Trent might be mad at me when he finds out what I did. I definitely should have talked to him about it first, but paperwork, desperation, and a tiny little temper tantrum drove me to it. Also, a nurse who recognized us from our subscription channel might have had something to do with it.
Glancing back at the nurse who smiles broadly, I open the door to Trent’s room. He had a relapse of a fever yesterday, the day he was supposed to go home, so he’s still here. The doctor wants him fever free for twenty four hours before she’ll consider releasing him, and that’s fine.
He’s sitting up in bed at the moment. He’s pale but smiles as soon as he sees me. I make sure to shut the door, but I wish I could lock it so this conversation won’t get interrupted.
“What did you do?” he asks in the way he always does when I do something profoundly stupid and he has to explain what I should have done instead.
“Hear me out,” I start, fiddling with the strap of my backpack.
“Did you do something to our channel?” he immediately asks.
I have a sense of deja vu as I say, “It would probably lead to a less awkward conversation if I had.”
“Awkward as in I-started-a-porn-channel-with-my-best-friend-and-now-my-real-job-has-had-to-revise-their-ethical-behavior-policy or awkward as in I-lied-about-my-relationship-status-to-everyone-and-now-I’m-someone’s-power-of-attourney? Because I’m not mad about that. If I’m unconscious and can’t make medical decisions for myself, I trust you to make the right calls to keep me alive.”
“Right, the second one, actually.” I confess with a grimace.
Trent’s eyebrows arch in surprise. “You already did that. What are we talking about?”
“Do you know how ridiculously easy it is to get married? There are some requirements, by law, but that’s pretty fakeable as long as no one admits that it didn’t happen. You don’t even really need a judge, unless you want one.” I’m trembling, but I can’t help it.
Trent’s surprise grows to confusion. “I don’t know how to get married. I figured I would find out when the time came.”
“Normal people do that.” I’m fairly sure.
“You’re not one of the normal ones, are you?”
I shake my head, producing a paper from my backpack that I got from the courthouse before coming in today. I hand it over.
Trent takes it, reading from the top.
He presses his lips in the thin line. “Magnus. Did you print out a fake marriage license?”
I swallow hard. “In my defense, one of the nurses here knows who we are, and they heard me tell everyone you’re my husband, and then they told everyone that we’re not married, and they tried to bar me from coming in past visiting hours when spouses are allowed to stay.”
“Magnus. Court records are verifiable,” he reminds me like I don’t already know that.
“Yes, and if anyone looks us up, they’re going to find a court record dating to just before our spring break honeymoon.”
I backdated it because I didn’t want anyone questioning the legitimacy of our nuptials.
Trent takes a deep breath, slowly placing the marriage license down. He stares at me for a long minute before finallyspeaking. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now. I’m peeved that you got married without me, but I’m also impressed, which I shouldn’t be.”
I take a slow step toward him. “You’re not mad that you’re married to me, though?” Because we’re boyfriends, but we hadn’t considered the possibility of marriage. Just… “We bought a house together,” I remind him.
Trent blinks slowly. “We did.”
Trent stares at me, cheeks flushing.
I’m not sure what the flush means. It could be a return of the fever. It could be anger. It could be pleasure.
“Tell me you don’t hate me,” I beg in a whisper, realizing now that I’ve probably robbed him of a step in life that he might’ve wanted to take.
Trent slips the marriage license into the pocket of the folder and looks up at me. “I love you, Magnus. You didn’t do anything that I wasn’t going to do already. Our marriage wasn’t going to happen for a few years, because it’s stupid to rush into things even if you already know who your person is, but I don’t hate you for doing what you felt you needed to do.”
He sighs, handing me back the folder. “Will you at least kiss your groom since you decided to forego the ceremony?”
In a rush of relief, I nearly trip over my own feet to get to him. He catches me in his strong arms, wincing slightly. I almost step back, but then he tightens his grip, so I push my mouth against his, kissing him thoroughly with enthusiasm and emphatic relief. I should not be allowed to make decisions for us, because I apparently have no chill about my boy—husband.
