Chapter 5 Juliana
JULIANA
The air conditioning hummed softly as Juliana sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of her room at her mom’s house, idly sorting through the mail that had finally been forwarded to her.
Because clearly, if her life was going to be a dumpster fire, it might as well come with paperwork.
It had been three months since she returned from Tealua, and still, she was dealing with the fallout of the wedding that never happened.
Judging by the stack of wedding cards in this pile, this mail had been sitting in postal purgatory for a while. Perfect. She now had the pleasure of returning each one with a personalized note that said, “Whoops, guess not!” in her best penmanship. Humiliating and tedious. A two-for-one.
Her belongings had been unceremoniously shipped back to her from Leo’s house in San Jose where they had planned to live after the wedding.
Since she’d only had one month left on her lease, she’d stashed all her things in a storage unit.
She’d basically deleted all of her social media profiles after dealing with fake concern and nosy questions disguised as sympathy from the people she thought were friends.
But the fact that Leo and Ivy had announced their relationship to nothing but best wishes and congratulations from their circle showed Juliana exactly where she stood.
Apparently, betrayal was easier to forgive when it came with a decent filter and matching Instagram captions.
She’d lost her fiancé, her friends, and her future in one fell swoop.
With nowhere else to turn, she’d moved in with her mother after the honeymoon, which was exactly as emotionally healthy as it sounded.
She had to weather every snide comment about her inability to keep a man like Leo and her general failings as a daughter.
Juliana desperately needed to get out of here, but she’d left her job as an event planner to focus on her wedding.
Leo had assured her that she shouldn’t work after the wedding. He’d take care of everything.
She scoffed. She would never let a man walk all over her like that again.
From now on, she was the boss of her own story.
Even if the first few chapters had been .
. . poorly edited. She should have known that the only way to make sure things didn’t fall apart was to manage every little detail herself.
She stared down at the pile of mail again, avoiding the obvious greeting card envelopes as she looked for something—anything—more pressing. A utility bill. A tax form. A catalog she could immediately toss in the recycling. Something that made sense.
Her fingers paused on a thick business-sized envelope near the bottom of the pile. It was heavier than the others. The return address was printed in small, formal type, but the postmarks were foreign and half-smudged, a smear of ink that made her squint.
It didn’t look familiar.
Curious now, she slid a nail under the flap and carefully opened the envelope. At the top of the first page, the emblem of the Island Republic of Tealua stared back at her—an intricate design of waves, a conch shell, and a hibiscus flower in deep-green ink. Oooh, fancy.
A faint scent of jasmine rose from the thick stack of cream-colored papers inside, as if the envelope had spent the last month lounging in a spa while she’d been spiraling.
Juliana sat straighter, unfolding the pages. The first was generic: formal greetings from the Tealuan Ministry of Cultural Affairs, thanking the couple for participating in the Sacred Union Experience and congratulating them on the successful completion of their ceremonial rite.
It read like a polite thank-you note . . . until she turned to the second page.
The script changed.
This page looked official. Like, capital O Official. The kind of font that usually appeared on diplomas, death certificates, or—oh look—marriage documents.
At the top, in bold, gold-embossed letters that screamed you screwed up big time, were the words:
Certificate of Marriage—Sacred Union Rite of Tealua
She blinked.
Her eyes dropped to the lines beneath it, and her heart stuttered.
“Be it known that Gideon Thomas Reynolds and Juliana Marie Emerson, having participated in the Sacred Union Rite on the 17th day of July, are hereby legally recognized by the Council of Tealua as joined in ceremonial marriage, binding under Tealuan tradition and laws.
She stopped breathing.
The words swam in her vision, refusing to make sense.
She read them again, slower this time, as if the meaning might change with a second glance. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
Binding.
Legally recognized by the Council of Tealua.
Her pulse roared in her ears. The cream-colored paper trembled in her hands.
