a nod, she heads for the door. I slip on my flip flops and follow. We’ll be barefoot on the sand, so my shoe choice isn’t important, but Delores insisted on white designer flip flops. “You have to look the part,” she said when I asked why it mattered.
I hope I look the part. At least enough to sell the story. Because that’s all we need from today.
In a daze, I follow Delores in and out of the elevator and through the maze of the hotel to the door that goes into the private beach area. There, framing the sunset, is a white archway, flowers and vines twining around it. A few tiki torches burn on either side, casting a warm glow in the shadowy alcove filled with palms and other broad leafed plants and brightly colored flowers. A blond-haired man of indeterminate age stands directly under the arch. And next to him stands Colt.
A smile stretches across his face when he sees me, full of excitement and affection. If he’s feeling conflicted about going through with this, he’s not broadcasting it. Delores moves off to one side, and I stop to kick off my sandals before walking slowly and deliberately to the arch. There’s no music, no processional, no typical trappings of a wedding. Just me, Colt, and the ocean to bear witness to this.
“Welcome, Alexis,” intones the officiant. And he launches into a short speech about love and marriage while Colt wraps his hands over mine around the bouquet. It’s so surreal that I can’t even force myself to pay attention. Colt’s hands on mine, his presence, are the only things keeping me grounded.
I should be paying more attention. I’m getting married.
But it doesn’t matter. The service doesn’t matter. The vows don’t matter. None of this is real.
I repeat the standard vows when prompted, this isn’t real, echoing in my head the whole time.
I mean, it is, legally. But it’s not, in my heart. Not really.
Even though the way Colt looks at me makes it feel like it might be. The affection and concern, the genuine happiness of his smile, the way he is when we’re together—enthusiastic about my music as much as his, offering me comfort when I freaked out. Everything about him makes me think this could be real, if I let it.
Before I know it, Colt removes his hands from mine, leaving me reeling a little, and accepts a ring from the guy. Then he peels my left hand from around the bouquet. “With this ring,” he repeats at the officiant’s prompting, “I thee wed.” And he slips the ring onto my finger, wiggling it the last few millimeters until it rests in its place.
I adjust it with my thumb, looking down at the simple gold band. Since we skipped the engagement, he never did get me one of the rings I sent him for inspiration. Something about that strikes me as unbearably sad right now.
“Alexis?” the officiant prompts, and I turn my camera-ready smile on him, painfully aware that though our audience is currently tiny, it includes a professional photographer here to capture every moment. That these pictures will be sold and published, and I have to play my part. The officiant holds out his hand, and another gold band just a little thicker than mine rests on his palm. “Take this ring, place it on Colt’s left ring finger, and repeat after me.”
Colt takes the bouquet, leaving me with free hands to finish this part of the ceremony. I hold his left hand in mine, tracing the lines of his long, tapered fingers that play the guitar beautifully. Repeating the same words Colt said a minute ago, I slip the band onto his finger. He grins when it gets stuck just short of its spot, wiggling his fingers and using his thumb to move it the rest of the way on.
Then he passes the bouquet back to me and wraps the fingers of my free hand with his.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” says the officiant, his voice clear and strong. “You may kiss the bride.”
Colt grins at me, like a little boy on Christmas morning, and closes the space between us, one of his hands cupping my jaw. And then his mouth is on mine. My eyes close as fireworks go off along the surface of my skin, bursts of light and heat that make me lose my mind.
But he ends the kiss far too soon, and I don’t know which