Chapter 12
MOLLY
What does one wear to their very unhyped, impromptu wedding?
Call me sentimental, but I don’t think my typical uniform of jeans and a hoodie, which is all I seem to have in my drawers and closet, would be appropriate.
I’ve already rifled through Mima’s clothes, still packed away in the spare room.
She actually had great taste, but nothing fits right, and I have zero seamstress skills.
So even though I have a date at the courthouse in just under an hour, I’m still in my bra and panties and have damp hair.
Pulling on my fluffy robe, I hustle out to the attached garage, which houses clothes and other things in storage totes.
Taking the lid off the first tote in the stack of two, I rummage through T-shirts and pajamas until I find something with a price tag still attached.
Frowning, I carefully pull it from the jumble.
When I see the white and pink floral print, I remember the sorority rush brunch I was invited to.
I hadn’t been sure about going—and ultimately didn’t—but this dress called my name in a department store.
I wasn’t sure where I’d wear it again, if ever, but it was too pretty to ignore and had been seriously discounted.
I take it back to my bedroom and slip it on; the dress fits like a glove, reaching down to mid-calf. The square neckline and spaghetti straps go perfectly with my shape, and a draw string tie gathers the bust. It’s a little on the sexy side but not inappropriate.
I’m just dabbing on some pale pink lip gloss when the far away rumble of tires on the dirt road reaches my ears. The nerves that had been sitting quietly in the pit of my stomach wake up and radiate throughout my body.
He’s here. Here to pick me up and take me to town to get married.
Deciding to face this head-on from the start, I open the front door.
The crisp spring air greets me with a soft nip soothed by the warmth of the late morning sun when I venture out onto the smooth wood planks.
I wait at the top of the steps for Wolf to turn off his engine, and when his door opens, I’m completely unprepared.
Wolf’s head is absent of a ball cap as he ducks out of the cab to reveal damp brown hair.
While it’s clearly been combed, the long strands still try to fall in his eyes, and a few wayward curls are determined to stand out from the rest. Gone also are his usual relaxed blue jeans and in their place—black pants and button-down shirt.
My heart forgets to beat for a moment. I don’t know if it’s the look or what it represents: he’s taking this seriously. While this isn’t a traditional union, he didn’t want to cheapen it by showing up looking like he couldn’t give a shit.
He doesn’t seem to notice me as he slams the door and reaches into the flatbed. When he retrieves two tightly packed duffle bags, swinging one over the back of his shoulder, reality hits.
Right… He’s moving in. I’m about to marry this man I barely know, one who is so handsome, I can barely look at him straight. My world is such a surreal bubble of exhilaration, I try to quell it by grabbing onto one of the porch’s support beams.
Wolf turns away from his truck. He didn’t go completely formal—his shirt is untucked, and I like it. He takes two steps, looks up, and stops, staring up at me for a moment.
“Hey,” he finally says.
I try to get a read on the look in his eyes, hoping to not find any kind of nerves or hesitation.
Instead, all I find are hints of curiosity and surprise, maybe?
Several beats pass by on the gentle breeze, and when a few strands of hair blow into my eyes, the spell seems to pass, and I clear my throat.
“I’m almost ready. Um…” I awkwardly turn—this has just become his home too. I shouldn’t have to invite him in.
Fortunately, Wolf reads my mannerisms just right and follows me into the house.
Inside, the air is still and the silence loud without the buffer of outside nature sounds, and the awkwardness of the situation seems to take over. I sit on the bench near the door and slip on my T-strap sandals.
Wolf sets his bags down out of the way at the end of the hallway, thankfully not asking for any kind of instruction.
At this moment, I still don’t know what part of the house he should actually live in.
My grandparents room here on the ground floor is full of boxes and the bed is gone – leaving only mine.
Per my usual M.O., I’ve been putting that decision off in the hopes it will figure itself out.
I feel like I can’t get back outside fast enough, and once we’re in Wolf’s truck, I put the window down, clinging to the white noise and cool breeze as my anchors.
“You’re nervous,” he says from his side of the cab, his eyes still fixed on the road, his arm stretched in front of him with his wrist resting on the top of the wheel.
“Aren’t you?” I ask, pulling my hair away from my face.
“No.” The word is firm and a little clipped, but not harsh. The breeze from my window lightly ruffles his brown hair, his knuckles stiffen with his grip, and the tendons in his wrist flex, which make the dim little light low in my belly glow to life.
I ignore it. “Liar.” His body language says otherwise, and if he can decide I’m nervous just by looking at me, so can I.
He stays silent, but the tug at the corner of his lips is proof I’m right. My body lightens at the realization he’s full of shit, and I feel calmer the rest of the way into town.
