“In love, we trust that the other will provide a safe haven in which we can experience and share the fullness of our being with one another. And in so doing, we trust that our lives will be far richer than had we chosen separate journeys through this world.” He nods to my flowers. “Please hold hands.”
I turn and pass the flowers to my mother, and take Santos’ hands in mine.
The judge turns to Santos, and I’m relieved he’s stopped talking about a love neither of us feels. I see the same relief in Santos’ face, but the words have made his jaw tight, and I know he must be having second thoughts now for sure. Will he actually go through with this? Perhaps the judge’s words have scared him off. Perhaps any second now, he’ll drop the hold he has on my cold hands and shake his head, backing away and saying he’s changed his mind.
“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer keeping yourself unto her for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer 'I do'.”
Santos’ gaze remains locked with mine, unwavering as he responds.
“I do.”
The judge turns to me, and panic floods me. Perhaps I’m the one who can’t go through with this. My breathing begins to accelerate, but something in Santos’ eyes calms me. His thumb absently brushes across my knuckles. Is it meant to reassure me? Is he even aware he’s doing it?
The judge says something to me, but I wasn’t paying attention and now I’m lost.
Santos squeezes my hand.
The judge repeats his words. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live? If so, answer I do.”
I take a slow calming breath, and reply, “I do.”
“Do you have rings to exchange?”
My mouth parts. We have no rings!
Santos digs in his pocket and holds one up. I recognize it immediately. My mother must have slipped it to him earlier. It’s the one my father gave her; the one she took off after he died and she married Drake Mansfield.
“Place it on her finger and repeat after me, with this ring, I thee wed.”
Santos takes my hand and slips the ring on. I stare down at it, reality slamming into me. I’m his now, legally. And that gives him all kinds of rights. I swallow.
“With this ring, I thee wed.” His voice is a deep rumble and his words vibrate in my ears, echoing again and again in my brain.
“If there is anyone present who may show just and lawful cause why this couple may not be legally wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” The judge barely takes a breath before continuing, and suddenly all I can think of is that at the end of his words comes the part where we kiss.
“By the authority vested in me by the State of Georgia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
My eyes drop to Santos’ mouth. Soon it will be pressed to mine. Our first kiss, here, in front of my mother, her attorney, and the judge—all of them watching—our first kiss, and perhaps our only kiss.
Santos drops my hands and cups my face, tilting his head to fit his mouth to mine, and all I can think of is how warm his lips are and how nice it feels with his hands cradling my face. All too soon he pulls back, leaving me with a chaste kiss as he stares into my eyes. Then the lines around his crinkle and I know he’s smiling.
The judge shakes Santos’ hand, and my mother hugs me.
Afterward we move to the big empty hall. My mother has started a fire in the large marble fireplace. Not that it was difficult, it only takes a flip of a switch on the wall and the thing blazes to life. But it’s nice and adds some atmosphere, warming the cold empty room. She disappears to the kitchen, insisting we wait right here, saying she wants to at least have a proper toast.
Her attorney follows to help, and probably also to avoid making chitchat. The judge wanders to a window on the distant side of the room, also avoiding us, probably wishing he were golfing.
I stare up at Santos. “Was that supposed to be noble? What you did out there?”
“What we both did, angel.”
“I’m talking about that kiss.”
“What was wrong with the kiss?”
“Nothing. Forget it. So what are we supposed to do now?”
My mother enters with a tray of five flutes filled with bubbly champagne.
Santos grabs two flutes from the silver tray and passes one to me. When everyone has one, mother lifts her glass.
“To my daughter and new son-in-law. May they have a long and happy marriage.”
Santos and I stare at her awkwardly, then clink our glasses together and take a sip. The judge apparently is choosing to overlook the fact that I’m underage. I’ve had champagne at functions before, but I’ve never cared for it. I hide my grimace and smile. “Thank you, mother.”
The judge downs his. “Well, I really must be going. Congratulations to you both.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” the attorney says then turns to my mother. “I’ll see you Monday morning.” She squeezes my mother’s hand, and then follows the judge, her heels clip across the polished tile floor as she hurries to catch up.
When they’re gone, my mother looks at Santos. “Let me get a picture of the two of you.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
“Yes. Please.”
Santos’ hand lands on my waist and he pulls me against him. “Make your mother happy, and smile, short cake.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Mrs. Chaves, then.”
I roll my eyes. I’ve always hated being teased.
I smile, and she takes a shot with her cell phone, and looks down at it, apparently happy with the resulting image. “Perfect. You both look so handsome together.” She looks up and meets Santos’ eyes as I push out of his hold. “Thank you for doing this.”
So help me, if he says my pleasure, I’m going to throw my glass.
“You’re welcome. Are we done here? I’ve got to get back on the road soon.”
“The road?” My mother and I both turn on him.
“Yeah, back to my place.”
“And where is that?” my mother asks the question she maybe should have asked before we sealed this deal.
“Uprising. Small town outside of Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” I squeak, and glare at my mother.
She covers her shock quickly. “It’s not so far, dear.”
“Five hours,” Santos offers helpfully with a smirk. Oh, he’s enjoying this. I’m being torn from everything I know, everything familiar to me, and now even my hometown. I’d like to wipe that smirk right off his face, perhaps with my unfinished champagne.
“You’ll be closer to me,” my mother says, taking my arms, and turning me to her. I know what she’s referring to, even if Santos doesn’t. She looks at him. “They’re sending me to Arrendale State Prison. It’s in some small town called Alto, an hour northeast of Atlanta.”
“Yeah, I know it,” he says quietly, and I frown, wondering how he knows it. His eyes catch mine. “I really need to get back on the road soon.”