“Ready,” Ridge and I say in unison.
Mr. Cohen jumps right in. As he goes through the spiel, my mind spirals.
I’m doing this. Not only am I getting married, but I’m marrying Ridge. Or should I call him by his legal name?
Adam Harris.
I’m brought out of it as Ridge shakes my hands a little. I look over and see Mr. Cohen looking at me expectantly.
I look back to Ridge, who mouths, “I do.”
“I do,” I repeat.
“For the best part now. You may kiss your bride!”
Kiss. Your. Bride.
Fuck.
I never even thought about the fact that I would have to kiss him.
Ridge steps forward and grabs me as I’m frozen. He dips me away from Mr. Cohen and dips his face close to mine. I close my eyes as I wait for the kiss that never comes. Instead, he rubs the tip of his nose against mine before setting me upright.
Did he just Eskimo kiss me?
“Let’s sign the papers, and then you can be on your way,” Mr. Cohen says, leading us over to the hood of his car.
It takes only a few minutes for us to sign the papers. When it’s all done, the lawyer grabs them and puts them in a folder.
“I’ll get this filed so that you are officially married. Congratulations. I know it might not have started on the best terms, but I hope you find happiness over the next couple of years. I will be in touch as we have some things to hash out with the trust, but overall, we are done. I shouldn’t need to see either of you for two years,” he tells us.
“Thank you, Mr. Cohen.” Ridge holds out his hand and shakes it.
“Of course. I’m only a call away should you need me.”
We stand there and watch him leave before Ridge turns to me.
“I know we said no celebrations, especially since Aspen and Maggie are going to want to do something, but I don’t feel right just letting you go home. Can we go get dinner together?” he asks, looking unsure.
“We don’t have to do this. We can live together without all of this,” I remind him.
“That sounds like a really lonely two years, Rain. I don’t want to feel like a stranger who just shares four walls with you. Or feel like I have to walk on tiptoes around you. Can we come to some sort of agreement? You can still hate me. Call me names.Be yourself, but maybe we can sometimes have dinner together? Try to make this as pleasant as possible.”
There is a hopeful tone in his voice, one that I’m not sure I want to acknowledge. I never even considered that when we got married, he would want to spend time together.
He’s right, though. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable in my home either, and avoiding one another will only cause discomfort.
“Okay. Dinner.”
“How about we drop off your truck at the clubhouse and then ride together? You can ride on the back of my bike again.”
It’s tempting—so tempting—but I’m not ready for what that means yet.
“How about we take my truck instead,” I offer.
I watch as the corner of his eye twitches, but he nods.
“Sounds good to me.”
