Page 42 of Sweet Nothings

The breath is knocked from my chest when she walks toward me. Her long chestnut hair is curled and pinned back, with a few wistful strands hanging loose, framing her gorgeous face. She lifts her arm and nervously adjusts her veil, straightening it on the crown of her head. The sheer fabric cascades down the length of her exposed back. Her dress is simple, with no intricate detailing, lace, or sequins. A long slit drives up the length of her leg, exposing her bare thigh with every step. The smooth, white fabric clings to her body, accentuating and hugging every curve. A deep ‘V’ cuts down the center of her breastbone. This dress was fucking made for her.

When she takes her last step and stands in front of me, she turns to hand her sister her bouquet. I take her shaking hand in mine and hold it, leading her to face me. She bends, adjusting the train of her dress behind her.

She smiles when she sees me, taking in my all-black suit.

“Hi,” she whispers, cracking a nervous smile.

I don’t answer her. I can’t. I let her go and keep my hands held together in front of me, flexing my fingers together to keep me from reaching out and touching her.

“Is something wrong?” she whispers, leaning forward and giving our officiant a nervous side glance.

“No.” I clear my throat. “It’s just...”

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.” I dig my fingers into the back of my hand. I don’t have the strength to hold back from telling her truth.

“Oh.” She blushes and lifts one shoulder as if she isn’t convinced, which is a fucking shame. “Thank you.”

“Welcome, family and friends,” our justice of the peace announces. I keep my eyes on Laurel.

The music has stopped, replaced by the continuous clicking of the photographer’s camera. The sun reflects off her shimmering skin, the setting golden glow shining in her indigo eyes as she stares up at me.

“We are gathered here to witness the marriage between Laurel Eleanor Branford and Lennon James Harding. Two souls who have found one another.”

I take her hand in mine again as our officiant continues his speech about the weight of true love and the importance of marriage. I don’t think Olivia made him aware of the details surrounding our relationship. A few words stand out here and there, but all I can focus on is Laurel standing in front of me and all the things I could do to her in this dress.

“Now, the rings,” the officiant says, holding his hand out, gesturing for us to present them.

Laurel’s eyebrows raise. “I don’t have yours.”

“I told you,” I whisper back, tugging my ring free from my pocket. “I had them covered.”

I drop the platinum ring in her hand, and she curls her fingers around it.

“Slide the ring onto Lennon’s finger and repeat after me,” the officiant recites. “I, Laurel Eleanor, take you Lennon James, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“I, Laurel Eleanor,” she begins, turning my hand over and holding it between her small, delicate fingers. She slides the ring on my finger and finishes her vows.

When she’s done, the officiant turns his attention to me.

“Same for you,” he says. “Repeat after me.”

I pull the ring from my pocket and cradle Laurel’s left hand in mine. Placing my thumb over her fourth finger, I pinch the diamond ring between my fingers and slide it onto hers. An audible gasp escapes her red-painted lips. The emerald cut diamond is large, practically taking over Laurel’s finger. The ring is a statement piece for sure, but I know that’s why it was bought in the first place. It was meant to shine. Meant to let the woman who wore it know they belonged to a Harding.

“I, Lennon James, take you Laurel Eleanor to be my lawfully wedded wife. I promise to love you, take care of you, and protect you. In sickness and in health. For richer or poorer. As long as we both shall live.”

It doesn’t matter in this moment that this is an arranged marriage. The words fall from my mouth without effort.

After placing the ring on Laurel’s finger, I hold her hands in mine once again.

Our officiant grins, holding his arms out.

“For the first time, I proudly present Mr. and Mrs. Lennon Harding. I now pronounce you man and wife.” He looks at me. “You may kiss your bride.”

Laurel’s neck bobs as she nervously swallows. Staring at me with widened eyes, the indigo color in them deepens. We haven’t kissed since the night we were together on her nineteenthbirthday. I wonder if our mouths will react, immediately falling into muscle memory.

Whether she’s conscious of it or not, she quickly sweeps her tongue across her lips and squeezes my hand, giving me the signal to go ahead and get through this part of the ceremony. I release one of her hands and wrap it around the back of her head, pulling her body flush against mine. She steps forward and wraps her arms around me. My fingers thread through her soft brown curls when my lips meet hers. She tastes sweet, like a sugar cookie mixed with her strawberry lip gloss. I breathe her in, and she moans against my lips when I don’t pull away as fast as she expects me to. I can tell by the way her body relaxes against mine.

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