"Do you, Asha Fairfield, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
The room spins slightly. Trigger's hands tighten around mine, grounding me. This is it. The moment where I either commit to this lie entirely or lose everything I've been working toward. No going back after this. No undoing these words once they're spoken in front of everyone who matters.
I look at Trigger, really look at him, and something in his expression shifts. The practiced charm falls away for just a second, and I see something else there. Vulnerability, recognition that we're both about to cross a line we can't uncross.
His jaw is set, a muscle jumping there that betrays his own tension despite his steady voice moments ago. And those eyes…they're not mocking or amused now. They're...asking something. Checking in. Making sure I'm still in this with him.
"I do." My voice comes out quieter than I intended, but steady enough.
"Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"
Lies. All lies. This is a business arrangement. This is temporary. This is?—
"I do."
The words hang in the air between us, and Trigger's eyes darken with something I can't quite name.
"The rings?" Reynolds asks.
Rings. We don't have... The thought I had is paused as Trigger reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring.Where did he get a ring?He must catch my expression because the corner of his mouth lifts slightly, just barely. Always prepared. Always three steps ahead. The ring is simple, a thin band of white gold that catches the light. Nothing elaborate, nothing showy.
Reynolds nods to Trigger. "Repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."
Trigger takes my left hand, and I watch as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.How does it fit perfectly?
"With this ring," Trigger says, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, "I thee wed."
The metal is warm from being in his pocket. Or maybe my skin is just cold. Everything feels surreal, like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
But then Trigger's fingers linger on mine for a moment longer than necessary, his thumb brushing over the ring he's just placed there, and the gesture is so unexpectedly tender that my breath catches.
Stop. Stop reading into this. It's an act. All of it.
But God, he's good at it. The way he's looking at me right now—like I'm the only person in this room, like this matters, like we matter—I almost believe it myself.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Kentucky," Reynolds says, and my stomach drops because I know what's coming next, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Husband and wife.
The words echo in my head, bouncing around like they're trying to find purchase, trying to mean something.
"You may kiss the bride."
Shit. Trigger's eyes meet mine, and I know he can tell I forgot about this part. He can see in all my plans that this is the one thing I left unaccounted for. I know he said I'd need to get comfortable with his touch, to learn to like it, that his mouth would have to cover mine if we were going to sell the lie. But with everyone watching, waiting, expecting, and my father still standing somewhere behind us, calculating, this isn't how I wanted it to happen. It's not how I wanted to learn to like it.
Then, surprising me yet again, Trigger doesn't miss a beat, pulling me flush against his chest, one hand sliding to the small of my back, the other coming up to cup my face. To the crowd, it must look like the beginning of a passionate kiss. But instead of closing the distance, he dips me away from the audience. His forehead presses against mine as he takes a second to gaze into my eyes, to let the weight of what just happened between us settle. For a second, it feels real, like we both actually want this, like maybe there doesn't have to be an end date.
He angles his head, his cheek brushing mine as his mouth hovers just beside my ear. "Relax," he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. "I'm not going to kiss you."
My hands come up instinctively, fisting in his shirt. To anyone watching, it looks like I'm pulling him closer. Really, I'm just trying to stay upright as my knees threaten to give out. His fingers thread through my hair, and he tilts us just so. From every angle in the room, it would look like our lips are locked, like we're lost in a deep, intimate kiss. The crowd erupts in cheers and applause.
"Breathe," he whispers, and I realize I've been holding my breath. "Just a few more seconds. Need to make it believable, and I take my time."
"You're enjoying this," I accuse, my lips barely moving.
I feel his smile. "Immensely."
"I hate you."