She scanned the bottom of the page, where a wax seal in deep red shimmered faintly in the light. Beneath it were two signature lines. One bore Gideon’s bold scrawl, easy and confident. The other carefully written like she was signing a guest book at a bed-and-breakfast.
Unsure what she hoped to find–perhaps a big LOL, JUST KIDDING printed on it—she flipped to the last page. A neatly typed FAQ page stared up at her. Helpful. Because what this situation definitely needed most was a frequently asked questions section.
Q: Is my Tealuan marriage ritual legally binding in the United States?
A: Under current US law, marriages solemnized in Tealua, when performed in accordance with Tealuan tradition and properly filed with the Office of External Records, are recognized as legally binding by the United States.
This includes ceremonies designated as part of the Sacred Union Experience.
If you participated in a ceremonial rite and your documentation was filed with Tealuan officials, your marriage is considered valid under U.S. law.
This wasn’t a cute souvenir for her travel scrapbook.
This was a legal document. And she had signed it. With her actual, grown-up name.
How had this happened?
“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”
She wasn’t just the woman whose fiancé left her. No, that would’ve been too easy.
She was the woman who accidentally married a complete stranger at a beachside ceremony—and apparently, it stuck.
Her hands clenched around the paper, fury rising in her throat like bile. At herself. At Tealua. At this whole absurd tropical mess.
She was careful. Always. That was her thing. She organized her sock drawer by color and style. She made itineraries for shopping trips. She had a Google spreadsheet for gift-giving.
But not this time.
This time, she’d let down her guard, followed her feelings . . . and signed a freaking marriage certificate with a man she’d known for two days and kissed once.
Her vision narrowed. She pressed a hand to her temple, like that might stop her brain from short-circuiting.
She was married.
To a man she’d met at a snack bar. A man whose job title might as well have been Charming Island Interruption.
Juliana sat frozen, knees locked, brain spinning. She wanted to scream. Or throw something. Or rewind time to the moment Gideon had pulled her into that pineapple truck. What kind of idiot got fake-married and accidentally turned it real?
She shoved the certificate back into the envelope and stood, spine straightening as she marched to the closet.
She tugged a carry-on suitcase from the shelf, unzipped it, and began tossing clothes inside with clipped, efficient movements.
Slacks. Blouses. One casual dress, in case she needed to appear approachable. Flats. Toothbrush. Chargers. Folder.
Everything folded. Everything rolled. Everything controlled.
This would not define her. It was a mistake—a ridiculous, inconvenient, off-itinerary mistake.
And yet . . . she couldn’t pretend it didn’t mean anything.
Juliana paced once, then dropped into the chair beside her breakfast table, heart pounding. Her Bible sat open there, half-buried beneath a stack of unopened mail, the words blurred by the weight of everything crashing down at once.
Marriage was supposed to be forever.
Not a fluke. Not a loophole. Not an accident you erased with paperwork and a shrug. She’d believed that her whole life—that marriage was sacred, binding, unbreakable. A covenant, not a contract.
And now?
Now she was married to someone she barely knew. A man who made her laugh. Who made her furious. Who saw through her too easily.
She folded her hands slowly, her voice tight but honest. “Lord, I don’t know what You’re doing,” she whispered. “But I know You don’t waste things. If there’s something in this I’m supposed to learn . . . help me see it. And if it’s just another mess I made, then please help me clean it up.”
She paused, her gaze drifting back to the certificate. Whether they knew it was legal or not, something had been spoken aloud between them. Promises she hadn’t intended—but hadn’t taken lightly, either. And wasn’t that what made this harder? An annulment made sense. That was the logical choice.
But she didn’t believe in running from vows. Even ones she never meant to make.
She stood, zipped the suitcase shut, and slung the folder into her tote. It was time to learn firsthand about the Redemption Ridge Ranch Gideon had told her about. Because if she was going to handle this, she had to do it face to face.
She needed to know whether this was really a mistake… or something God had allowed for a reason.