Page 10 of Patch's Bride
Solomon pulls out his phone. “I guess we need to go to the county website and see how to start the process.”
His mom perks up again. “I already checked. California doesn’t require a blood test. You’ll need your IDs when you file for the marriage license. There will be a ninety-eight-dollar fee. The marriage license doesn’t make you married. It just gives you permission to get married in the state of California. You’ll need a short ceremony, and you need to do that within ninety days. If we leave now, you can have the license in your hands this morning.”
She says all that without taking a breath. I feel overwhelmed just listening to her talk about the process. It makes me realize that I’ve never thought about the nuts and bolts of getting married. In my mind, it’s been long white gowns, flowers, and picking out that perfect wedding picture to hang on the wall. Ihonestly thought the priest took care of all the paperwork. I feel silly for not realizing what an involved process it is.
When I glance at Solomon, he doesn’t seem overwhelmed at all. He’s always been like that though. Nothing ever seems to rattle him. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about him.
“One of the brothers is licensed to officiate weddings. I’ll get him to do ours.”
His mother hesitates. “Are you sure about that?”
He gives her a decisive nod. “Yes. I can’t think of anyone else to get on such short notice.” Barely glancing at me, he continues briskly, “We’d best get a move on. My first appointment is at ten.”
“The courthouse opens at eight, so if we leave right away, we’ll get there just as they’re opening. I have official copies of your birth certificate. I’m sure you have your driver’s license with you. So, that just leaves Beth,” his mom says.
When all eyes turn on me, I speak right up. “It’s all in my duffel bag. I was with it enough to bring all my important paperwork at least. If you give me a minute, I’ll run upstairs and get my purse and driver’s license and photo ID.”
He jerks his chin towards the front door. “Go for it. I’ll wait here.”
That feeling of being overwhelmed only increases as I race inside and up the stairs. My heart is pounding in my chest because this is really happening. I’m getting married to Solomon Patchett, the man of my dreams and the most eligible bachelor I know. Only he doesn’t love me.
As I dig through my bag, I remind myself that this is about survival and feelings don’t come into it.
When I come back outside, I see him getting into their big SUV. Solomon has moved his bike to the curb and is standing beside it. I wave my paperwork in the air for him to see and then stuff it in my bag. Approaching him, I ask, “Should I take my car?”
He takes a step closer until he’s standing so close that I can smell the soap he uses. When he looks down at me, I know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but my pulse quickens anyhow.
“Have you ever ridden on a motorcycle before?” he asks, his deep voice carrying a note of emotion that I can’t quite identify.
My body goes completely still for a second, because riding on the back of his bike is the thing I’ve been dreaming about for years. I find myself shaking my head. “No. I’ve never had the chance. I guess yours will be the first I’ve ridden on, Solomon,” I say as I feel my cheeks get hot. I didn’t mean it to be a double entendre but obviously my subconscious mind can’t get rid of the idea of him being my teenage crush.
He studies me for a brief moment, then jerks his chin towards his bike. “You can ride with me, take your car or even ride with my parents. Your choice. Just so you know, when you’re with me, it’ll always be your choice. And call me Patch, everyone else does.”
His roughly spoken words hit me right in the feels. Patch is telling me straight up that he’s not going to try to force me to do what he wants. Maybe he senses I’ve had enough of that with my stepfather. I look him in the eye and say, “Maybe we should ride together. That’s what a normal couple would do, right?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I add, “You know, so people see us together.”
Understanding flashes across his face. “You want to ride on the back of my bike to sell the relationship.”
When I nod, something dims in his eyes, and he turns away from me. “Sure, let’s just get this done.”
I don’t know what I’ve done to make him immediately distance himself from me. So, I zip my lips and follow him to his bike. He reaches over, opens the back compartment, and pulls out a beat-up black helmet. I think it must be his spare. He holds it out, saying, “You’ll need a cover if you’re going to ride with me.”
I reach out and take it from him with both hands. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. I fumble with the strap, trying to figure out how it works.
“Let me show you,” he says quietly, stepping close again. His deft hands take the helmet back and he flips it over before lifting it up to place it on my head. I stand there helplessly as he lowers it and adjusts the straps. Having his hands on me makes me feel things, naughty things that I ought not to feel for the man who told me he doesn’t see me as anything more than a little sister.
“It might feel heavy andalittle unwieldy at first, but you’ll get used to it.” Patch explains as he helps me onto a little seat towards the back of his bike. “For now, just keep your feet on the pegs. I’ll be leaning into the turns. You need to lean with me. Got it?”
Iclearmy throat and speak up, “Yeah, of course.”
He climbs onto the bike in front of me and puts on his own helmet. Turning to look at me over his shoulder, he tells me, “Put your arms around my waist and hold on tight. Otherwise, you run the risk of getting thrown off the bike.”
I stammer, “Okay,” as I slip my hands around his waist. The gesture seems too intimate, but I don’t let that stop me. I’m trying to be a decent person but having my hands on him makes me want more than protection from him.
When Patch turns the key in the ignition and pushes the button, the engine roars to life with a ferocity that takes my breath away. I can feel the vibrations right up both legs and even between my legs. Oh God, this is going to be amazing; better than I ever imagined.
Without looking back, he announces loudly to be heard over the engine, “You’regonna need to hold on tighter.”
He doesn’t need to tell me twice. I brazenly slide my arms more fully around his waist and lock them together in the front. My body is just doing as he asks but my playful mind is pretending like I’m holding him so tightly that he’ll never get away.
