Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Lottie
By the time we finish signing the last of the paperwork, there’s a heaviness in my chest that won’t go away. There’s something about seeing my name next to his in black ink that makes this whole thing feel very real. Even though I know it’s not. Not really.
The clerk behind the counter takes the forms from us with a polite, practiced smile, flipping through each page to make sure everything’s been completed properly. There’s the soft shuffle of paper, the click of a stamp, the quiet hum of a printer somewhere behind the desk.
“Everything looks good,” she says, setting the papers aside. “The officiant will be ready for you just through those doors.”
She gestures down a short hallway, and I glance over instinctively.
That’s it. That’s where it’s going to happen.
I’m getting married.
I nod, murmuring a quiet thank you, then look over at Wes.
He stands beside me looking more handsome than any man has a right to be.
His suit fits him perfectly—pressed and perfectly tailored in a way that makes it obvious it wasn’t pulled off a rack.
The jacket sits tight across his shoulders, the lines crisp, the fabric molding to him.
His hair is styled perfectly but still looks effortless in that way he somehow manages, just enough to soften everything else about him. And his eyes—God, those smoke gray eyes. They find mine, just like they’ve been doing all day.
My phone buzzes in my hand, interrupting the moment.
Madeline: Checking in before you become Mrs. Winters. :) Just remember, no matter how fake this marriage is supposed to be, you never have to fake who you are. Love you xx
Me: I love you too.
“You ready?” Wes asks as we stand together just outside the chapel doors.
Ready? Not one bit. But I nod anyways before we step inside.
The room is small. There are a few rows of simple chairs set up facing the front, though they’re all empty.
A narrow aisle leads to where the officiant stands, a small podium waiting in front of her.
There’s a soft arrangement of white flowers off to the side—nothing over the top, just enough to make it feel like more than a courthouse.
Nothing about this moment is the way I thought it would be. There is nothing borrowed, nothing blue. No family and friends celebrating it with me. I know this is just an arrangement, but part of me wishes it felt like more than that.
The officiant smiles as we approach, warm and welcoming in a way that immediately puts me at ease.
“Hi,” she says gently. “You must be Lottie and Wes.”
I nod, suddenly very aware of how fast my heart is beating. She gestures for us to step closer, positioning us in front of her, and I can feel the shift as we take our places—like we just crossed an invisible line between almost and happening.
“I think we’re ready to start,” she says, her tone soft as she looks between us.
And just like that, the ceremony begins.
All I can think about is that my dad should be here. He should be walking me down the aisle. He should be sitting next to Mom in the front row, both of them dabbing at their eyes as my husband and I exchange our vows, then clapping when we’re pronounced husband and wife.
They should be here, but they’re not.
Because none of this real.
The officiant starts speaking, her voice calm and practiced, something about commitment and partnership and choosing each other. It comes through in pieces, words breaking through the clutter in my head and in my heart.
Marriage.
Promise.
Forever.
I swallow. This isn’t forever. But standing here in front of him in my white dress, it doesn’t feel as simple as it did when I agreed to this arrangment.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look at Wes. His expression is controlled like it always is, but there’s something else there too. Something quieter, like there may be more going on under the surface than he’s willing to let anyone see.
“Are you okay?” I mouth as the officiant continues talking.
He nods almost imperceptibly and mouths, “Are you?”
I nod as well, but I’m acutely aware of my pulse, of the way it won’t settle, especially under Wes’s gaze. He hasn’t looked away. The officiant asks Wes for the rings, and he reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out two simple platinum bands.
Her words reach me, but they sound distant and garbled like I’m underwater.
The officiant pauses and nods at Wes, cueing him forward. His hand is steady as he slides the ring onto my finger. “I do,” he says, voice even.
It fits perfectly.
The room is silent when the officiant places the second band in my hand. And then it’s my turn.
“Do you, Charlotte Hart, take Wesley Winters to be your lawful wedded husband? To comfort, honor, and keep, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”
Just two words, and everything changes.
“I do.”
I lift Wes’s hand and slip the ring onto his finger.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant announces with a practiced smile. Wes exhales beside me and then reaches for my hands, taking a small step toward me.
“I know you’re in a hurry to kiss your bride, but not quite yet,” she says, stopping him. “One last signature to make it official.”
She pulls a pen from her pocket, flips open a folder and taps lightly at the line. Wes scribbles his signature on the line before handing the pen over to me.
“Right here,” she says, pointing to the line beside Wes’s.
I look down at the paper where my name is printed in black block letters.
Charlotte Faith Hart. Carefully, with deliberate strokes that feel too permanent for something that’s supposed to be temporary, I sign the marriage certificate that makes it official.
The ink glints for a second before it settles. I hand the pen back.
And that’s it.
A quick congratulations and one last polite smile and then we’re ushered toward the door.
It all moves too fast, like we’ve been pushed onto a conveyor belt and there’s no stopping it now.
One minute we’re standing here, married, the next, we’re being guided out of the room, back into the hallway, like nothing just happened.
I walk beside Wes, my chest feeling oddly hollow, like something important was skipped over. There was no one watching, no quiet clapping, no photos to prove it happened. Not even a kiss.
I’m now married to Wes Winters, and no one from my family was here to see it.
Oh God, what did I just do?