Page 24 of The Marriage Narrative
Courthouse marriages weretruly what you made of them.
Movies never mentioned signing the license, waiting for it to be processed, or booking an officiant. An accurate timeline would make things feel less spontaneous and more like an active decision.
Zinnia wore her favorite white pantsuit and made a simple bouquet. Jordan looked handsome as ever in another all-black suit. They mutually agreed to go with the traditional vows and the judge didn’t even require them to kiss. He said, “I now pronounce you married. Congratulations,” and shuffled along to the next couple.
No wedding cake. No first dance. No writing on the car’s back window as they drove to the airport. They were married and that was that.
But they did get one gift: Grace and Fiona volunteered to cat-sit Beta Carotene while they were off shooting the show—their version of a peace offering. Her friends didn’thateJordan.They needed to give him a chance first to earn that particular honor.
A low-grade nervousness buzzed at the back of Zinnia’s neck during the entire flight. She couldn’t stop reliving Fiona’s teary goodbye and Grace’s tight, gasping hug. She turned off airplane mode as soon as they landed, eager to read all the group chat messages she knew were waiting for her.
Fiona had captured every second of Beta Carotene’s adventure commandeering Zinnia’s room. She showed Jordan a picture of the giant lump in the middle of her bed under the blankets.
“That’s good. He’ll be used to your scent by the time we get back.” They were waiting at the baggage claim. “The only thing he hates more than going outside is my sister. It’s on sight with Lulie—growling, hissing, spitting. He’s suddenly a completely different cat.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. He’s pretty friendly with everyone else. He also hates dogs and any cat older than a kitten.”
He retrieved their suitcases from the conveyor belt and extended the handle for her. A severe-looking man holding a digital sign that readOlympusswiftly ushered them from the pickup area to the inside of an idling SUV.
After about twenty minutes, their driver stopped the car in front of an oversized wrought-iron gate. The house beyond was massive, multilevel, and painted a warm cream color.
“My parents bought the house when the show got renewed for a second season. They wanted a dedicated place for filming and to have once it was over. It’s their forever home,” Jordan explained, voice soft and head dipped close to hers.
“That’s so sweet.” And strangely economical.
He warned her that the second she stepped foot inside, allexpectations of privacy disappeared. There’d be several camera pods on rotating shifts with a producer. Every room and hallway had at least one camera installed in the ceiling. Bathrooms were an exception, but she shouldn’t be surprised if they followed her and waited outside.
Zinnia figured living there would feel a lot like shopping in a store with a government-grade surveillance system. They saweverythingeveryone did. They wanted customers toknowthey were being watched and tailed by Loss Prevention.
That never stopped her from shopping. She usually didn’t even register it happening. And when she did, she went out of her way to ask LP or employees for help. If they wanted to follow her so damn bad, then they might as well be her personal shoppers for the day.
Instead of taking the curved path toward the courtyard and front door, their driver continued going straight until they reached a spacious open-air garage.
Jesus, did one family reallyneedso many cars? It was practically a showroom. She counted at least ten—and three motorcycles?!
“That’s where we’ll be staying instead of the main house.” He removed his seat belt and gestured to her right. “It’s the only place where we won’t be watched.”
In the distance, a one-story bungalow sat in the shadow of the much larger main house. Painted powder blue with white trim, it looked far more inviting too. A small cluster of people, all wearing identical pale green jumpsuits, were sitting on the porch.
“It’s so cute and starter home–sized.”
“I’m glad you think so. I really want you to be comfortable here.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I’ll get used to it. Let’s go. They’re waiting for us.”
She exited the car and followed his lead. “Wait, what about our stuff?”
“They’ll take care of it.”
And who the hell werethey? She was about to ask, but then he took her hand in his and squeezed gently.
“Is this okay?”
He sounded nervous, but his palm was warm, and what he was asking for made sense. They were married now—he wanted to approach the green jumpsuit gangtogether.
