This isn’t a one-way ticket to hell.I can handle this.
“Laura,” the official says, “do you take Antoine to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health? If you do, please say I do.”
I switch off my brain and let my mouth pronounce, “I do.”
The official turns to Isabelle. “The rings, please.”
Isabelle sends me a look of gratitude for not bolting mid-ceremony and gestures to an assistant who brings the wedding bands. Antoine and I slip them on each other’s ring fingers.
“By the authority vested in me,” the official declares grandly, “I now pronounce you a married couple. Antoine, you may kiss Laura.”
Oh, no. No, no, no!
Antoine steps toward me. He moves slowly, like he’s giving me time to let him know if I don’t want to be kissed. I am paralyzed, my breath shallow, and my knees lock in place.
It’s just a kiss. I’ve kissed a stranger in a nightclub once or twice. No biggie.
Antoine leans down toward me. I turn my face up. He smells clean and fresh. Not sure what cologne he’s wearing, or if it’s just soap, but I like it. Our eyes meet. The paying viewers in the back of the room cheer us on.
Antoine’s lips touch mine, soft and gentle. I appreciate it. I also like that he keeps his arms at his sides and doesn’t try anything funny with his tongue.The tension in my shoulders eases as I realize he’s not going to turn up the heat. What’s happening is a low-intensity, no-drama, PG-13 interaction. It’s romantic on the surface, but devoid of any erotic charge.
We stay docked for a few more seconds to make sure the public doesn’t feel cheated.
Well done, Antoine!
Just as I expect him to step back, he leans in a little closer. His lips part. Immediately, mine do too—of their own volition. Our breaths mingle. It’s shockingly pleasant. And then it’s over.
He draws back and smiles at me benignly, like we just shook hands on a business deal.
Isabelle’s voice booms, “There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen! Laura and Antoine are officially married!”
Everyone cheers. I force a smile. Cameras swivel toward us, capturing the moment from every angle. Antoine’s lips curve upward. His eyes meet mine again. I can’t quite read the expression in them. Amusement? Annoyance? A bit of both?
Well, this is it.
I did it. To punish my overbearing parents and my underwhelming ex, I married a tattooed stranger in a yellow tuxedo.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LAURA
The wedding reception is bubbling with exaggerated cheer. Glasses clink and laughter echoes through the room, but I’m as uncomfortable as I can be between the lights, the cameras, and Antoine’s blinding yellow tuxedo.
Antoine, on the other hand, seems just as detached as he was at the altar. The man hasn’t flinched all day. Not when we repeated the vows for the deputy mayor. Not when we kissed. Not even when I spilled champagne on his shoes. Whether it’s self-control or carelessness, his composure is impressive.
A production assistant standing next to the cameraman points toward my parents. She wants us to go talk to them.
Will we get a red card if we don’t?
Unfortunately, Antoine stands up and casts me an expectant look. I heave myself from my chair, and we make our way to my family’s table. The cameras follow.
When we reach it, nothing happens. My mom, dad, and Aunt Mei continue eating in synchronized disapproval. I clear my throat. Mom looks up at Antoine like he’s a two-headed alien who just abducted her daughter. Aunt Mei stabs her food with her fork again and again. Dad stares at Antoine with anexpression so sour I have no doubt he’s hoping it dissolves my new husband into a puddle of fizzling yellow goo.
“Bonsoir,” Antoine says, his voice cool. “My name is Antoine Bellay. I’m thrilled to meet you.”
Dad keeps chewing. Mom’s eyes narrow at Antoine. Aunt Mei doesn’t even look up.
Lovely.
