“What’s a chrismation?” I asked, worried.
“It’s a sealing of the dedication. In the religion, it’s the bestowal of the Holy Ghost, along with the attending gifts of the Spirit that are given to all who have been chrismated, plus any unique or special gifts that God gives one, to enable them to realize their intended potential as a child of God and as a unique member of Christ’s Body, the Church.”
Words flowed out of him, one after another, no pauses, like a hard-memorized soliloquy. “Okay.”
“It’s just a little olive oil with sweet herbs and such touched on your hands and feet,” he continued. “He said he can do the baptism and chrismation in ten minutes, and then the wedding will be another twenty or so.”
“That’s—quick.That’s reallyquick.”All this religious stuff was piling on like I was being buried by heavy brocade sacramental garments. “Does he know you’re wasted?”
“I think he suspects.”
“And he’s willing to perform a binding religious rite even though you’re hammered?”
Nico waggled his dark eyebrows at me. “I said I would convince him.”
CHAPTER 19
kissing the bride
LEXI BYRNE
Some guys kissed sloppy.
My ex-fiancé, Jimmy, had always been pushing on my face with his mouth, first keeping his lips closed too long so that he was mashing us together and then shoving his tongue into my oral cavity like he was searching for chicken shreds between my teeth. It had been an attacking octopus of a kiss, with suction.
At our wedding, when Nico kissed me for the first time, it wasn’t like that at all.
His fingers just touched my jaw, tilting my head up. His kiss was gentle, an invitation.
Tender.
He kissed me more, gently, and his other arm moved to my waist.
His hand where he was touching my face caressed backward, cradling my jaw and slipping his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck.
My breath caught in my chest.
He stepped forward, which meant he had to bend down even farther. Even though I was wearing high heels, I rose up on my toes to reach him. My knees started to tremble, and his hand on my waist steadied me, gently holding me against his body where I stood on tiptoe.
I hadn’t ever touched him except for that brief moment of holding hands, I realized.
This, our first kiss, was at our wedding, even if this was a ridiculous stunt that we would both laugh about in the morning and then rip up the marriage license.
Maybe we could eat breakfast together before we went our separate ways, after he sobered up.
But thiskiss.
How had I gone my whole life without this kiss? I was melting inside, my brain turning to goo and then mist, dissipating. I ran my hands up to his shoulders, his so-broad shoulders, the fine material of his suit jacket catching on old calluses on my palms, but warmth from his body filtered through the cloth. Touching him was so taboo. It felt like I was molesting him, committing a sin by fondling something too perfect, God’s work of art.
His lips caressed mine, slowly drawing out every sensation, a decadent dessert of a kiss.
Trembling crawled over my feet and up my legs. I wasn’t used to this. I wasn’t used tolikingit.
I’d giggled along with Jimmy’s married sisters when they’d talked about kissingand more,but I didn’t really get it. I thought something might be wrong with me. Maybe I didn’t like kissing. Maybe I didn’t like guys. Maybe it wasme.
But Jimmy’s family’s church had gotten into my head, and they’d told me what I was feeling wasn’t important.
Going along with everybody else was the important thing.
