Page 14 of The Marriage Sham
Chapter Eight
Fen
Istraighten my tie and smooth down my suit jacket, seeing an image in the mirror that doesn’t quite look like me. I haven’t worn a full suit since I went job hunting after college. When I turned down the big archeology team offer and moved back home, I’d had to start over, taking a smaller opportunity that would allow me to live in a small town instead of some huge population center.
I never regretted that decision, enjoying my work and knowing a small town was where I belonged. But Frances had looked at me with such disdain yesterday when I showed up from work, an experience I don’t want to repeat. Granted, I’d been particularly dirty yesterday, after having to shimmy down a steep hill and assess the root damage after a tree had collapsed. There’s a road down below the hill, and if the root system is disrupted badly enough, the whole hillside could slide down onto the road. I take my job seriously and hadn’t thought twice about my appearance.
Clearly appearances matter to Frances, so I can at least put forth a bit of effort in that department on our wedding day. Well, as good as I can look in an eight-year-old suit, anyway. It fits a bit tight across the jacket and if memory serves, the pants had been more of a relaxed fit when I bought them. Guess I’ve filled out a bit over the years.
Grabbing a black box from my dresser, I head over to Frances’ house to collect her. She’d been so fun to tease last night. While we made dinner, I kept calling her Francie, and I loved the fire in her eyes each time I said it. She’d been startled when I grabbed her hand after we said grace at the table. Granddaddy sat there eating with a smile on his face, so there wasn’t much she could say in the way of argument. Her hands were soft. So soft I found my thumb stroking across her skin, just to feel that silk over and over.
Knocking on her front door, I try to control my heart rate with some deep breaths. There’s a fine line between scared and excited, but there is no mistaking that I am simply looking forward to slipping a ring on Francie’s finger and making her mine.
The door swings open, and I nearly swallow my tongue. Standing before me is a vision in white, the dress highlighting every delicious curve on her body. Her deep auburn hair is swept to one side and slightly curled. Frances is smiling shyly at me, those cheeks of hers the perfect shade of pink I’ve come to look forward to. Her dark brown eyes are highlighted with makeup, and though she looks gorgeous, she was even more stunning yesterday morning in that old, plain t-shirt.
What kind of parallel universe am I living in where this woman wants to marry me? Even for a short period of time to make her granddaddy happy?
“Is-is everything okay?” Frances is staring at me, her smile gone, replaced with uncertainty.
I pull at the collar of my shirt. “Yes, everything is most certainly okay.” I step forward and kiss her cheek. “You look stunning, Frances,” I whisper as I reluctantly pull away.
She looks down at her feet, the smile back where it belongs. “So you do remember my name, huh?” She teases me.
I chuckle then get serious. “I know a lot of things about you. Your middle name is Elizabeth. You bend over backward for clients, but you have a spine of steel. You like to do your nails because you care about your appearance. And you definitely could be doing much better than marrying me.”
She stares at me again, and part of me wonders if she’ll back out. I wouldn’t blame her. This is an odd situation all around, and I’m benefiting far more than she is from our arrangement.
I grab her hand and tug her out the door before she can protest. “Come on. Let’s go get married.”
* * *
“Doyou take Fenwick Whittington to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The judge looks up from his book to Frances. We’re holding hands, and I hope she can’t feel how sweaty my palms are. This isn’t how I intended my wedding to ever be, but every time I look over at Frances, I can’t help the sense of calm that washes over me. It’s everything I never knew I wanted.
“I do.”
“And do you take Frances Ledbetter to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” I give her hands a squeeze, and she squeezes mine back.
“Do you have the rings?” The judge looks between us.
“Oh crud.” Frances looks like she just ran over a puppy.
“Yes, sir. I have them right here.” I let go of her hands to pull out the black box from my pants pocket. I open it up and hand him a plain gold band while holding onto the diamond solitaire on a white gold band.
Frances gasps.
I reach for her hand and slide my grandmother’s ring onto her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” It fits perfectly, like it was made for her, not my grandmother six decades ago.
The judge hands her the plain gold band. She takes it and studies it before gasping again. “Granddaddy’s?”
I nod, watching tears flood her eyes. She blinks them away and places the band on my ring finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” Her hands are shaking, but her voice is strong.
The judge closes his book and steps back. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
I grin, anticipating the kiss more than I should. She steps closer, her hands landing on my arms, her cheeks already heating. I don’t delay, instead bringing a hand up to cup her face and claiming her soft lips. My arm tightens around her, bringing her flush with my body. A beat passes, and I can’t bring myself to step back.
She groans softly and I jerk back, so surprised she feels the same way I do. Her nose bumps my glasses and sends them flying off my face.
