Chapter 7 #2
Her blue eyes, lined lightly with makeup, brighten at her shortened name. It feels too easy to fall into this familiarity with her. Her hand comes up to touch the pearl piece.
“It was my mother’s. Almost like…she’s with me.”
I take her other hand and lightly squeeze. “I’m sure she is. So proud of the woman you are.”
Her smile is serene, at peace as her eyes mist over. “I think she is, too.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re standing across from each other at the end of the altar.
Her best friend, Ivy, and her father stand to the side as Violet and I hold hands.
My breathing is heavy, and Ivy’s hands shake a little.
I rub my thumb over her silky skin, wanting her to feel calm about this decision.
This may be fake, but I will honor her and take care of her for as long as she is my wife.
When it comes time to repeat the vows, I find myself speaking them with sincerity.
I want to do all those things. She’s making a huge sacrifice for me and the girls.
Even though she has her own reasons for marrying me, I get more out of this than she does. I don’t want her to regret it.
"I, Hudson, take you, Violet, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish.”
My heart is pounding in my chest. Not from nerves anymore, but something deeper, bigger.
I’ve never said those words out loud before.
I never married Kristy. It never felt right.
I knew, if the time ever came that I’d marry, I would give my all to my wife.
And right now, hearing those words leave my lips, solidifies a knowing I’m not sure I’m ready to confront.
Violet repeats them, and her melodic voice, making such sacred promises, turns me inside out. My eyes heat. The hell. I’m feeling emotional. Her hands squeeze mine as her eyes also shine with emotion.
“The rings?” the court-appointed officiant asks.
“I have them,” Ivy smiles, wiping a tear.
Violet’s father, Scott, stares at his feet as Ivy laughs, handing Ivy the ring she insisted on picking out for me.
She then hands me the velvet box I asked her to hold earlier.
There was no time to pick out and give Violet her engagement ring two days ago.
She’ll be seeing both the ring and her band for the first time.
My hands anxiously tremble as I open it, hoping she likes them.
I rushed to the jeweler downtown and was prepared to drive my ass to Portland if none of them felt right.
But then I saw it, a golden yellow diamond set on a delicate platinum band sprinkled with smaller diamonds.
The band is also delicate with alternating white and yellow diamonds.
I noticed she wore silver the last time I saw her and picked according to that.
Violet gasps, covering her mouth. “Hudson.” Her sweet voice breathing out my name, does things to my body. Her eyes are watering when she looks up. “This is too much.”
I shake my head. “Not enough.” I take them out of the box and hand it to Ivy, who’s not even hiding she’s giddy and tearful.
“Repeat after me,” the officiant states, and I do as I slide the rings together over her finger.
“I give you this ring, as a symbol of my love and devotion, as we join our lives together, today, tomorrow, and for as long as our love shall last.” A perfect fit.
Violet is next, reciting her vows as she slides the black band with a line of onyx stone in the center onto my ring finger. Also, a perfect fit. The weight of it somehow feels right.
“And now,” he continues, “by the authority vested in me by the State of Oregon, I now pronounce you…husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.” He smiles at me.
Ivy is clapping, and I’m suspended in time.
Violet takes a step forward. We’re no longer in the middle of this cold building, surrounded by strangers, but we’re in our stratosphere, with the world around us below.
Anticipation blossoms as I step closer and take her beautiful face in my hands.
Her eyes momentarily close before they open with new life.
She places her hands over my chest and tips up on her toes.
I lean down, bringing our faces closer, rubbing my thumb across her soft cheek. Right before our lips touch, I whisper unconsciously.
“My wife.”
Her intake of breath tightens my groin. “My husband,” she whispers back.
I kiss her. Or she kisses me. I could not say. Her plump lips, silky with a soft gloss, surrender to my mouth. What started as a deep, confident peck turns intense yet intimate. My fingers comb into her short waves, holding her head as she tilts it and grips the lapels of my jacket.
I drop one hand and wrap it around her waist, pulling her body closer, keeping her steady as I introduce my tongue, getting my first taste of my angel. The whimper I’m sure only I can hear has my hands digging into her waist as she flicks her tongue out to meet mine.
A sharp slam of a door jerks us apart. Panting, I look over and notice her father is gone. I can’t seem to let her go. I keep her in my arms as I look down at her blown-out pupils, her full cleavage heaving against my torso.
“It’ll be okay,” I whisper about her father.
Her fingers pull me down by the lapels again, and she delivers a soft, sweet kiss on my lips. “I know.”
The glint of her rings catches my attention. Looking down at her hands on me, those rings on her left hand, a possessive need to claim her in front of the world, overwhelms me. I am hit with a need to keep anything willing to hurt her away.
I told her six months.
I fear that at the end of those six months, letting her go will be the last thing I’m willing to do.