Chapter 9 #2
“There’s no mistake.” The man flipped open his book, unbothered.
“You’re Mr. and Mrs. Henderson from suite B, here for our classic Bewitched Wedding Package.
” He ran his wrinkled finger down the page.
“Let’s see… You opted for the Petals and Hearts-in-Harmony longevity add-on.
Haven’t seen one of those in ages. Most couples leave the door open for an early out.
” He beamed, wagging a finger. “But not you two! Ah, young love.”
Valerie lifted her chin. “No, not young love. I’m Valerie Spellman. This is Grant Delaney, and we got stuck in the storm on a hike. We just need a ride back to the other side of the island.”
“Oh, I see. I forgot my glasses. I can’t see a lick without those.
” The man furrowed his brow and patted the sides of his robe.
“You know, I hate when this happens. I told corporate we needed more signposts around the pavilion, but they never listen,” he grumbled mostly to himself before letting out a sigh.
“We’d be happy to escort you both back to your resort, right after you review the clause and longevity stipulations. ”
My stomach dropped. “What clause?”
“The magical marriage clause.” He tapped the book with a serene smile. “I’m afraid the two of you activated the ritual ceremony. Regardless of who you are, your nuptials and the package selected are binding.”
Valerie’s knees buckled, and I had to tighten my grip or she’d face-plant in the rose petals.
“This is your fault,” she whisper-growled. “Fix it. Now.”
“My fault? You’re the one wearing my ring, and I wasn’t the one spouting off about sickness and health with a fistful of flowers in my face.”
“No, you just vowed to annoy me until death.” She sputtered, then rounded on the man. “It wasn’t real. I was riffing off the scene! We can’t be married. Look at me.” She flung a hand down her frazzled hair, sweaty tank top, and muddy shorts. “I’m an injured hiker, not Frankenstein’s bride.”
The man nodded sympathetically. “I understand completely. Unfortunately, none of that matters. You wore the ring, and vows were exchanged. There’s no gray area in the enchantment.
” He climbed the steps, his robe trailing through the flower petals.
“But good news, there is a number you can call for customer service. I’m sure one of our representatives would be happy to help sort this out. ”
He slipped a glossy card from the folds of his robe. Silver foil numbers gleamed against the black cardstock. Valerie snatched it with a frown.
“Now,” he continued, “regarding your nuptial package and the clause, here are the directives.”
A scroll appeared from the same hidden pocket as the card.
He unfurled it with a papery crackle and handed it over.
Valerie scanned it quickly, her eyes widening as our names materialized on the parchment like vanishing ink in reverse.
A strangled cry tore from her throat, echoing through the pavilion.
I took my time, alarm coiling through my chest with every line.
The Bewitched Marriage Agreement—Petals and Hearts-in-Harmony add-on
This binding contract certifies the magical union of: Grant Delaney and Valerie Spellman.
Term of Union: A minimum of two years must elapse before annulment, dissolution, or any petition for separation may be recognized.
Obligations of the Parties:
Both parties will take part in the scheduled alignment exercises.
Each party shall give the union proper care, effort, and attention in the spirit of longevity and prosperity.
Witnessed and sealed by magical authority at sunset.
The scroll blurred in my hands; the words wrapping around my brain like a vise. Two years. How was this possible? There had to be a loophole. Something we could do.
The man cleared his throat. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll have someone collect you and return you to your resort.
In the meantime,”—his smile was maddening—“you’re free to notify your friends and family of the happy occasion.
All phone restrictions have been lifted.
” With a solemn bow, he gathered his robes, strolled down the steps, and vanished into the trees.
Valerie wasted no time. She yanked the card from her pocket, punched the number into her phone, and hit speaker.
A cheery recorded voice chimed, “Thank you for calling our customer service line. Your marriage is very important to us. For questions about annulments, press one. For questions about renewal packages, press two. To book your honeymoon, press three.”
Valerie jabbed one.
“I’m sorry. That option is currently unavailable. Please hold while we connect you to a representative.”
Hold music filled the pavilion, a tropical remix of the Wedding March that made Valerie’s teeth grind.
Her nostrils flared. “This can’t be happening. People don’t just get married by mistake. It’s absurd!”
“I guess you’ve never been to Vegas, then.”
Valerie closed her eyes as if she was counting slowly in her head.
I think she’d made it to eight when the recorded voice returned, almost gleeful. “Thank you for holding. Your estimated wait time is… two years. Goodbye.”
The phone disconnected with a firm ding. Valerie tossed it onto a chair as if it was cursed, though I suspected we were.
“This is a disaster.” She pressed her palms into her eyes and groaned.
“My entire life revolves around finding love, and thanks to a real-life wedding trap, I end up married to a man who thinks commitment means eating the same breakfast cereal every morning. If they even think of sending us a bill—”
“Relax, Big Spender.” I leaned against the arch, rubbing my aching hand, irritated that her words landed with a different kind of ache somewhere behind my ribs.
“I’ll handle the resort. No one knows what happened.
There’s no clause that says we have to tell anyone.
Trust me, that’s the last thing I want. My grandfather would go ballistic. ”
Valerie peeked between her fingers. “You’re right. We can take a vow of silence and pretend this never happened.” She lowered her hands, noticed my ring still circling her finger, and slipped it off. “We need a few stipulations of our own.”
“Like what? Never go to bed angry. Too late. That’s been our default setting since the day we met.”
Valerie flattened her lips. “It’s simple. When we get back to the resort, we won’t breathe a word of this. Then tomorrow morning, we leave this island and continue as normal. We work, we live, and we date separately.”
“And what if I meet the one while we’re still contractually hitched?“ I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
Her face faltered for a second, and I almost took back the question, until I realized she was probably imagining the perfect man she was always one spilled latte away from meeting. My jaw clenched.
“When I meet the one, I’ll let you know.” Her chin tilted higher. “Until then, nothing has changed.”
“It will,” I muttered. “You’re on track to join the new team. We won’t just be passing snarky emails back and forth across time zones. We’ll be in the same building. The same floor.”
She went still at that; her gaze searching mine as if she hadn’t thought that far ahead. The ring sat heavy in her palm between us. Finally, she pressed it into my hand and pulled back.
“This will be easy, Delaney. Nobody will ever know, and then it’ll be over. Like that.” She snapped her fingers. Then she paused, glancing away as the sun dipped below the horizon. A strange note threaded through her voice. “Just… don’t fall in love with me.”
“Sure, Spells.” I shoved the ring into my pocket with a sharp breath, darkness sealing the deal on our pact. “I’ll fall for you when they put a Christmas tree on the moon.”