My wife is wearing a pretty dress I had Miss Kevin put out for her, a pale violet that matches the bright tones in her eyes. Her blonde hair is smooth over her shoulders and I made her put her wedding ring - which I found shoved in a drawer in her bedside table - back on her hand.
“You’ve not been out of the house for a while. I’m taking you to lunch. We just have a bit of business first.” She’s eyeing me the way you look at deviled eggs left out in the sun. Squinty and suspicious.
We’re turning into Parliament Square and she stares out the window at the stern, grey edifice of the Edinburgh City Chambers. It is impressive looking. However, given that my family owns most of the city council members makes it all a little less majestic to me.
Helping her out of the car, I enjoy the little frown she’s wearing. “What are we doing here?”
“Paperwork.”
“Why, if it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. Cameron MacTavish!” The Lord Provost of Edinburgh rises to greet us as we’re guided into his chambers.
“Hello, Alan. I need your help with a bit of bureaucracy,” I say smoothly.
“Oh? How can I help?” He smiles at Morana a bit lecherously and I want to punch his expensive dental work down his throat.
“My sweet bride was tooling around online and wanted to look up our marriage license. You can imagine her disappointment when she couldn’t find it.”
“Cameron…” she hisses, her pretty face flushing red.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. It can take up to eight weeks for many official documents to be registered properly. I can send a clerk down to bring you a copy if you wish.”
“Oh, that’s not-”
“Yes,” I cut in, “we would appreciate it.”
It might take two months for his clerks to get their paperwork sorted but less than ten minutes for a puffing city employee to hurry into Baird’s office with our marriage license.
“Yes, you see? Dated three weeks ago, Mrs. MacTavish,” he smiles weakly at Morana, who’s looking over the paperwork dubiously.
“Thank you, Graham,” Baird says, waving him off. “Well then, is there anything else I can do for you, my friends?”
“Yes,” I slide my arm around her waist. “I would like you to marry us.”
He frowns, “But, as you see, you two are already-”
“I’d like you to marry us again,” I interrupt.
“You’d like a renewal of your vows,” he clarifies.
“Yes, and another certificate.”
“Cameron, this is ridiculous,” Morana whispers.
“Not in the slightest, darling,” I kiss her hand, smiling down at her mortified face.
Baird shrugs. “Well, of course.” Calling in his assistant as a witness, he gives a stirring speech about the sanctity of marriage - entertaining from a man that I have on video cavorting around a hotel room in his boxers with two women young enough to be his daughters - and turns us to look at each other.
“Please repeat after me: ‘I, Cameron MacTavish,do solemnly and sincerely declare that I know of no legal impediment to my marrying…” he checks his notes,“Morana Ivanova MacTavish.’”
I say the words, lingering over her name.
He repeats the same to Morana, and even though that little frown is still planted between her eyebrows, she says the words.
“Your second declaration today is where you shall accept each other in marriage. Please now join both your hands together.”
When I take my wife’s hands they’re chilly, and shaking just a bit. Squeezing them gently, I bend my head to meet her perplexed gaze.
“Cameron, please make this declaration to Morana, ‘I solemnly and sincerely declare that I, Cameron Torquil MacTavish, accept you, Morana Ivanova MacTavish, as my lawful wedded wife to the exclusion of all others.’”
