So I wasn’t surprised by how the version of me in the image clung to him, melted into him.
The next few images were us at that same altar, but with a man standing between us in a white suit with a cheesy heart-printed tie.
Then there I was putting a ring on his finger. Then him putting one on mine.
Then, of course, the kiss.
I was bent back halfway, seemingly kissing Harrison with everything in me.
Then there we were, beaming at the camera again, my hand thrust out to show off my rings.
Then I was swooped up in Harrison’s arms.
The last image was of him carrying me and kissing me at the same time.
“Oh,” the receptionist said when the front door chime sounded again. “I’ll be right back. I just need to see who that is.”
I gave her a nod, then clicked the mouse one last time.
Then there we were.
But not in image form.
In video.
My heart froze, then tripped into overdrive as I watched myself walking down the aisle.
Steadily.
No tripping, stumbling, or veering off to the side. I didn’t look nearly as drunk as I hoped I would be to make a decision like that.
The videographer panned away from me to take in Harrison instead.
And he looked… enamored.
There was a flutter in my chest that I tried to ignore as I watched us stand at the altar, all smiles and hand-holding.
The minister started his spiel, but it wasn’t until video-Harrison was reaching into his pocket that another memory surfaced.
I could almost feel the ring sliding up my finger, could feel the weight of it, the coolness of the metal. And, finally, the sweeping feeling in my chest.
Almost as if…
“Mrs. Valentine!” a voice said, making me jolt back upright in my seat.
One last glance at the video showed me saying “I do” to Harrison. Then he reached for his wrist for a quick second before he bent me backward and kissed me.
Turning, I saw the man from the video.
The minister.
And, I figured, Johnny.
The manager.
He was in a tan suit this time.
And his tie was full of lipstick kisses.
