Chapter Six Euan
The café Alex brings us to is packed, but we arrive at the right time—between one wave of Sunday diners and the next. More people are paying at the counter than waiting to be seated, though the hostess informs us it’ll still be a ten-minute wait.
We sit down in two chairs squeezed so close together that Alex’s thigh presses against mine.
His trousers are worse for wear after sleeping in them for the night, all the neat creases rumpled into untidy wrinkles.
My eyes are drawn again to the scuffs on his knees.
Did he tell me how he got those marks last night?
We talked about too many things for me to remember.
An image pops into my head of him kneeling on the ground before me, big blue eyes gazing up at me.
He reaches forward and places one hand on the inside of each of my knees, gently nudging them apart so he can slot himself between them.
His long, slender fingers would look so pretty spanning the width of my thighs.
I shift in my seat, subtly adjusting myself.
A small downtown café filled with grannies and trendsetters isn’t the appropriate place for those fantasies.
It’s probably better to know how he dirtied his knees, so I stop crafting scenarios in my head.
Clearing my throat, I ask awkwardly, “What happened to your pants?”
He blinks at me, bewildered, then looks down at himself. His hand twitches toward his crotch, as if he’s afraid to find a stain there, before he remembers his knees. “Oh, that. Unfortunate byproduct of crawling around on a restaurant floor chasing an annoyingly stealthy ring.”
We both look at the ring still sitting on my pinky finger.
It looks out of place, obviously not meant for me.
With everything else going on, I completely forgot about it.
Now that I’m focusing on it, the metal band seems too tight against my skin.
“Here,” I say, grasping it and tugging. “Let me—” Instead of coming off, my flesh moves uncomfortably with it.
I only budge it a centimeter before it bumps up against the knuckle.
“Shit,” Alex whispers. “It fit last night.”
I grunt and tug more ruthlessly, until the skin swells and reddens in protest.
“Stop,” he says, grabbing my hands to still them. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.” After a second, he adds, “And probably pop a diamond out.” He holds onto my hands for a long moment before dropping them.
“My hands are just swollen after drinking so much last night,” I explain, not wanting him to misunderstand.
“It’s fine. We’ll run them under water or something when we return to the hotel.” His brow furrows as he considers that plan, then he shakes his head. “On second thought, with my luck, the ring would go straight down the drain.”
“Maybe we can pick something up on the way back.”
“Yeah, once it’s lubed up it should—” A flush heats his cheeks as he cuts himself up.
Right on time, because the hostess is walking toward us with menus and a smile. “Right this way, gentlemen.”
We sit and she leaves us to review the menu. Since our last conversation ended awkwardly, I drop it and focus on food instead. “So, what do you suggest?”
Panic widens his eyes as he looks between me and the menu. “Oh, um, I don’t …”
I’m reminded of his distress last night that first caught my attention, how he couldn’t pick which drink to choose.
I also remember several stories of his ex-girlfriend’s expectations and disappointments, how much pressure she put on him to be the perfect, mind-reading boyfriend.
“What do you usually order?” I ask, hoping that’s an easier question to answer.
“Well, they have a lot of rotating specials.” He picks up a paper menu different from the others. “It looks like they’ve got a lavender chai or a spicy mocha.”
“That sounds interesting. The mocha,” I add, “I don’t want to drink flowers.”
His shoulders relax at the easy answer, and he nods.
“Yeah, I might get it too.” As he reviews the menu, he fusses idly with his curls.
They’re tamer now than when he first woke up, though there’s still a wildness to them that inspires the urge to plunge my hands into his hair and become so entangled I can never escape.
I clutch the menu to suppress those desires.
It’s odd, how he keeps inspiring the weirdest impulses so soon after the fiasco with Nick.
Maybe because it was only an online long-distance relationship?
I’ve heard plenty of successful stories that started thousands of miles apart, but I’m a tactile person.
Every time I video chatted with Nick, I wanted to reach through the screen and rub my hands all over him.
Sometimes it was sexual, the urge to replace his hands as he tweaked his nipples or grasped his cock.
Other times, it was simply the undeniable desire to feel.
The scruff on his cheek. The warmth of his skin. The sparse hairs covering his arms.
A waitress comes and collects our drink orders, asks if we know what food we want. I order a breakfast sandwich and Alex gets the same. I can’t tell if it’s his usual order, or if he’s still too tired to waste energy deciding on what to eat.
Once we’re alone again, Alex leans forward and asks, “So, how do we figure out if the marriage is real or a scam?”
“Researching the company, first. See if they’re legitimate.”
Alex nods and pulls his phone out. The table is set up to seat four, so he moves to the chair next to me and scoots it closer to show me his screen. He types into the search bar ‘is online marriage legal’. The first result explains how it works and which states its legal in.
“Dammit,” he mutters. Then types in ‘Virtual Vows’.
The first thing that pops up is an ad for the online marriage site.
When he clicks on it, the website looks sleek and professional.
The first page explains all the processes and legalities of online marriage.
Alex gives an adorable, disgruntled grumble as he scrolls through the page.
Then he spots something and brightens. “They have a live chat!”
Sitting this close to him, I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from his face. There’s a black spot, darker than his other freckles, under his left eye. I want to press my thumb against it to see if it’s raised or smooth.
Oblivious to my thoughts, Alex opens the chat box, but then his thumbs pause over the keyboard. “What do I say? I can’t just be like ‘hey, are you a scam’ because they’d never admit to it.”
The waitress drops off our spicy mochas. She doesn’t bat an eye at our changed position, just smiles and spouts the usual customer service script before continuing to her next table.
