“Now, who has the rings?” The officiant—I forgot his name—shattered my thoughts.
“Uh, we don’t have any.” Jack explained, his tone even and calm. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”
It’s not like we’d sat down for a premarital consultation with the guy. My twenty-four hours back in Nashville had been a whirlwind. We’d driven both our vehicles back from Chicago and settled Kacey and I into the upstairs bedroom of Jack’s house. Today we’d waited hours for a marriage license, reserved a time block with an officiant and—bam—here we were. Who had time for conversations about rings?
“Oh, no worries. Lots of people get married without rings. We will say the vows still if that’s okay with you.”
“Sure.”
“Jackson, you may repeat after me.”
Jack’s throat worked with a swallow. Maybe he was more nervous and worried than he seemed. He followed the officiant through the phrases, never taking his eyes from mine. My heart skipped under his gaze. Jack’s intensity was too much. He was going to sell this as the real deal to the officiant. I glanced past him at the brightly lit windows, at Kacey, at the floor, at our hands. Anywhere but his intense blue.
The look in his eyes was reminiscent of the one he had on ouractualwedding day. Promising and serious. Flamed with desire and radiating a level of tenderness most women only dream of. I’d always loved that about him. Tough around everyone else but tender for me alone.
But this wasn’t real. Not this time. This was a game we were playing to win the millions. An emotionally dangerous, life-altering game.
I needed oxygen. He was unfairly handsome. Time had done nothing but lend additional ruggedness to his masculine features.
His thumbs traced my knuckles. The pitch of his voice was low, throaty. “Miranda, I give you my heart. I promise fromthis day forward you shall not walk alone. May my heart be your shelter, and my arms be your home.”
Then it was my turn. I stuttered a few times and mixed a couple words around, but I did it. I said them, and we were almost done.
The officiant rambled on about a couple things, and I wished he would hurry. Every passing minute made me feel hotter and stickier. I wished I could collapse into a chair. Was my make-up running? I hoped not.
“And with that, inasmuch as you, Jackson, and you, Miranda, have announced the truths that are already written in your hearts, by the power vested in me by the state of Tennessee, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
We hadn’t discussed anything, really. Least of all the ceremonial kiss. Jack did say it didn’t have to be a real marriage, but I wasn’t sure how this part would pan out. My insides clenched.
“Jackson, you may kiss your bride.”
Jack’s expression was almost apologetic. His dark brows slanted at the sides as he leaned down without a smile. This was purely obligatory. My heart raced with a cocktail of anticipation and dread.
His large gentle hand came up to tilt my chin upward, and I instinctively rose on tiptoes, grabbing the lapels of his coat for balance. To my surprise, he didn’t go for my lips. His thumb guided my face a hair to the side, and he kissed my cheek at the corner of my mouth.
Just my cheek.
My breath tumbled out of my lungs as I dropped down. A cheek peck. I could live with that. But disappointment shot through me. For a delicious moment, I thought I’d get to taste his lips again.
Which was silly. Because tasting him would only complicate a situation that was far too complicated already.
But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about kissing him since the attic two days ago.
Hot, sticky red erupted over my face, neck, and ears. I blinked back tears. All the feels in my body made me ache with confusion. This was officially the worst tease someone could think up. I was going to walk back into life with Jack—familylife with Jack. It was the thing I always wanted. And here I was. Stepping into a dream I couldn’t actually have.
What the heck is wrong with me?
I took a steadying breath as Jack straightened and the officiant said, “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Barkley, you’re hitched.”
Mrs. Barkley.
Never thought I’d hear that again.
EIGHTEEN
Jack
Ipoured myself a hot cup of coffee, eager to take up my neighborhood watch on the front porch. I loved greeting the day and usually took to the porch chairs much earlier. It was going on 9:00 a.m. Upstairs was quiet and absent of Kacey’s tiny pitter-pattering footsteps. So I held the doorknob as I eased the door closed behind me.
