Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95350 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
But I couldn’t.
“I think—I think we did,” I answered.
My eyes bounced between the two matching bands. I took in the shiny metal that tied us together, and in all the chaos and shock, another emotion emerged—happiness. Before it could grow to anything other than a tiny spark, Rae started laughing. Slowly at first, almost a whisper of a giggle. Then it grew until she was folded over, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked hesitantly.
She looked to be on the edge of a breakdown, and I could only imagine the havoc this was wreaking on her. Rae never wanted to be married. At least that’s what she said. People always said the truth came out when you were drunk, so maybe she did want to get married on some level. While this probably wasn’t in her plans, I’d show her how great it could be.
This wasn’t in my plans either. It wasn’t how I wanted it, but my grandma’s voice reminded me that even a cheesy wedding in Vegas was still a marriage—still a commitment. It may not have been intentional, but according to those rings, we made vows, and I always promised myself I’d only do that once, and I’d mean it.
“It’s a joke. Did you slip the ring on my finger while I was sleeping?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that.”
Her laugh took on a more panicked edge. “It has to be a joke, right? This isn’t real.”
The desperation coating her words hit me in my chest like a needle popping a balloon. As hope seeped from the hole, irritation and anger bled into the vacant space. She knew what marriage meant to me. She heard me swear countless times that I’d only marry once. As much as I tried to rationalize it, her laughter mocked me—mocked my beliefs. Trying to push past it, I took slow deep breaths and walked around the room, scanning every surface.
“What are you doing?”
“There has to be something—some kind of paperwork.”
“There isn’t because this is a joke.”
The hole grew under her determination to believe it wasn’t real. Shoving aside a lacy scrap of material, I unearthed a thick cream piece of paper.
“Certificate of Commitment,” I read, holding it up for her to see.
She studied the words, taking in the gold embossed circle between our two signatures. My stomach sank right along with her hope of it being a prank.
On the back, a yellow post-it had barely legible words scrawled across it.
“Austin and Rae, the license will be filed before your heads hit the pillow. Maybe it was a tad too much alcohol, but I know love when I see it. Congrats on your happy marriage. Love, Elvis.”
“Oh, my god.” She groaned, sinking her head into her hands.
I set the novelty certificate on the table, running my fingers over the words.
Commitment.
Marriage is so important, so no matter where it happens or how, the meaning is always the same. Just because it’s not big and fancy doesn’t change the importance of the vow you take.
I hated watching Rae struggle to process what we’d done, but there wasn’t anything we could do but face it. At least we wouldn’t have to face it alone. At least we’d have our best friend by our side.
Hope flickered like a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe it was fate that it all worked out this way, but no matter the reason, we’d make it work.
“We can—we can get it annulled.”
Her words drowned out my thoughts like a record scratch. “What?”
“Yeah.” Sitting upright like the idea was the perfect solution to bring her back to life. She crawled to her knees, still clutching the sheet. “We can get it annulled,” she said again, more excited this time. “We’re not stuck. People make these mistakes all the time. It’s Vegas.”
If her calling marrying me a joke was a pinprick to my chest, then her calling it a mistake was an atomic bomb. Memories of my father signing yet another divorce paper, laughing while telling my brother and me that that was the end of mistake number five, or six, or whatever number wife he was on, singed through the fraying ends of my calm. The frustrated tension exploded through my body, pulling my muscles tight, and I clenched my jaw to filter back the biting words I knew I could be capable of when cornered and hurt. “It’s a marriage Rae, not a mistake.”
“We were drunk. It’s not like we would have gotten married if we were sober,” she scoffed. As if the thought of marrying me was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.
The more she attempted to brush it off, the less I was able to hear my rational voice, the less I was able to fend off wild thoughts. Like the thought that she wasn’t so upset about being married as much as she was upset about marrying me—the guy who didn’t come from an elite background like she did, but who was always there for her. The one guy who never asked for more than what she was willing to give. The guy who never judged her. The guy who’s loved her from the beginning.