Page 52 of War

AVA

Me: I’m trying not to freak out right now, but I’m getting married today.

Me: In like five minutes, actually.

Me: And I haven’t told Mom or Dad.

Me: Currently sitting on a bench in town hall waiting for the clerk. Tyler has barely looked at me all morning. I can’t help but feel like I’m letting you down. When I moved to Boston, I promised I would live for me. No more putting other people first. But I swear, Andrea, this is what I want. Even if Tyler ignores me for the next two decades. Even if we only interact when it comes to the kids. Because I want to be their mom more than anything. Is that pathetic? Maybe. Yes, I love my job and I have amazing friends. But after today, I’ll still have all of that. I’ll keep them, and now I’ll also get to keep Josie. So I’m sure you’re thinking that I’m back to doing things for others instead of myself, but I swear I’m more selfish than that. I’m doing it for me. I do want this. And also, I secretly want

“We’reready for you.”

I jolt in my seat and manage to hit Send without finishing my message. Oh well, I’ll text my sister again when we’re done.

Tyler is already standing, and god, does he look good. Over and over this morning, I’ve had to remind myself that he’s not wearing the perfectly tailored suit for me. He’s going straight from here to the airport, and travel suits are a must.

But each time I look at him, I find it hard to breathe. He’s always gorgeous, but he’s never looked better than he does now.

Except on Christmas morning, when he and the kids wore matching pajamas, and he sat crisscross on the floor with Scarlett in his lap, face lit up as he watched her and Josie and Brayden open presents.

God, Ava. And you’re trying to convince yourself that you aren’t attracted to your groom? Good luck there.

In my defense, anyone would be attracted to my groom. The blue of his tie brings out the color of his eyes, making them sparkle. Though his dark hair is styled, it’s still a little wild, since he’s been running his hands through it, and the damn tattoos I still haven’t gotten to explore properly peek out from the collar of his shirt.

He holds out his hand to me. “Come on, wifey. You have the rest of your life to ogle me. Better not make the clerk wait.”

I roll my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “Just when I was thinking about how pretty you are, you had to go and open your mouth.”

Tyler barks out a laugh and shakes his head as he wraps his hand around mine. Once I’m standing, he leads me toward the open door.

I never could have pictured my wedding looking like this. Not that I’ve ever been the kind of girl to picture a perfect wedding day. My sister and I were more concerned about making it to prom. Then college. A wedding seemed like too much to hope for, and a wedding without my sister at my side was something I refused to picture at all.

But if I were the type of girl to picture her wedding, I can’t say I would have conjured up the image before me. A small, tidy room with no windows and a middle-aged man wearing a taupe suit and a toupee? Nope. Never.

“Do you have your own witnesses?” he asks without looking up.

The woman who led us in replies before we have the chance. “His attorney arranged for Janice and me to stand in.”

“Great,” he says, focus still fixed on the paperwork in his hands.

Tyler pulls out a beige plastic chair for me. It’s a bucket seat, the kind that moves when a person sinks into it, kind of boomeranging back and forth. I lace my fingers and cross my ankles, suddenly feeling incredibly foolish for having stressed about what to wear today. It’s not even white. And I almost always wear white. It’s a cream-colored sweater dress and the only thing I brought with me to Tyler’s that seemed suitable for my freaking wedding.

If that’s what this is. It feels more like a boring meeting.

“All right, Mr. Warren, if you could just sign right here,” he says, his voice monotone.

Tyler angles forward and drags the pen across the white paper with practiced ease. Makes sense. He probably signs lots of autographs. Though there’s no way he actually read the document.

“And Miss…” The man trails off, having no idea what my name is now that the form is no longer in front of him.

“Mrs. Warren works just fine,” Tyler says gruffly. “It’s the only name that matters now. Right, wifey?”

With a heavy sigh, I slide the paper closer. Is it possible to kill a man with a pen? Looks like it’d make a semi-decent weapon.

Beside me, Tyler chuckles. “Just sign the paper, Vicious. You can plan my demise later.”

Huffing—and irritated that he can read me so well—I sign the damn marriage certificate, then I slide back into my chair. “Are the vows next?”

The man puts his fingers on the paper and spins it, then signs it himself and pulls out a rubber stamp. “You’re all set. Congrats”—he looks at the paper, stamp held aloft—“Mr. and Mrs. Warren.” With athunk, he marks our marriage certificate with his seal.

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