City Hall is a four-story, red brick building with white trim that sits at the end of Main Street. Inside, the judge’s chambers are crisp, with dark wood and high-back armchairs.
I try to keep my hands from shaking as I sign my name and hand the clipboard to Wolf to do the same. He barely takes any time to look over the document before scratching his name on the line in a sharp scrawl.
“Okay, that’s all I need.” The judge quickly scans the document from behind her bifocals.
While she’s dressed nicely in a magenta pantsuit, she’s not wearing any kind of robe or official garb except for the I.D.
badge—her name is Judge Lafferty—clipped to her jacket.
“I’ll have you both stand now,” she instructs as she does the same.
Wolf and I stand next to each other, both facing forward and waiting for what comes next.
Judge Lafferty’s mouth lifts in a crooked grin. “You may uh…face each other. Join hands if you like…” She looks amused as she prompts us to act like a normal couple getting married and not like we’ve got a gun held to our heads.
Oh for fuck’s sake. I mentally nudge myself to act like I’m in love, and Wolf must do the same because he reaches for both my hands when I turn to face him.
Trying not to overthink anything or get too lost in my nerves, I focus on our connection while the judge takes us through our vows.
It’s crazy how my hands feel like they’re being embraced and protected by Wolf’s despite the rough quality of his.
They’re strong and capable as well as warm and comforting.
My hands are at home in his… It’s such a wild-ass thought that somehow makes perfect sense.
“And this is the part where you’ll exchange rings,” the judge announces.
Shit!
“Um…” I look up at Wolf, and thank god, he looks as sucker punched as I do. Not that either of us should—this is a normal part of the getting-married process—but fuck, how did we forget rings?
“We…uh don’t actually have those yet,” Wolf explains to her, presumably right off his cuff.
Yet? We never even talked about it.
“This is a little bit spur of the moment,” he adds.
Judge Lafferty looks between us, her smile wide but not quite reaching her eyes. We’re clearly doing a shit job of selling this.
“We couldn’t wait,” I offer, sucking in a breath and smiling.
“How romantic.” She nods.
Yeah.
“That’s okay, we can proceed without them,” she says.
I let out a quiet breath, secretly cursing myself for being the worst fucking actress, and say the verbal pledge without actually exchanging rings.
I try to act cool, but heat creeps under my skin.
The good news is I’m not so nervous about marrying Wolf anymore so much as I’m worried about looking like a complete asshole while doing it.
I dare myself to look up into Wolf’s eyes, not at or through them like I’ve been doing this whole time but actually into them. I’m searching for anything that might center me. A sign that we’ve got this, or a terrified look of doom; either way, I want to know where he’s at, where we’re at.
I let myself get lost in the dark green forest of his gaze and am surprised to easily find a look of confidence. Deliberation. It’s a simple message of ‘We’re doing this… We’re all in.”
“By the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife.” Judge Lafferty finishes with a satisfied sigh.
Wolf’s stature seems to relax as he shifts slightly on his feet, and a weight lifts from my shoulders.
We continue looking at each other, hands still joined, as if we’re both afraid of what’s next.
If we look at the judge, walk out of these chambers, or even move, we’ll have to face our new reality, which is married to a stranger.
“You may kiss…if you like,” the judge says, the hint of a smile on her face.
Before I have time to think about how odd it is to kiss someone for the first time because you’ve been instructed to, Wolf leans forward, like this kiss will be no big deal, just two body parts touching for a moment.
That thought should give me some kind of relief, so why does it hurt a little inside?
Wolf’s lips connect with mine. They’re soft and somehow firm at the same time.
He lingers for a moment, letting our mouths move just enough to feel each other out.
Much to my surprise, sparks explode inside me while chills shimmer and dance on the surface of my skin.
The connection is electric, and when Wolf pulls away, I fight the urge to pull him back to me and crash my lips against his again.
On the way back to the truck, I try a million times not to read into it, but my mind wanders. Then, Wolf’s phone buzzes in his pocket.
“Fuck,” he mutters, retrieving it and shaking his head when he looks at the contact on the screen. “This better be urgent,” he all but growls into the mouthpiece, and I busy myself with my seatbelt so I don’t look like I’m full-on gawking. “For what?” he demands, sounding exceptionally grouchy.
A muffled male voice, probably one of his brothers, sounds over the phone, along with the word situation and phrase “it involves her too” before Wolf scoffs into the phone.
“Fine. On my way,” he signs off, tossing his phone down on his seat.
“What is it?” I ask as he starts up the engine.
“We need to stop by headquarters. You good with that?”
“Sure,” I agree, “because what the hell else are we going to do? Drive back to the home we now share and sit down and stare at each other?”
My response is met with a frown as he pulls the truck out onto the road.