“You’re grimacing,” Jason said. “Probably with concentration, but it isn’t a happy look.”
“Third time’s a charm,” George said in a bracing tone.
Tarryn shuffled back to the side, trying not to let her irritation show. There were a hundred things she could be doing right now—even her overdue dental visit would be preferable.
With a practiced smile, George again extended her hands. “Tarryn and Sophie.”
Small steps, head up, smile. You’re going to see Sophie. Smile.Somehow, she made it to George at the same time as Sophie, and she placed her hand in George’s.
“Friends, we are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Tarryn and Sophie.” George stepped back and joined Tarryn’s hand with Sophie’s.
The electric buzz of Sophie’s touch was even more intense than last time. Sophie was staring at her as if Tarryn was her heart and soul, her eternal love.How does she do it?Tarryn gazed back, pushing down the uncomfortable nature of the pretend wedding and channeling her attraction to Sophie.
George was saying something about the joining of two hearts and two women in a bond of love and matrimony. The words washed over her, and she stayed focussed on Sophie, on her intense grey eyes, the soft pink flush on her cheeks, her full smiling lips and narrow chin. Her blonde hair was messy, as if she’d washed it this morning and then finger-combed it. It fell in artful disarray to just below her ears.
Perfect.
The word drifted into Tarryn’s mind, and she tightened her fingers on Sophie’s. How long until she could kiss her? She kept the smile until her cheeks ached.
“Oh, that won’t do at all.” Phyll marched up to them. “Sophie and Tarryn, move a little further apart. You’re blocking George. Keep holding hands, though. Both hands. Face each other, side-on to the audience. We don’t want to see your backs. And Tarryn, I know you’re trying, dear, but you look like a cow waiting to be milked. More emotion in your face, please.”
“I’m a metalworker not an Oscar winner,” Tarryn snapped.
“Noted. But can you try a bit harder? Please?” Phyll asked.
“We’ll continue from here,” George said.
Sophie shuffled around until she was side-on to the audience and took Tarryn’s other hand in hers. “You’re doing great,” she whispered. “It will get easier.”
“When?” Tarryn blew out a breath.
“When we kiss.” Sophie arched an eyebrow, and her eyes sparkled with mischief.
An explosion of heat soared up into Tarryn’s chest. Oh yes. It would all be worthwhile then. She stifled a laugh. Unless Phyll wanted to stage-manage their kiss as well. She could imagine her getting up close, nudging them into place.
“Wait and see.” Tarryn wiggled her eyebrows at Sophie and winked.
Phyll sighed. “You shouldn’t be talking. You’re supposed to be listening to George’s words on the importance of marriage.”
“They’re figuring out how best to make it work,” George said. “Isn’t that right, girls?”
She’d overlook the “girls” seeing as how George had saved them from another of Phyll’s lectures. And to George, all butch swagger in her leathers, they probably were just girls.
“Now the important part,” George said. “Do you, Sophie, take this woman, Tarryn, to be—do you have a preference as to the term? Wife? Partner? Spouse?”
Tarryn shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Go with wife,” Phyll said. “It’s more traditional.”
“Your wedded wife,” George continued.
“I do,” Sophie said. Her hands shook in Tarryn’s.
“And do you, Tarryn, take this woman, Sophie, to be your wedded wife?”
Tarryn opened her mouth to say the words, but they stuck in her throat. Fake or not, the words were everything she’d always objected to. Possession, ownership, an outdated institution where women were subservient to men—even if it was now two women getting married. She tried again, but the words still wouldn’t come. They wedged in her throat, her breath caught behind them.
George regarded her calmly. “Let’s move on. Tarryn obviously knows the words.” She cleared her throat. “I now pronounce you wed. You may kiss.”
