re bad enough to damage our story.
He pauses and texts them to me. I take a quick look. Thank god they aren’t bad at all. They’re actually kind of good. Dad stood behind Ash, so he mostly got my face. I’m looking at Ash with what looks like anticipation.
And the kiss. Oh my god. My expression after is embarrassingly real, my smile stretched across my face like a real bride. It was a good kiss on a strictly physical level.
“Let me get one more,” Dad says. I hand him my phone and he struggles to figure out how to get to the camera, even though we have the same phone.
Ash and I pose for a photo, holding hands and smiling. Dad hands me the phone after he takes the photos—we both look completely bewildered in some, but one is decent enough.
“I have to head back to the office,” Dad says. “But I’ll see you on Saturday for the reception at the Strykers’ house. Delia made it sound like she’s going all out.”
“I don’t think she could throw a small event if she tried,” I say with a snort. She’d texted me the details and told us to just show up.
“I know.” Dad chuckles and pulls me in for another hug. “Congratulations, sweetheart. I hope your marriage is filled with decades of happiness.”
My heart pangs under my ribs and I hold onto Dad for another few moments so he doesn’t see my expression. More like a year of sucking it up successfully.
He gives Ash a firm handshake and a clap on the shoulder before leaving.
I let out a sigh. It’s done. All I have to do is submit the marriage license to the lawyer and they’ll get to work.
The hotel will be mine, and all I have to worry about is the hot mess that’s the hotel’s renovation project.
Oh, and all the other daily messes. For once, the idea of only having those sounds as good as a spa day.