I tilted my chest to look down at my bride and nearly toppled over onto my face.
She grabbed my arm, steadying me.
No one ever steadiedme.I was always the one grabbing a bobbling arm, shoving people into cold showers or cabs, pouring water down throats, and chucking drunks into beds. “You don’t have to do this, you know, just because I asked you to.”
My bride squinted a little as she looked up at me, a crooked little smile on her face. “Eh, why not?”
I was pleased. So pleased. “That’s my girl.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not legally binding unless the license is signed and notarized, and we won’t sign it while you’re wasted. You’re going to wake up tomorrow and thank me for not signing it. I think I’ll make you buy me breakfast, though. That seems fair.”
I watched her, the little flickers of her eyes, the twitches of her shoulders under white lace. Even though I was battered, I still watchedeveryonefor signs of their true intentions.
Hereditary habit.
A highly selected-for trait.
She was fighting herself. Whether it was against her own true nature or the voices in her head telling her lies, my bride was locked in an internal melee.
“And it doesn’t matter even then, you know?” she continued. “It’s not like there’s a penalty for saying you’ll marry someone and then not going through with it, like paying a fine or going to jail. I mean, so youpromiseto marry someone. Youpromisethat you’re going to take a vow to love, honor, and cherish them. Youpromiseeverything’s going to be all right, but peoplelie.”
I watched her tell her story because everyone will if you give them enough time.
She shook her head as if dodging flies, and she stared at the air around us, not at me. “It’s not like walking down an aisle and a minister chanting over youmeansanything. Trusting people who make those kinds of promises will donothingbut get you hurt.” She waved her hands at the clerks, the windows, and the other people in line. “All this, the paper, the promises, all of it meansabsolutely nothing.”
If I’d had a heart, it would’ve been sad at this pretty little woman’s distress.
Instead, I concentrated on balancing where I stood on the undulating floor and gently used one knuckle to tilt her face up so I could see her dark eyes. “What happened?”
Her limpid eyes that I so admired rolled with an excess of dismissal and sarcasm. “It doesn’t matter.Nothingmatters.”
The blood of my autocratic ancestors rose in me, desiring executions. “Icouldkill him for you, you know.”
She leaned toward me a little. “I know you’re joking, but you should not make murder threats in a government building, even if it’s about somebody who’s not here. People get weird about that.”
I had to laugh as I drew back. “Wise.”
We stood at the head of the line now, and a clerk who was far too bright-eyed for that time of night waved us over. “Identification and previous divorce papers, please,” she said.
Forewarned, I pulled my Swedish driver’s license and the certified translation document out of my wallet while my bride fumbled in her purse.
The clerk glared at my driver’s license, which was rather unadorned compared to the US version, just my monochromatic picture and numbered list of biometric data on the pinkish plastic card, and then she turned to the paper with the translation. “Interesting last name there, Nick.”
I shrugged. “It’s more common than one would think.”
“Okay, you don’t have your passport with you, by any chance?”
“It’s in the hotel safe, but I have a photocopy.”
“Probably more secure that way. Well, you’re of age and identified. That’s all I care about. Any previous marriages?”
“None.”
The clerk squinted at me. “Are you drunk?”
I wanted that piece of paper so I could marry this woman. “Not at all.”
She squinted harder.
