Page 32 of Pucking Strong

Blinking my eyes clear, I glance up, meeting his quiet gaze.

“Tell me the truth. Why are you marrying me?”

“For Karolina,” I reply, praying this earnest feeling in my heart is reflected in my eyes. “Henrik, I swear it.”

“She means everything to me,” he presses.

“I know.”

“She is my only reason for standing here.”

“I know,” I say again. “She’s my reason too.”

He holds my gaze. “Is she your only reason?”

I won’t lie to him again. Swallowing my nerves, I square my shoulders. “She’s the only reason that matters. Trust me, Henrik. I’ll not fail you. Or her.”

Silence stretches between us as the seconds tick by. Finally, he nods. “Then shall we do this?”

“Yeah. I’m good.”

The officiant raises a brow at Henrik, waiting. Henrik nods, and the officiant continues the ceremony. I measure this moment by the rapid beating of my heart as Henrik doesn’t take his eyes from me. He’s so calm, so steady. The officiant pauses and Henrik says, “I do.” He says it in English, no doubt for my benefit.

A few more words are spoken, and then they’re both looking to me. I know what’s expected. I’m ready to play my part in this charade. Heart pounding, I look only at Henrik. He nods in reassurance. “I do,” I declare.

And then it’s over. The officiant says a few quick words before he closes the book. Henrik visibly relaxes. Reaching over the lectern, he shakes the older man’s hand.

Wait …

The officiant pulls a pen from his pocket, still talking to Henrik. He hands him the pen, pointing with his finger to the signature line on our marriage license.

“Wait,” I hear myself say.

Henrik glances up, pen poised over the license. “What?”

“Well … is that it? We’re married? Just like that?”

“Once we both sign this, we are.” He scratches his name on the signature line. Then he’s holding out the pen to me.

“But—” I press a hand to my chest, leaning away.

“What?” he says again.

“But we didn’t even kiss.” I glance between them. “Is it even legal if we don’t kiss? That seals the deal, right?”

“This makes it legal,” Henrik replies, gesturing to the license with the pen.

“Sign with your full name, if you please,” says the officiant.

I feel empty, hollowed out. This was my wedding day, and there was no jumping the broom. No teary-eyed family, clapping and cheering for me. No pictures. No champagne. Nothing to mark this moment except two names hastily scratched on a page.

Stuffing all my emotions in a box, I take two steps over to Henrik’s side and pluck the pen from his hand. I look down at the marriage license. It’s in Swedish, of course. I could be agreeing to donate all my organs right now. Or transferring all my worldly goods into his name. I wouldn’t know. This is an exercise in blind faith.

“Just here,” says the officiant, tapping the blank line next to Henrik’s signature.

Heart in my throat, I sign my full name, Theodore Malik O’Connor. My slanting cursive glimmers up at me in shiny blue ink. I hand the pen back to my husband. “There. We’re married.”

Married to Henrik Karlsson, and I didn’t even get a kiss.

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