A small Polaroid camera clicked; the clerk snapped a photo for the records. The lighting was awful. My hair was frizzing. Ledger looked like he’d just survived a natural disaster.
Perfect.
“Congratulations,” the officiant said warmly. “You’re now legally married.”
My stomach dropped.
Ledger’s shoulders visibly stiffened.
We exchanged a look. Not excitement. Not joy.
Just identical expressions of:
What did we just do?
The paperwork portionwas somehow worse. We all crammed into the clerk’s office, where a scanner beeped relentlessly and a water cooler gargled in the corner like it was dying.
Ledger and I signed the final documents, the ones that made everything—our living arrangement, his sponsorship eligibility, our fake marriage—official. Final. Binding.
My signature trembled.
Ledger’s pen hovered for a second before he pressed it down. He swallowed hard.
Talon gave Ledger a look bordering on stern disbelief. “You good, man?”
Ledger blinked slowly. “Not even a little.”
Ridge clapped him on the back. “Congrats, buddy! If you ever need a pep talk about commitment, do not ask me. I will only make things worse.”
Ledger nodded. “Noted.”
Livvi wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “How do you feel?”
“Like I missed several steps,” I muttered.
My stomach twisted, a slow, queasy roll.Missed stepsdidn’t even begin to cover it. I’d skipped the proposal. The flowers. The “I want to be with you forever” conversations couples were supposed to have. The planning, the excitement, the moment where you look at the person you love and think,yes, this is right.I’d skipped straight to the paperwork. The signatures. The part where everything becomes real without any of the parts that make it meaningful. And the queasiness wasn’t justnerves. It was the shock of realizing how far this was from anything I’d ever pictured for myself.
When we stepped back out into the hallway, the fluorescent lights felt brighter. Harsher. Like the universe was illuminating the absurdity of what we’d just done.
Livvi bounced on her toes. “Group photo!”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” she insisted, already asking the clerk to take our photo.
“This isn’t a celebration,” Ledger pointed out.
“But it’s memories,” she countered.
Ridge pressed his face between us, grinning like a menace. Talon sighed but stepped in behind us. Livvi quickly joined, tucking into Talon’s side.
When the photo was taken and Livvi’s phone was returned, she looked at the screen and dissolved into laughter. “You both look like you’re being held hostage.”
“That’s because we are,” I said. “By each other. Legally.”
Ledger made a choking sound that might have been a laugh or a cry. Hard to tell.
We walked outside into the warm spring air, and for a moment, no one said anything. Cars whooshed past on the road. A man walked his dog across the crosswalk. It was a perfectly ordinary Wednesday.
