“Do you, Harrison Taylor”—Oh, so that’s his last name. Good to know—“take Camila Jiménez to be your wedded wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage?”
My head turns, and our eyes meet. I study his blue eyes. They’re lighter than a vibrant blue but still striking.
The pastor continues, “Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her for as long as you both shall live?”
Hearing it spelled out like that adds to my guilt. I know Harrison is getting paid generously, but it’s all a lie, and I’m the puppet master, tempting him to sell his soul to the devil. Just because I don’t believe in marriage doesn’t mean I don’t have a conscience.
His lips lift into a cute smile, easing some of the guilt. “I do.”
Deep inside, something stirs—a long-lost childhood dream of being a wife and mother—childish notions I’ve long since abandoned. Or at least, I thought I’d abandoned.
“Do you, Camila Jiménez, take Harrison Taylor to be your wedded husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him for as long as you both shall live?”
“Uh, yes.” I pull my shoulders back and lift my chin. “I do.”
The pastor looks at Harrison. “Repeat after me for the exchanging of vows.”
My mind wanders as my eyes drift around the chapel—the beautiful woodwork, stained-glass windows, and cascading afternoon light. Maybe if things had been different, I wouldn’t have this mindset. I watched my mom. She hoped for the fairy tale of marrying a good man and happily riding off into the sunset. But instead, she made one bad decision after another, settling on a string of less-than-mediocre men who never wanted to build a life with her. To this day, she’s still trying to find a decent guy who’ll stick around.
There’s no coming back from what I saw growing up. My views on happy, lasting marriages are tainted and skewed. Forever.
“Camila?” The pastor looks at me expectantly.
Right. It’s my turn.
I shut off my daydreaming and recall the vows I’m supposed to repeat. “I promise to have and to hold from this day forward,for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do us part.”
“Do we have the rings?” The pastor looks at his wife, who immediately jumps forward with a box. He waits for us to retrieve the simple gold bands before reciting what we’re supposed to say.
Harrison takes my hand. His fingers soft and warm as he slips the ring on. “With this ring, I pledge my love and faithfulness to you.”
How is he so calm? I feel like my heart is about to give out from overuse, causing a small puff of smoke to escape as a signal of malfunction.
My fingers shake as I take his hand in mine and give him the ring a lot less gracefully. “With this ring, I pledge my love and faithfulness to you.”
There.I step back from him.We’re done.
“You’ve promised your love and exchanged rings as a sign of your commitment. By the authority given to me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. It is my joy to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor.”
Well, not technically. I’d never change my name to a man’s.
“You may kiss the bride.”
My eyes drift to Harrison, and I take a hesitant step forward. He matches my step with one of his own.
The corner of his mouth lifts as he whispers, “I’ve never sealed a business arrangement with a kiss.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” I mumble as his lips fall to mine.
Warmth is the first thing I feel, then his hand on my cheek, fingers splaying back into my dark curls. Then his arm wraps around my waist, holding me tight to him.
Every touch is surprising and confident.
The kiss is chaste but long enough to flicker a response inside.
It takes me a second to realize I need to kiss him back—or at least do something with my arms, but as I move to touch him, the moment is over, and he pulls apart.
Our two guests clap.
