Page 84 of The Fine Line
“Or should I say… Sugar Baby?”
I punch his arm, and just like that, the heaviness lifts.
Mom pokes her head back in, Dad in tow this time—looking less than thrilled to be here. “Everything’s ready! Let’s get you two married!”
“Okay, we’re coming,” I exhale. “Okay. Quickie ceremony. Say ‘I do.’ Sign some papers. Take a few pictures. Done.”
“It’s going to be fine,” Rhett says. “The ceremony is the least of our worries.”
“Great. But I’d really love to stress about one thing at a time, if that’s okay.” I grab my mini veil and start pacing. “This is fine. It’s going to be totally fine.”
I spin around and pin the veil in. “Okay. I’m ready. Let’s do this.”
I catch him looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
I raise my brows.
“You look so goddamn pretty, Caroline.”
“Oh,” I mutter, blinking. “Thanks.”
There’s a pause. His throat bobs with a swallow.
“I’ll meet you at the altar,” he says, then slips out the door.
And a minute later, I’m doing the same.
The chapel is small and dimly lit, with a red velvet runner and silk flowers that somehow manage to look both over-the-top and half-done at the same time. The officiant stands under an arch of fake roses, holding a laminated script and grinning like he’s paid to do it.
“Alright, lovebirds,” he says, gesturing for us to begin. “Let’s do this thing.”
I make my way slowly down the aisle, my heels clicking too loud in the awkward hush. Rhett waits at the front, stiff in his suit, his hands clenched in front of him. His eyes flick up as I approach, but he doesn’t really look at me. I guess I don’t really look at him either.
When I reach them, the officiant claps his hands lightly. “If the two of you could please join hands.”
I turn slowly to face Rhett. His jaw is tight. We both hesitate, but eventually Rhett offers me his hands. I take them, trying to control my face as I do.
The officiant begins his speech—some recycled spiel about love being patient and kind and the journey of life—but I can barely hear it. I keep glancing up at Rhett, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. Because it keeps me from thinking.
He alternates between staring at our hands and just past me, as if he’s somewhere else entirely. When the vows portion begins, there’s a subtle twitch in his jaw as he swallows.
The officiant cues us to repeat-after-me him, and we push through the lines mechanically. When we get to one vow in particular—“to love you and stand by you in good times and in bad”—I’m the first to speak, and Rhett’s hands tighten on mine as I say it. I look up, and that’s the first time I find his gaze locked solid on mine.
When it comes time for the rings, we both shake a little as weslide them onto each other’s fingers. I think it’s the moment it finally hits us both.
We join hands again, and my eyes trail down to Rhett’s left one. Where the wedding band now sits. The one he picked out for himself—black, with a thin stripe of white gold running through its center. To match mine, I guess.
“And now,” the officiant says brightly, drawing my attention back to him, “by the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada and the Internet—I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
There’s a beat.
“And since you’ve requested to skip the kiss…” He gestures awkwardly. “Maybe a nice hug?”
We look at each other for a moment. Then we nod in agreement at the same time, like we’re being asked to do a trust exercise. In some ways, I guess we are. Maybe the biggest one of all.
