“I’m here!” Charlie strides down the hallway of the courthouse toward me. I brace myself for when he gets an eyeful.
I’m not wearing white. Or a dress.
For maybe five minutes, I considered it. Getting something lacy with a bunch of frills. And I’d probably look good. But I wouldn’t look like me, and there’s enough insincerity in this ceremony already that I decided to dress up, but in the way I prefer.
Which is why I have on a suit. The cut fits me perfectly, and the ensemble is my favorite piece of clothing in my closet. I treated myself to a custom-tailored suit after I got my first official client. Probably should have put that initial paycheck in my savings, but for the first time in a long time, I gave myself permission to buy something completely impractical that made me happy.
And I don’t realize until this moment how much it would crush me to see disappointment on Charlie’s face. To watch him scan my outfit and twist his lips to hide a dissatisfied grimace. Because I’m not the model bride.
No matter that this is all fake anyway.
But now the real Charlie is in front of me, with his eyes consuming me, three-piece and all.
“That suit looks amazing on you. Hell, I’ve never worn a suit that well.” My fake fiancé smooths a hand down his lapel, but from his grin I know he’s not concerned about being outshone.
And I’m suddenly very glad I added that final rule to our contract because I have the oddest urge to climb Charlie and claim his grinning lips in a hot kiss.
Not acceptable thoughts about my husband!
It’s probably the suit. His suit, not mine. Charlie paid me a high compliment when he said I looked better than him. Because damn, my future fake husband is fine.
Talk, dark, and handsome has never been a more apt statement.
Every inch of his suit is black. The jacket and pants, of course, but also the shirt and the long, thin tie. He must have gone to a barber because his fade is perfection, as is his close shave. And god, the way his ebony skin stretches over that strong jaw of his.
It’s enough to have a fake fiancé wondering why we aren’t doing this for real.
Stop it! The suits are to blame!
I shove away the unwelcome thoughts and put on my serious face.
“Are you having second thoughts?” I ask. “Is that why you’re running late?”
Charlie’s skin grows darker with a blush, but he steps in close, cupping my elbow with his hand.
“No. I’m in all the way. I just thought if we’re going to be in this for more than a year, we might as well look the part.” At that, Charlie slips his hand into his pocket as if searching for something. Finding the item, he spreads his fingers wide, revealing two slim gold bands.
“Charlie!” I gasp out his name, not because the rings are beautiful but because I can’t believe how much he’s committing to this role. “You didn’t have to.”
He shrugs, handing me the larger one. “I want you to know that I’m not about to back out a month into this thing. And you don’t have to think of them as wedding rings if you don’t want to. Think of them as partner rings.” He holds up the smaller band, the one he plans to slip onto my finger in a few minutes. “When you wear this and look down at it, I want you to remember that I’m here for you. That you can trust me.”
Swallowing becomes difficult, and the ceiling is suddenly fascinating.
“Luna?”
I clear my throat. “The rings are a good idea. Thank you.” I was too busy with the online paperwork to consider if we should mess with more traditional wedding objects.
When Charlie smiles at me this time, there’s a depth of sincerity that is also strangely arousing.
Damn these motherfucking suits.
When I realize we’ve been staring at each other for just a little too long, I step back.
“We should be able to go in soon,” I tell him, my tone formal now. Back to business.
We settle beside each other on the hard bench outside the judge’s office, and I try not to admire the way the high-quality material hugs his legs.
“Are you here to get married?”
At the sound of Charlie’s question, my head pops up. Why would he ask something so obvious? But then I realize he’s not talking to me. My fake fiancé faces an elderly couple sitting on the bench across from us. They can’t be younger than seventy, but by the blissfully happy expressions on their faces, they might as well be teenagers.
“We are,” one lady responds, clutching the hand of the woman at her side. “Forty years together, and we decided, why not?” The crystals on her glasses sparkle as she tilts her head toward us. “You too?”
Charlie slings an arm around my shoulders, and I don’t flinch from the touch. Probably because it feels more like comradery than possessive.
“Yes ma’am. This is my fiancée, Luna. And I’m Charlie.”
The women offer us soft smiles. “I’m Margaret, this is Tiffany. How’d you two kids meet?”
Charlie gives me a wicked grin before turning back to them. “Well, you see, we were on this boat…”
As he relates our first encounter, sparing himself no embarrassment, I can’t help but feel awe at how easy he is around these strangers. Not that Margaret and Tiffany are intimidating, but there’s an air of vulnerability to the way Charlie opens himself up. His genuine nature is probably what gets the couple to share their own story of a love spanning decades, sometimes hidden from public view, but now allowed to be on display. By the end, I’m battling a wave of shame that Charlie and I are entering into this marriage under false pretenses when people like our new acquaintances struggled for the right.
Not that Charlie and I would have had an easy time of it if we’d met and fallen in love during the same time period Margaret and Tiffany did. A Black man and an Asian American woman would’ve had plenty of shit to deal with forty years ago. I can imagine we’ll run into some modern-day bigot nonsense over this next year too.
I wonder if our lack of love will make that kind of hate easier or harder to deal with.
Still, I chant to myself to push the doubt away.
For Leo. For Leo. I’ll put up with anything to save Leo.
By the time the judge is ready, Charlie has offered for us to act as the witnesses of Margaret and Tiffany’s wedding, and they’ve agreed to do the same for us.
One less thing to worry about.
