It should feel constricting to have that ring on my finger. Like it’s holding me back. Weighing me down, perhaps. Instead, it feels like it connects me to her. To a possible life I could have with her. To a future I never could have imagined before. One I can’t stomach right now. Nope, this is not for me. This is not why I married her.
The registrar pronounces us husband and wife. Applause ripples across the chamber, too loud, too intrusive. James whistles, until I shoot him a glare. Nathan claps with gusto. Arthur inclines his head, satisfied that he’s orchestrated the whole damn thing. Which he has, in a way.
I should be pissed off at him, but for the first time in years, I don’t see a deal being signed, an empire being cemented, or Arthur’s approval being won.
My attention is riveted by Lark, standing in front of me. Her lips part. Her chest rises and falls.
I hear the registrar say, as if from a distance, "You may kiss the bride."
As if in a dream, I raise the half veil so I can look into her sparkling eyes. And when I take her hands in mine, my pulse steadies, and my heartbeat settles. I anchor myself in the warmth of her skin, then lower my head.
"My wife," I breathe against her lips.
A full-bodied shudder has her melting into me. I wrap my arm around her waist and hold up her weight, then lick into her mouth. She moans. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss.
The taste of her goes to my head. My heart rate seems to go off the charts. Sweat pools in my armpits. Kissing her feels like a religious experience. I wouldn’t have believed the act of marrying her would make me feel this possessive.
Apparently, I’m more sentimental than I realized. It’s that thought which makes me release her and step back.
Around me the applause swells again. I notice Arthur wiping a tear. Damn, never thought I’d see the old man get emotional. My brothers and their wives clap. Her sister grins widely. Harper dabs at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. Next to me, I sense James glowering at her. I’m aware Harper works for James, but this animosity he feels for her seems more personal. I shove that thought aside, knowing I’ll ask him about it another time.
I want to take my wife’s hand in mine, but I resist.
I can’t let myself fall for her. My attraction for her, combined with the fact that we're now legally bound together, intensifies the sense of inevitability that has gripped me since I put the ring on her finger.
I step forward, following Rachel as she ushers us toward the tall double doors at the end of the chamber. I sense Lark stiffen, sense the hurt that radiates from her.
My guts churn. Anger knocks against my rib cage. Instead of turning to her, I stalk forward. Alone. Through the throng of friends and relatives congratulating us. My tie feels too tight around my neck. Air. I need air.
I burst out of the double doors, and look wildly up and down the corridor, wondering which way to go. James appears at my shoulder.
One look at my face, and his jaw stiffens. "Come on."
I follow him up a flight of stairs, then down a corridor, until we reach a door. He pushes it open to reveal a covered balcony. I slip outside.
The cool air surrounds me. I draw in lungfuls.
I loosen my tie and, pulling it off, stuff it into my pocket. Then I walk to the railing and hold on.
I take in the rooftops of the neighboring Victorian homes. Many have Christmas decorations in the windows and outside their doors. The main street below boasts festive lights. The sound of carol singing reaches me from somewhere down the street. Christmas is two days away. I’ve never paid much attention to the celebratory spirit.
Except for briefing a shopper to buy the requisite Christmas presents so I could hand them over on Christmas Eve when I made the rounds of my brother’s homes.
James walks over to join me.
He scans my features, then with a sigh, pulls out two cigarettes. He lights both, passing me one.
"Thanks mate." I haven’t smoked in years. Not since leaving the Marines. But the situation today seems to warrant one. I’ll try anything to try to come to grips with the emotions swirling around inside me.
We smoke in companionable silence for a few seconds. Then he blows out smoke and turns to me. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
"Alrighty then." He turns back to contemplating the scene in front of us. The cold slides in through my jacket. I stamp my feet and sink deeper into it. The sunshine from earlier has been hidden by clouds which hang heavy over the city.
"Supposed to snow," James murmurs.
As if on cue, snowflakes drift down from the skies.
