Page 38 of Stealing His Cupcake
“Um, yes, yes. That’s perfect,” Lockley murmurs. “This way, please.”
I quirk a brow at Lucifer but he just grins at me, still giving me nothing. Figures.
We pass a “Building Permits and Zoning” door, then another labeled “Public Works Department”, before entering the one marked “Appointments and Legal Fillings”, which tells me exactly nothing other than making me want to giggle over the word “filling” and wondering what or who exactly is getting filled here. Behind the door there’s an unassuming office, the same as thousands of other government offices everywhere. There are papers and binders and an entire shelf of thick, leather-bound books with a nonsensical jumble of letters and numbers on the spines. No sacrificial slab which, at this point, is almost disappointing and very much undermines my ritual sacrifice theory.
Lockley pulls out a handkerchief, dabs at his sweaty forehead, then shoves it back inside his suit pocket. “Alright. Um. Right. Just, um, give me a few seconds. I’ll just find the right—” His hands tremble as he searches through a pile of papers on the desk, nearly sending them all flying to the floor. “Here,” he exclaims, nearly weeping with relief. “I’ve already prepared the document, so, um, yes.” He checks something on the form against our IDs, then hands them back to Lucifer, his hand shaking harder than before. “Everything is, um, in order. Yes. Just a second.”
He picks up the phone and struggles with pressing the right buttons before finally getting a call through. It rings four times before someone picks it up and on each ring, Lockley’s face grows paler and sweatier and his terrified glances at Lucifer more frequent. “Oh, yes, Josephine!” he shouts into the phone. “Could you please come to my office? Yes, right now. And tell Ross to come as well? No, you’re not in trouble, of course not. Just, um, come over. Right now.” Hanging up, he looks at Lucifer apologetically. “I wasn’t sure when exactly you’d arrive, otherwise I would have had them waiting here already, but it will only take a minute.”
“It’s no problem,” Lucifer replies rather graciously, like a king talking to a frightened peasant. “We’re happy you accommodated us on such short notice.” From his tone, I gather that the poor man had no choice but to “accommodate us” if he wanted to keep his life. Yet, I still have no clue what we’re doing here.
After what is no doubt the longest two minutes in Lockley’s life, there’s a knock on the door. At his squeaked-out invitation, two people enter. A cleaner and a night guard, based on their attires. Not even my overactive imagination has any theories as to why they’re here.
“Okay.” Lockley clears his throat. “Just stand over there,” he tells the newcomers, “and you’ll sign the form when we’re done. That’s all.”
The guard merely shrugs, but the cleaner eyes Lucifer and me curiously.
Wiping at his sweaty forehead again, Lockley starts. “Okay, okay. Everything is ready. So, um,” he casts another nervous glance at Lucifer, “we’ve gathered here today to join Wyatt Archer and Amy Hudges in legal matrimony.”
My jaw doesn’t just hit the floor. It goes through it, all the way through the planet’s molten core, poking out from the other side of the damned globe.
We’ve WHAT?! We’re freaking getting MARRIED?! Shock is the only thing that stops me from shouting the words out loud, though I must make some strangled sound because Lockley pauses and looks at me with concern.
I try to gather my thoughts but they refuse to listen. This isn’t just a my-ducks-aren’t-in-a-row situation. Half of my ducks aren’t even present and the rest is flying around frantically. Some of them might not even be ducks at all. What is happening?
I must be dreaming. With the hand that isn’t being crushed in Lucifer’s grip, I pinch myself. Nothing. Huh? Looking down, I realize I’ve pinched my captor-soon-to-be-husband’s arm instead of mine. I pinch the correct arm this time, wincing at the pain. Okay, I guess I’m not asleep. But, just…what?!
I look into his face, probably looking ridiculous with my mouth still hanging open. He sucks in his lips as if desperately trying to not let himself laugh out loud, his shoulders twitching with the effort. I try to glare, butmy face won’t cooperate. Legal matrimony. I don’t normally swear, but seriously, what the fuck?!
Lockley, now sweatier and paler than ever, clears his throat, looking completely helpless. I realize he’s waiting for me to say something. “Um. Sorry,” I manage, my tongue feeling numb. “Continue, please.”
His relief is almost palpable. “Right. So. Where was I. Yes. We’ve gathered here to join Wyatt Archer and Amy Hudges in legal matrimony,” he repeats, as if unable to continue where he left off.
Wyatt, my subconscious helpfully points out. Lucifer’s name is Wyatt. What a weirdly normal name. I can’t help but think Lucifer fits him better, but no. It’s Wyatt. God, this is too weird to be real.
“Wyatt,” Lockley asks, his voice trembling, “do you enter this marriage of your own free will and take Amy to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” Said without a second’s hesitation, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like he couldn’t wait to say it. God.
Next, Lockley turns to me. “Amy, do you enter this marriage of your own free will and take Wyatt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Of my own free will. I very narrowly stop myself from snorting. Nothing about this is of my own free will. I didn’t even know I was getting married two minutes ago! This is all simply insane. I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to marry a cute and hot guy like Lucifer—Wyatt, I correct myself—but I’ve only met him yesterday.
I still can’t get over him wanting to marryme, of all people. Why? I’m not rich or famous or connected. He might find me beautiful, which is baffling on its own, but that’s not a reason for marriage. Is it? It’s more like a fuck and sack situation. A captive with benefits. Maybe, and that’s stretching it really far, some sort of boyfriend-girlfriend arrangement. But marriage? Why?
Lockley clears his throat and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long. I remember Wyatt’s words. “When someone asks you a question, just say ‘I do’.”I glare at the man by my side again, realizing he gave me a damn script. For our wedding. Because we’re getting married. A hysterical laughthreatens to escape me. “Oh,” I blurt out, because the silence in the office is becoming ominous and I’m the one who needs to break it. “Yes. I mean, I do,” I correct myself. Did I mess it up?
Lockley lets out a relieved sigh and nods. “By the authority vested in me by the state of Minnesota, I now pronounce you married. Congratulations.” It sounds more like he’s congratulating himself for getting through the ordeal rather than to us newly-weds. Jesus. I’m married?
Josephina’s excited “Congratulations!” and Ross’ uttered “Congrats, guys” sounds much more honest.
Lockley gestures to the desk. “If you would just sign this form, please.”
Wyatt steps toward it, tugging me along. He scribbles his name into the appropriate space, then holds out the pen to me. I feel like I’m in a daze as I take it and lean over the paper, my eyes not comprehending anything I’m seeing. “Um, where do I…?” Wyatt taps his long finger on the correct spot and I fill it with a wobbly signature.
Once we’re done, our witnesses add their signatures and Lockley puts the paper into a yellow binder. “I will file it right away, but it might take a few work days for the request to be processed. Completely out of my hands, I swear,” he adds quickly, raising his hands. “Your marriage license will be mailed to the address you provided.”
“Perfect,” Wyatt replies. “Thank you for your time. Much appreciated.” For some reason, the words make Lockley sweat even harder. Ignoring him, my new husband strides out of the room. Since he’s still holding my hand, I have no choice but to follow.
