Ledger choked on air. “Yep. Ready.”
I swallowed hard.
This wasn’t supposed to feel huge. It was supposed to feel logical. Practical. A deal.
But as Ledger angled his body slightly toward mine, shoulders tense, eyes storm-dark and unreadable, something shifted. Something unsettled. Like the air itself was caught betweenwrongandnecessary.
“Do you have vows prepared?” the officiant asked pleasantly.
“No,” Ledger and I said in unison.
The officiant nodded like this was normal, like people got married every day without vows or witnesses or sense. “No problem. I’ll just use the standard script.”
The ceremony was so fast, I almost missed it. The officiant spoke in a friendly monotone, reading from a sheet of paper she’d clearly recited nine hundred times. Ledger repeated his lines with that clipped, tense voicehe used during swim interviews. I tried not to stumble over mine.
My chest felt tight, like there was too much air inside and not enough space for it. My brain kept trying to launch a protest:This isn’t real. This doesn’t count. This doesn’t mean anything.
But every time Ledger’s voice joined mine, calm and even, something fluttered in my stomach. Annoying. Unhelpful. Entirely unnecessary.
When it came time to sayI do,my voice barely came out.
Ledger’s came out stronger, but only just.
“By the power vested in me by the state of Florida,” the officiant said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Livvi gasped loudly. Ridge clapped once, like we’d scored half a point. Talon rubbed his forehead.
Ledger and I stared at each other.
“Oh,” I said, brilliantly.
“Yep.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s … it.”
The officiant beamed. “Would you like to exchange a kiss?”
My brain went static. Kiss? On the lips? No. No, no, no?—
Ledger’s eyes flicked to mine, equally panicked. We both shook our heads at the same time.
“Cheek is fine,” I blurted.
“Cheek,” he agreed instantly.
The officiant nodded, bless her diplomatic heart.
Ledger leaned in, slow and hesitant, likeapproaching a skittish animal. His hand didn’t touch me. His breath didn’t brush my cheek. Just the lightest, quickest press of his lips, barely a whisper against my skin. More air than contact.
But something zinged through me anyway—sharp and electric, like I’d just touched a static-charged doorknob.
No. Nope. Absolutely not. My brain slammed a mental door shut.
This wasn’t arealkiss. It didn’t mean anything. It was a technicality. A procedural courtesy. A … whatever.
I forced a slow exhale.
He stepped back immediately, ears visibly flushing.
Well. That was … a thing.