“Tell them there was a mistake with the order,” I suggest.
Alex nods and types it in, his fingers fast and nimble. Three little dots bounce at the bottom of the chat before the representative asks for our confirmation number.
I pull my own phone out and open the email, holding it out for Alex to read.
Representative
What seems to be the problem?
There’s a mistake in the participant names.
I’m sorry to hear that! One moment.
Both names match the documentation provided to us.
Alex and I exchange a confused look.
Documentation?
The government ID’s you both provided during the application process.
“We provided IDs?” Alex asks in shock. “Oh god, we’re both definitely getting our identities stolen.”
Can you provide copies of the IDs?
I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to exchange that information over chat.
Is there anything else I can help you with?
“Ask her who the witnesses were,” I say.
You provided your own witnesses, sir. The necessary information will be included on the marriage license and the marriage certificate.
Can I get a copy of these documents?
A physical copy of your marriage certificate will be mailed to the residence on file within 5-7 Business days. If you need it sooner, your county clerk will be able to provide you with a copy.
Alex grimaces. “Does that sound legit? Or like they’re trying to buy time after scamming us?”
“Of the two of us, you’re the only one who’s been engaged.”
He shoots me an irritated look, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “For less than an hour. And I was less concerned about the actual wedding than getting the ring on her finger.” His eyes drop to my hand resting on the table and the ring still stuck on it.
Is there anything else I can help you with?
If you don’t reply, the chat will automatically close in sixty seconds.
“God, they sound so robotic. Wait, am I even talking to a person? Is this some AI bullshit?” When he types the question out, the representative is quick to reply.
You’re speaking to a real person, sir.
“That’s what an AI scammer would say,” Alex mutters, glowering resentfully at his phone.
The conversation is only frustrating him further. I gently take his phone from him and take over.
Did you also provide the officiant?
Our records indicate you provided your own officiant.
Alex and I exchange a look. “The bartender?” he suggests.
“He didn’t exactly seem like a hopeless romantic, but it’s worth a shot. Though we might have left the bar before getting married.”
“Which is more romantic: getting married in a bar or a random hotel room?”
“It’s a fairly nice hotel room,” I reply, earning a laugh for the low effort joke.
Will the officiant’s information also be provided on the license and certificate?
Yes.
Do you not remember the name of your officiant, sir?
Up until now, they’d stuck strictly to the professional script. This is the first time I’ve fully believed it’s a human on the other side. I could type out one excuse or another, but it’s not really any of their business why we forgot all the details of this supposed wedding.
Are there any recordings from the wedding?
The package you purchased included both a video of the ceremony and a series of wedding photos. You should have received an email with everything after the ceremony. Would you like me to resend it?
I switch over to my phone and scroll through my unread emails. The only message from Virtual Vows in the main inbox is the receipt, but there, tucked between an ad for penis enlargement and a phony settlement, is another email with the subject line: Alexander Marklin and Euan Blair Wedding.
No, I found them. Thank you.
Of course.
This time, they don’t spew the same repetitive line. Either they don’t want to encourage any further questions, or they don’t want to be accused of being artificial again.
I close the chat and hand Alex’s phone back to him as our food arrives.
Alex returns to the other chair so he can look at me while we eat. “Well, it’s either a very thorough scam or an extremely shitty company. Seriously, who marries two drunk guys?”
“We’ll have to talk to the bartender when we return to the hotel. See if he’s our mystery officiant or if he knows who might be.”
Alex nods, satisfied with my suggestion.
We switch our focus to eating, occasionally exchanging casual comments on the café or the city.
I finish faster than him, so I open the other email from Virtual Vows.
The bulk of it seems to be congratulations mixed in with legal terms, some repetition of what the representative already told us.
What I’m really interested in is the zipped file attached to the email.
When I open it, there are a dozen pictures and one video file.
I tap on the first picture and don’t know whether to smile or grimace.
Alex and I sit in the bar’s booth, the green leather providing a familiar backdrop.
Our heads lean against each other and we smile for the camera.
Alex’s cheeks bloom like red apples as he grins wide.
My own smile is more subdued, but my eyes aren’t on the viewer—they’re locked on Alex.
It would be a perfect picture if it had captured a real relationship. Or if they’d left off the sparkling pink heart surrounding us.
In the next picture, Alex’s face is turned toward me, our lips meeting in a chaste kiss. This time they’ve plastered tacky red kiss marks all over the frame.
The third picture has my mouth going dry.
It’s been left untouched, no silly decorations marring it, and there’s a slight blurriness, as if it was captured mid-motion.
I’ve pushed Alex up against the wall. His hands are threaded in my hair while mine cup his face.
I can only see the back of my head, but Alex is fully visible.
Mouth open, a hint of tongue as he kisses me back with equal fervor.
“What are you looking at?”
My head snaps up and I close the pictures as my heart races like a teenager caught watching porn. “What?”
Alex cranes his head toward my phone before seeming to realize how rude the gesture is and settling back in his seat. “You were just really absorbed in it.”
“Oh, it’s the other email from Virtual Vows.” I clear my throat awkwardly before admitting, “It includes the video and pictures they mentioned.”
“Shit, really?” He leans forward again, peering at my phone. Then he looks around the café and cringes. “We should probably wait until we get back to the hotel to watch the video.”
I nod and tuck my phone back into my pocket. That’ll give me some time to think about what to do with the photo. Hiding it seems odd, too guilty when it involves both of us. But sharing it with him …
My eyes drop to his lips.
Would he be interested in recreating it?