Playing Pretend by Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Twenty-One
Liam
Just the basics.
No flower girl throwing rose petals along the aisle. No tearful family members filling the chapel's pews. No harpist performing a sentimental melody.
Just an officiant. Two witnesses. Two rings. The required paperwork.
Oh, and my beautiful, stubborn, unwilling bride.
I stand under the arch of colorful plastic flowers at the front of the Kissy Kissy Bang Bang Chapel, struggling to accept that I’ve officially become a cliché.
This chapel may be tacky as hell, but it’s part of the Sin Valley experience, I guess. And it would fit in perfectly with the story we’re selling to Varner that we spontaneously eloped.
I rented out the chapel for a few hours. For privacy reasons. I didn't want any drunken assholes meandering in and out while my bride and I are saying our vows. Discretion is imperative to this arrangement.
“I appreciate you being able to make the preparations so quickly,” I tell Nadia as she circles around me, adjusting my bow tie and smoothing out the fabric of my tux.
Frank is at the back of the room, engaged in a deep discussion with the minister. My lawyer pulls an envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and extends it to the white-haired clergyman. Money exchanges hands.
Hot damn. My lawyer just bribed the pastor.
Nadia shrugs without making eye contact. “That’s what you pay your lawyers the big bucks for, Liam. By now you shouldn’t be surprised that we’re efficient at our jobs.”
She’s right. I have the best legal team money can buy. I can breathe easy trusting that they’ve got me covered from all angles.
“How do I look?” I ask smirking as I fling my arms out to the sides for her evaluation.
“Like a billion bucks.” She winks. Her attention falls to the screen of her phone. “Okay, so when Eliza comes in, I’ll be taking pictures. Lots of pictures. We’re going to need photographic evidence of this wedding to make your story credible.”
I nod. “That’s a good point.”
“Based on the way you recounted events, it appears that Varner believes you and Eliza are already married?” She stares at me questioningly.
I nod again. “Yes.”
Nadia’s nose scrunches up. “Hmm. That poses a bit of a problem as far as the date on the marriage license is concerned…”
Frank saunters into our conversation. “That issue has already been handled,” he announces.
Nadia glances up from her phone with a furrowed brow.
“I’ve already spoken to the clerk at the marriage license bureau,” he says. “We’ve backdated the license.”
I angle my head to the side. “We can do that?”
The old man’s eyes twinkle. “You’re Liam Kline. You can do anything.”
Frank and Nadia share a smirk.
Chuckling, I drop my head and shake it back and forth.
The pastor approaches and invites us to take our positions. I stand at the altar with Frank beside me. Nadia shuffles into the first pew and aims her phone at the entrance, poised to take pictures.
My breath catches in my chest when Eliza appears at the doorway with a modest white bouquet in her trembling hands. She looks ethereal in a lacy white dress that drapes off her shoulders, clings to her curves and ends right below her knees.
She’s an angel.
An angel shooting venom right at me with her eyes.
She's mad at me. I know that. But she's even more pissed at herself. Because despite all the drama that’s happened between us, she’s about to become my wife.
She takes tentative steps down the aisle and the closer she gets, the harder my heart beats. As much as she annoys me, she's so goddamned beautiful.
Suddenly, I wish my whole family were here—my parents, Yaya, my idiot brothers. I wish my friends were here, too. My bride is fucking perfect and I feel a primal urge to show her off to the world.
Eliza hesitates right at the foot of the altar. When she steals a glance over her shoulder toward the door, I half-expect her to hike up her hem and run.
She's trying to be brave but I see her fear. I see her uncertainty. And I feel an overwhelming responsibility to take it away.
She pauses a second longer, searching my eyes. Like she’s looking for confirmation that I’m a good man, that she can trust me to keep my word, that I won’t find some other way to screw her over completely.
I extend a hand to her, silently asking her to trust me, even though I've already given her a billion reasons not to.
When she sets her hand in mine and steps up to the altar, when she takes that leap of faith despite the evidence stacked up against me, a dam of emotions breaks loose in my chest.
This woman is going to be my wife. That means something, doesn't it?
It means commitment. It means loyalty. It means protection. Despite what the contract we signed says.
I think back to my parents and their marriage. These vows I’m about to utter mean something. They mean everything.
But when a camera flash cuts through the room and Nadia swoops in for another shot, I’m abruptly reminded that this wedding is a sham. None of it is real. There’s no love involved. This is nothing but a business transaction.
I stand there trying to push my protective feelings away, trying to convince myself that I owe Eliza nothing beyond the terms agreed upon in our contract. I try to remind myself that this marriage is an agreement between two consenting adults. She accepted to marry me in exchange for very fair compensation. Hell, she got a big bag of cash—the first instalment of the money promised to her in our marriage contract—moments before the ceremony started. I’m not forcing her hand.
Still, I feel guilty. She deserves better than this.
Why the fuck do I care? I should be erecting a concrete wall between us. I mean, the woman demanded more than double the compensation I initially offered her. She’s basically extorting me.
Yet, I don’t get a gold-digger vibe from her. There’s a story there. There’s a reason she wanted all that money.
But fuck that. I’m not taking on her problems. She’s a smart girl. Whatever it is, she’ll figure it out on her own.
Nadia bounces around the chapel, taking pictures. There's something so CSI Miami about it. Like a forensic photographer looking for evidence at a crime scene. It’s not romantic like bridal photography is supposed to be, capturing timeless memories.
Eliza and I stand face to face as the pastor runs through the typical wedding spiel.
We repeat the standard wedding vows and slip rings onto each other's fingers.
On loop, I have to keep reminding myself, this marriage is fake. We’re playing pretend. Everybody in the room knows it.
But when I wrap my arms around my new wife and put my mouth on hers, electricity flashes through my veins. Whether I like it or not, this heat I feel for Eliza is very, very real.