Don’t Mind If “I Do” by Everly Ashton

Sixteen

Nick

I pace through the living room. The officiant and photographer sit on the couch, obviously not knowing what to do.

What the hell is going on up there?

One second I’m waiting for my bride to show up, and the next, Jemma is yelling with panic in her voice for Ollie to come help.

Did Mazzy have another Meniere’s episode? Did she fall and bump her head? The doctor in me wants to race up the stairs, but I don’t know for sure if there’s a medical emergency. Maybe Mazzy confessed to Jemma that this marriage isn’t real, and Jemma wanted to cuss him out for not telling her.

Whatever it is, the seconds seem to tick by slower and slower until they each feel like an hour. This damn bow tie is choking me, and I dig my finger between my shirt and my neck, searching for relief. This whole navy tuxedo I dug out of my closet from a black-tie event I went to for the hospital last year feels stifling and I can’t wait to strip it off.

I glance at my watch, giving Ollie thirty seconds before I’m going up there.

But he returns a few seconds later. “Hey.”

I stomp over to him. “What the hell is going on? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. They’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“What do you mean everything is fine? What the hell happened up there?”

He smirks. “Sorry, doctor-patient privilege.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“It’s true. If your wife wants to tell you after the ceremony, she can.”

I ignore his jab and roll my eyes, pulling on the hem of my tuxedo jacket. “Fine, let’s just get this over with.”

“It’s not too late to call his off,” he says in a low voice, glancing over my shoulder at where the officiant and photographer wait.

“I already told you why I’m doing this.” I walk back to the other side of the room to wait for Mazzy.

Ollie follows and takes his place to my left.

“Should be ready to go any minute,” I tell the officiant, and he nods.

A few minutes later, Jemma appears with a goofy smile, as though she’s so excited for me she might burst like a confetti bomb. I almost feel bad for lying to her.

There isn’t any music to announce Mazzy’s arrival, but her shoes click as she makes her way down the hardwood stairs. I shift in my spot, needing to expel some of the nervous energy buzzing through me. It’s hard to believe I’m doing this, but I need to keep the end goal in mind—saving my job.

When Mazzy appears in the doorway of the living room, I nearly choke on my tongue. She looks… phenomenal. Stunning. Like a bride. Like my bride.

Her dress fits her perfectly and it isn’t overdone, nor is her hair or her makeup. It’s everything I would appreciate if this were real. But as she steps toward me with a nervous smile, it becomes more difficult to remember that this is, in fact, fake. Because I can’t pull my gaze away from hers and our past runs like a film reel through my mind—until we reach the point of that dreadful night a decade ago when the film was ripped from the projector.

I blink rapidly and give my head a shake, pulling myself out of whatever weird state I was lost in. She stops in front of me and smiles at the officiant. The photographer’s shutter clicks.

“Hi,” Mazzy says in a soft voice.

“Hey, you look beautiful.” I say it not because it’s true but because it’s something a groom would say to his bride.

“You look very handsome.”

We both turn our attention to the officiant.

“Are we ready to get started?” he asks.

“I think we’re good,” I say.

“You can hold hands,” he says, as though we’re not because he hasn’t yet given us approval.

To keep in character, I take Mazzy’s hands. Both of ours are clammy, likely from nerves, but that’s not what I focus on. What’s really got my attention is the warm sensation that travels up my arms from where our skin touches. It’s unexpected and it doesn’t make me want to crawl out of my skin.

I’m too perplexed to pay much attention to the ceremony, but I must smile and nod and respond in all the right ways because eventually I hear him tell us, “You may kiss the bride.”

Shit. I didn’t think about this part. Whatever. I peck my mom and my grandma whenever I see them, which admittedly isn’t much these days. I can treat Mazzy the same way.

I pull her into me and lean down to place my lips on hers. God, she smells good. My lips touch hers and I pull away, but something draws me back in again. I’m going blame it on my dick since he’s flexing to get in on the action.

Our lips meet again and this time I increase the pressure. When a small sigh leaves her throat, suddenly my dick is jumping again and my tongue is coasting across the seam of her lips. She opens for me and wraps her arms around my neck. Our tongues touch and it’s as if someone plugged my dick into an electrical socket. I have a full-on erection pressing against the inside of my pants. She pushes her nails into the back of my hair and moans a little when I nip her bottom lip.

The sound of throats clearing beside us makes us back away from each other. Her face is beet-red when she glances at the officiant, who looks as embarrassed as she does. Thank God my tuxedo jacket covers my crotch. Otherwise this PG wedding would be veering close to MA-rated territory.

“Sorry, guess we got carried away.”

The click of a shudder reminds me that all of that was likely preserved for posterity. Perfect.

After everyone’s offered their congratulations, the photographer has us pose in a few different groupings—Mazzy and me, the two of us with Ollie and Jemma, just the girls, just us guys, some of each of us alone. When I’m standing off to the side beside Mazzy—she insisted the photographer get some pictures of Ollie and Jemma alone—I take a moment to glance at my ring.

Mazzy brought both our wedding bands, and I feel like a schmuck that I didn’t think to go pick a ring out for her myself. I might not have her money, but I can certainly afford a ring she wouldn’t be embarrassed of.

“I tried to pick something you wouldn’t mind wearing. How’d I do?” she asks in a quiet voice. “It’s Damascus steel and gold.”

I look at the band again—it’s mostly black with some lines of marbled dark silver running through it, then a thin line of gold just off center. It’s exactly what I’d choose for myself.

“It’s perfect. Good job.” I clear my throat. I glance at her hand and see that she’s chosen a simple band with diamonds, alternating between circular then more of a diamond shape. It’s elegant, like her.

“Glad I still know you well enough to be able to pick the right ring.”

Suddenly my bow tie is strangling me again. This whole thing is going way too smoothly.