25
Ray
“Do you,Rayen Logan, take Jack Wilde Griffin as your lawfully wedded husband?”
My heart pounding like a drumroll, I blinked at the smiling, blond, middle-aged woman in the black skirt suit—so glad it wasn’t an Elvis impersonator officiating.
My fingers crushed the folded paper napkin Jack had given me moments ago, saying something about me needing it.
“Ray?” Jack’s grip tightened on my hand, bringing me back to him, and my panic subsided at the immense love and the calmness I saw in his warm gaze. It seeped through me like a gentle hug. I nodded. “I do—yes, I do,” I said, my voice shaky.
A smile tugged Jack’s mouth as the officiator asked him, “Do you, Jack Griffin, take Rayen Logan as your lawfully wedded wife?”
His gaze held mine. “With all that I am, yes.”
She said something more, but I was lost in Jack’s eyes. Then he was slipping a diamond-studded platinum band on my ring finger. He lifted my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles. I stared at it blankly, tears blurring my sight, my emotions all over the place.
He got a ring for me?
“I don’t have one for you,” I whispered.
“It’s all right.”
“No—wait!” I tugged off my thumb ring, grabbed his hand, and slipped the beaten silver band onto his ring finger, only it stuck on his knuckle. He laughed, then cupped my chin and kissed me tenderly on the mouth. “This has to be the happiest day of my life.”
Overwhelmedwas too weak a word to describe how I felt in that moment, seeing his smile. His immense joy. I said the only thing that mattered, “I love you.”
“And I you.” He pressed his brow to mine. “I now know what love is, and it’s all because of you.”
At his quiet words, tears fell. “You’re making me cry. A lot.” I grumbled, scrubbing my face with the napkin he’d given me.
“As long as they’re happy tears. But I’d be careful with that.” He nodded at my paper napkin. “Keep it safe.”
Ooo-kay. I collected my small bouquet of pink rosebuds Jack had given me from the dark-haired lady who bore witness to our marriage. Music drifted to us, concluding the short ceremony. Then we were signing the marriage certificate. Cheap, colorful confetti rained over us, thrown by our three guests.
I’d never thought I would get married. But here, in the middle of this tiny pink chapel, one of the many dotting the strip, wearing my flowing black Indian skirt and sleeveless top with the turquoise embroidered neckline, I had.
I was now Mrs. Rayen Griffin—née Logan.
The piano guy, the witness lady, and the officiator smiled and congratulated us, then wandered away.
“C’mon, Mrs. Griffin. I have a flight to catch back to San Francisco,” Jack said, putting the marriage license inside the pocket of his leather jacket.
He was leaving?
“Now?” I stared at him, disappointment weighing me down like lead. “You’re not staying?”
He sighed, his expression one of regret. “I can’t, Ray. I’d be in you so fucking fast—it’s how damn badly I need you. And it’s likely I wouldn’t leave for several days. Right now, it’s too risky to linger and tempt fate. I have a lot riding on how this week plays out. But we have to keep up the pretense that we’re not together for the moment. It’s why I must go.”
Stupid Margo Blackheart. Wedding night ruined.
Jack laughed. “Blackheart?”
Yup, I’d said it out loud. I scrunched my face.
“It’ll be over soon, kitten,” Jack said. “And then we’ll have our wedding night.”
Blowing out an unsteady breath, and about to wipe my still-damp eyes, I stopped and opened the napkin instead. I blinked at the written words, then gaped. And here I’d thought he was being quirky when he told me not to lose it. “Jack, what is this?”
