Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(39)
But the funny thing is, I’m sort of glad it worked out that way. I’m not trying to make this arrangement with him feel different than my marriage, but there’s a part of me that likes how different it is. Eduardo and I slept together the first night we met. I’ve known Christian for more than a month and he hasn’t been inside my body yet.
Somehow, that seems like the way it should be for us.
We leave, and I stop in the doorway, smacking my forehead. “We don’t have rings. How could we have forgotten rings?”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ve got it covered.”
*
Inside Copenhagen City Hall, the wedding office smells like newspaper and efficiency as Christian Ellison promises in front of the officiant to love me. But the little quirk in Christian’s lips says my husband’s in on the joke. Only this time the joke isn’t on me. We’re both the comedians and the conductors of this love charade, and it isn’t to hurt anyone or trick an innocent party, but rather to right a wrong.
It’s a joke we’re sharing.
But when his eyes lock with mine, he says without a trace of humor or teasing, “I do.”
His words are weighty, and they hang in the air with import. For a fraction of a second, they feel honest, and my heart speeds up.
The officiant asks if I take Christian to be my husband.
“I do.” I’ve voiced those words in the past, but in this moment, I feel the shackles of the first time I said them lifting off me. “I do.”
Christian chuckles. “I do again too.”
He reaches into his pocket, takes out the rings, I presume, and holds open his palm. “A wedding gift from Erik.”
The bands are platinum and unassuming, but gorgeous in their simplicity. He holds mine up so I can see what’s engraved. The simplest words.
Thank you.
His says the same.
We exchange the rings, and the officiant declares us husband and wife.
That’s it. Our ceremony took all of five minutes, maybe less, and yet it feels more real than my lavender one in the vineyard.
We sign the final paperwork and leave city hall legally wed, with the man in the charcoal suit poised to take control of his grandfather’s company so that his brother’s soon-to-be-ex-wife can’t get her slimy paws on it.
A gift to his brother indeed.
As Christian holds open the door, I’m keenly aware that I don’t want this union to feel less than the marriage of mine that was truly false.
Because in some ways—no, in nearly every way—it already feels like more of a marriage than the one I had before. It’s an honest, open one.
On the steps, under a clear blue sky, with a view of Tivoli Gardens across the street, I grab my husband by the tie. “Do you want to kiss the bride?”
His blue eyes hook into mine, heat flashing across his irises. “So incredibly much.”
I’m nervous, my fingers shaking, as I loop my hands around his neck. My heart stutters.
Even if marriage is a sham, even if this marriage is a sham, my emotions right now are anything but. They rise in me, climbing my throat, fighting to escape. They’re unexpectedly real and true, filling me with want and perhaps that hope I felt so long ago when I played in the park as a girl and imagined this day.
This isn’t what I pictured at all.
But somehow, it feels like exactly what I need.
Christian seals his mouth to mine, and it’s a soft and tender kiss. It’s an exploration and a promise, and something about it is different from all his kisses that have come before. The gentle brush of his lips on mine makes me woozy. My knees go weak. He loops his arm tighter around my waist, tugging me close.
I’m the bride who’s not in white, who wears no perfume, who is married for a deal the second time around.
But this kiss doesn’t feel like it’s part of a pact. It feels like it could become a new way of kissing.
When at last he stops, Christian looks dazed. “You smell fantastic.”
“I’m not wearing anything.”
“I guess it’s the scent of you.”
I suppose it is.
23
Elise
His mother engulfs me in a hug. “It is so good to finally meet you.”
“And it is a delight to meet you,” I say, enjoying that we don’t have to pretend for his family—his mother knows the score. Even so, my brain lingers on one word. Finally. Everything has happened so lickety-split, I don’t know why his mother would feel like we’re finally meeting.
The three of us take seats at the outdoor café that overlooks the harbor, and we order a round of champagne. She clasps her hands under her chin and fixes a steely blue-eyed gaze on her son. Her cheekbones are carved, and I can see where Christian’s blond good looks come from. “Tell me everything about the ceremony that you didn’t let me attend this afternoon.”
Christian rolls his eyes. “Because I’m sure you’ve been dreaming of watching me get married at city hall.”
She swats his elbow. “I don’t know why you didn’t let me go.”
He gives her a look.
I smile, loving the ribbing that they give each other, but especially loving that I get to witness it. I like that he’s so open with his family, that his mom knows what we’re up to. Mostly I love that he wanted me to meet her.