Allie lifted her stare from their clasped hands to Tarryn’s face. Her expression had a fixed, stunned look, and her hand shook slightly in Allie’s grasp. Dimly, Allie was aware George was coming to the end of her part and now they were expected to participate.
“Now say after me,” George said. “Do you, Sophie, take this woman, Tarryn, to be your wedded wife?”
Her heart thundered. She could do this. It wasn’t real. She was playing a part. Allie drew on her fantasies, her dreams of a real wedding day, and channelled it all into her smile. “I do.”
The crowd cheered, and Allie looked out at them with a huge grin. That wasn’t so bad.
“And do you, Tarryn, take this woman, Sophie, to be your wedded wife?”
Tarryn licked her lips once, a quick flick of her tongue that nonetheless sent a coil of heat into Allie’s chest. She knew what that tongue could do. She knew how Tarryn kissed.
Tarryn’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. Allie had seen plenty of deer-in-headlights looks from her accounting clients—generally when caught out on a dodgy tax deduction—but Tarryn’s was the frozen, immobile look of pure panic and shock.
George shuffled her feet. “And do you, Tarryn, take this woman, Sophie, to be your wedded wife?”
Tarryn swallowed, and her fingers trembled in Allie’s clasp. “I…” Her gaze flickered around as if searching for the way out. “I can’t do this…”
Allie hoped it was quiet enough that the mics wouldn’t pick it up and broadcast it to the crowd.
“Come on, love,” a woman in the audience shouted. “If you don’t want to marry Sophie, I will!”
A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd.
“Help me, Sophie,” Tarryn whispered.
The shake in Tarryn’s voice chilled Allie to her core. The underarms of Tarryn’s linen shirt oozed like a swamp, and a bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. The day was warm, but Allie doubted Tarryn’s clammy hands were due to the sunshine—it was panic. Pure panic.
She gripped Tarryn’s hands and smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way.
“Please, Sophie,” Tarryn whispered. “Do something.”
Allie kept the smile on her face, although it felt more like a rictus. “You can do this. It’s just two words. They don’t mean anything here.”
Tarryn swallowed hard, and her hands shook despite Allie’s tight clasp. Her gaze darted around the crowd before returning to Allie’s face. Her olive skin had an ashen tinge, as if all the blood had drained to her feet. She swayed slightly.
Allie moved her thumb across the inside of Tarryn’s wrist. “Two words. Two tiny one-syllable words. You’re not really marrying me: this is for Gay Bells. For Quandong. For your town and your people. It’s okay, Tarryn. You’ve got this.”
Still Tarryn hesitated. Another bead of sweat rolled down her forehead.
Allie flung a nervous glance at George. Her smile appeared as fixed as Allie’s own, and her eyebrows were lowering toward her nose. White noise buzzed in Allie’s mind. What could she do to break Tarryn’s frozen state? She dared not look at the crowd shifting restlessly in front of the stage or at Phyll, Jason, and Kirra in the wings.
Tarryn’s hands jerked in Allie’s grasp. Was she about to bolt? Turn tail and flee the stage, leaving her and George alone? Would Phyll stomp onto stage and take Tarryn’s place? Allie stifled a nervous giggle, which died when she again looked at Tarryn’s face.
Tarryn appeared locked in her own head, a prison of her own convictions. Allie hesitated. Would it be wrong to coerce Tarryn into doing this? But she’d agreed. She was doing this for Quandong.
Allie had to try something. She took a deep breath and tugged Tarryn closer, wrapping an arm around her neck. Her other hand, still clutching the bouquet, settled on Tarryn’s waist.
“You can do this,” she whispered. Her breath puffed on Tarryn’s face.
Allie kissed her, slow and gentle. Her heart pounded. Her mind flashed with memories of the kiss they’d shared at the rehearsal, how she’d fallen into the moment, how sensual and hot it had been. How she’d wanted so much for it to continue.
She lifted her arms and wrapped them around Tarryn’s neck, pulled her closer, and breathed in the scent of her—the smell of cedar, fresh sweat, and sunshine. For a moment, she thought Tarryn was not going to respond. Her body was as unbending as steel, her lips were cool and immobile, and her heart galloped an erratic beat against Sophie’s chest.
She softened her own lips, let her tongue flick at Tarryn’s full lower lip, until finally—finally—Tarryn’s mouth relaxed under her own. It was a gradual opening, like a bud in springtime, a tentative unfurling.
Tarryn’s neck muscles lost their rigidity, and her hands rose from their fixed position at her sides to wrap around Allie’s waist.
“Can you say the words now?” Allie whispered.
