Back then, we were marrying for love, not money.
Or so I thought.
I’m still in the dark about Emerson’s decision to end things. There’s no guarantee she will turn up today, either. The lengths she will go to for her family are undeniable, but is her hatred for me stronger?
Ten years ago, I would have cockily declared she’d most likely arrive at the church before me. Now, I scan the face of every motorist who drives past Emerson’s old family church, confident none of them will ever be her.
Sighing, I glance at my watch before peering at the priest. It is past the time I told Emerson to meet me, and I’m done pretending it isn’t.
After a farewell chin dip to Father Loroza, I turn to leave. The embarrassment that Emerson fooled me twice is bombarding me enough to last a lifetime.
I break through double doors keeping the cool air from whipping between the church pews, and that’s when I see her. Emerson is at the entrance of the church, looking as ruffled as I feel.
Our eyes meet, and her fretful expression softens before she reminds me that she’s not accustomed to the high life I’ve lived for the past ten years.
“I forgot how much of a bitch it is to get through town in the middle of the day. It is like everyone goes out for lunch at thesame time.” Her eyes flick to the priest, and she grimaces about her potty mouth. “Sorry, Father.”
He bows his head in acceptance of her apology before he asks if we’re ready to begin.
I look at Emerson and then bite back a smile. She’s eagerly nodding while undoing the buttons of a faded trench coat. Her expression is effortless, and her smile is genuine.
My lungs refuse to take in air as she removes her winter jacket, revealing a dress that demands the attention of every man in the room, despite its simplicity. The delicate fabric of a white lace dress flows gracefully down her body, hugging her curves and cascading to the floor in soft waves. Her hair is loose, framing her gorgeous face, and her makeup is a soft palette that hides her uncomposed demeanor.
Her eyes, still my favorite shade of green, hold a mixture of emotions. The most obvious are apprehension and determination, but that isn’t all they display. She is also nervous.
As she walks toward me, I notice the subtle details that make her unique—the delicate arch of her reddish brows, the teasing curve of her plump lips, and the faintest rouge of color on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the makeup she applied in a hurry.
She carries herself with confidence, and each step she takes is measured and purposeful.
Her fingers brush mine when she accepts the bouquet of daises I purchased at the last minute from a florist two doors up from the church. Her smile, though small, is genuine when she whispers her thanks. It lights up her face, momentarily dispelling the tension plaguing our gathering.
“Are you ready?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
The feeling of dread I couldn’t shake earlier shifts when she dips her chin without pause for thought.
We walk down the aisle side by side, my nerves calming more with each step. Being with Emerson once felt as natural as breathing. It is similar now, just more tense.
When we reach the priest, we face each other and recite our vows as per the priest’s instructions.
“I, Mikhail, take you, Emerson, as my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to support you, honor you, and stand by your side through all the challenges life may bring. I vow to respect you and to fulfill the commitments we have made to each other today until death do us part.”
Emerson’s focus is steadfast now, and I find strength in her determination when she returns my vow. “I, Emerson, take you, Mikhail, as my lawfully wedded husband. I promise to support you, honor you, and stand by your side through all the challenges life may bring. I vow to respect you and to fulfill the commitments we have made to each other today until death do us part.”
Her eyes flare with mischievousness at the end of her vow, piquing my curiosity. However, the priest continues the ceremony before I can wordlessly grill her about it. “These rings are a symbol of marriage, a tangible reminder of the promises you’ve made today.”
Father Loroza hands us the rings I will go to my grave pretending I purchased only seconds before we wed, before he gestures for us to gift them to each other.
Emerson’s hand trembles slightly when I slide the ring onto her finger, the metal cool against her skin.
She takes a big breath before doing the same to me.
The priest’s voice is as smooth as chocolate as he speaks the final words of the ceremony. “In the sight of God and the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He flicks his kind eyes to me. “You may kiss your bride.”
Emerson leans in first, her eagerness catching me off guard.
I learn why when she draws in closer. A familiar scent wafts into my nose. It is nutty and buttery and announces that Emerson clung to one part of our vows while reciting them. The last five words.Until death do us part.
My back molars grind together as a mix of emotions envelops me. Emerson knows about my severe nut allergy. During our three-year relationship, she always carried an EpiPen with her, aware one stray nut could kill me.
