My heart thumps in my chest, and I remind myself why we’re doing this. All worthy, noble, good reasons.
I am not a criminal.
At least, not morally.
“Okay.” I clap, and my heart attempts to leap from my chest. “Let’s go. This way.” My mouth is dry. I’d better keep quiet and save up for the big “I do” in a few moments.
We head into the office and chat with the justice of the peace’s secretary. “Can I see him—just for a second?”
The woman at the desk gives me a patronizing smile before getting on her phone and asking permission to let the groom in.
“Roman?” Stella’s brows furrow in question.
“I just have one request,” I tell her.
Her cheek concaves where I assume she’s biting it. I nod, assuring her that everything is fine, and in less than a minute, I am in front of Judge Merrell. A man who could put me in jail—literally. Iamabout to commit immigration fraud.
I’m not sure what I look like, but the man’s sour face softens when he sees me. “Nervous, son?”
“A little.” I swallow. “Sorry, I know you aren’t quite ready for us. But, um, my bride”—I do my best not to choke on the word—“she’s pretty private. We do have a couple friends coming to witness, and I think if you could skip that whole kiss-the-bride bit, she would greatly appreciate it.”
“You want me to skip kissing the bride?”
He’s seeing right through me. I’m certain of it. The gavel is going to come down. The handcuffs are going to come out.
And yet, I don’t want to make Stella any more uncomfortable than she already is. Just because she’s agreed to marry me doesn’t mean I’ll take advantage of the woman.
When I say nothing, the man shakes his head. “Fine. Whatever you want.”
I wait for the gavel and handcuffs. But he’s simply agreed to my request.
“I appreciate it.” I nod and see myself out.
After another curled lip from our officiant’s secretary, I look at Stella. “He wants us to wait in the hall.”
“I’ll come for you when he’s ready,” the secretary says.
“Are you sweating, Roman?” Stella’s looking up at me.
I hold the door open for her, and we step out into the hall. Callum Whitaker and his fiancée stand right outside, waiting for us.
Stella’s gaze follows mine over to the pair. “Oh,” she says, her tone more than surprised.
“They said we needed two witnesses,” I mutter.
“Crap!” She pulls her phone from her pocket. “That reminds me, I never invited Willow. One sec.” She gives a small wave to Fran and Callum before sending a quick message off to her friend.
“She’ll never make it,” I tell her.
“But she won’t be able to say that I didn’t invite her either.”
“Hey, there,” Callum says, standing from his lean against the wall. “When you asked if Fran and I could meet up with you and Stella, I thought you wanted to go to dinner.”
I shake my head—that cloudy persona that takes over whenever I talk to anyone outside the Everly family falls over me. “Nope,” I say, not bothering to elaborate.
“Okay.” Callum’s brows raise. “But the courthouse? What are we doing here?”
“Witnessing.” I clench my jaw.