Only when Charlie and I are standing in the chambers, facing each other with those two loving women watching us, I can’t help thinking I need to commit to this ruse just a little bit more.
“Do you have rings?”
“Yes!” I triumphantly hold mine up, and Charlie chuckles.
My fake fiancé scoops up my hand in his warm palm and slides the tiny gold band onto my ring finger. I follow the same steps, experiencing a strange rush of ownership as I push the gold over his knuckles.
For the next year, Charlie Keller is mine.
CHARLIE
Luna is the most gorgeous fake wife a person could ever hope for. The plum color of her suit sets off a warm glow under her skin and somehow makes her hair appear even darker.
Add all that to the ring on her finger, and I know my mind will forever save this image.
“You are now husband and wife.” Since we’re in a courthouse, there’s none of the usual flare, nothing like what Marianna put on for Paige and Dash’s wedding.
But there is a contractual obligation.
One requirement Luna’s grandmother dictated was that a photo must be submitted to the executor of Luna and her husband kissing on their wedding day.
I wish I could have met Tsai Shu-fen. She’s a tricky woman, and I’d like to shake her hand.
My wife slides a cell phone out of her pocket and turns to Margaret.
“Would you mind taking a photo of us?” Luna clears her throat, then powers on. “Kissing?”
The two lovely women chuckle. “Of course. First kiss as a married couple is something you’ll want to remember.”
First kiss, period.
But I don’t correct them. Instead, I focus on not getting too excited about this. About not reading too much into it.
This is fake. All temporary.
“Let’s do this.” Luna is all business, clasping my shoulders. She has on a set of heels that give her a few extra inches of height, which means I don’t have to bend over as much.
“All ready!” Margaret calls.
Then Luna’s lips meet mine.
The universe shimmers around me like a heat flare has hit this courtroom.
“Oh darn. I accidentally closed the camera. You two keep going! I’ll have it back up in a second.”
The flustered little old woman can take as long as she wants if the result is me continuing to kiss Luna.
No struggle here.
And to my surprise, Luna doesn’t seem interested in stopping either. My newly legal partner lets her hands creep up until she’s wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her body closer to mine. It’s all I can do to keep from groaning. I want to be closer. I want to consume my wife. Without thinking, I let my hands slide from her waist to around her back, and then I’m standing upright. But I don’t leave Luna behind. I pull her with me, lifting her entirely off the ground, clasping her flush against my body. All the while our lips meld together until we share breath. I smell her mandarin bright scent as I breathe deeply of her. Luna’s as exciting as the fruit on my tongue, with a sharp, almost spicy flavor. And so damn refreshing.
As my individual thoughts trail away, every inch of my body rejuvenates and comes out on the other side cleansed.
Luna is joy and need and home against me.
“Got it! Bravo, you two! Quite a kiss!”
We break apart gasping, our wild eyes meeting each other and coming to the simultaneous realization that we did not just kiss like a fake husband and wife should.
But I’m probably the only one of the two of us who doesn’t regret it. Trying not to reveal my reluctance, I allow Luna to slide down my body until her heels settle on the floor. She takes a step or two back, movements steady even as her eyes display a lack of balance.
“Here you go. You have a good one there.” Margaret hands Luna’s phone back to her and grins over at me.
“Thank you.” I smile at the two women, then taking a chance, I scoop up Luna’s hand and pull her to the side where we can act as witnesses for our new friends. Not that either of us can pay attention to the ceremony.
I don’t know what thoughts are cycling through Luna’s head, but from the way she stares at the ceiling, I know her brain is busy at work.
“Can I see the picture?” I whisper to her.
Luna starts, then she swipes through her phone, tilting the screen so we both can see.
Hell, it’s glorious.
Margaret got us when I’d lifted Luna. One of her legs bends slightly, giving the lift a whimsical air. And with the way our eyes are closed, we both seem completely lost in the passion of the moment.
I know I was.
“Lawyer can’t complain about this,” she murmurs.
My happy excitement dims at her words. Of course. Naive of me to read more into the exchange than there was.
Luna was acting the part. Just like she said she’d do.
This is fake. This is all fake, I remind myself.
I turn my attention back to the couple in this room who are actually in love. The way Margaret and Tiffany gaze into each other’s eyes is something from a romance novel. Pure and inspiring to observe.
My chest aches from watching it. From wanting it.
Could Luna ever look at me that way? Am I being unfair for hoping?
Maybe I should give up the fanciful notions I have about the two of us. Just fulfill the task of being her fake husband like I agreed to and not strive for anything more. That would be the honest approach.
But can I give up hope that her kiss—that amazing, ground-rattling kiss—meant nothing?
I don’t know what to do with all these feelings that keep growing. The woman beside me is sun, dirt, and water for these emotions, and the roots are spreading deep into my chest, finding cracks and crevices in which to tether until I’m not sure I’ll be able to uproot this longing.
“You are now wife and wife,” the judge declares, and Tiffany gives a whoop before planting her own passionate kiss on her partner. Neither of them ask for a picture because their relationship is not for show. There’s no ulterior motive.
Their connection blooms from pure love.
Just as I feel a dip in my lips, the despondence in my chest dragging away my joy, there’s a sudden pressure against my palm.
And that’s when I realize Luna has slid her hand into mine.
As we watch the two women celebrate their love, I give Luna’s fingers a gentle squeeze, and she offers a firm press back.