Page 112 of The Pact
“I promise you’ll never have to wonder how important you are to me.”
A single tear slides down her cheek, and I reach up to wipe it away.
“I promise to protect your dreams the way you’ve helped me protect my family. I promise to listen, even if I want to argue. And I promise never to go to bed angry.”
Her smile trembles.
“But most importantly, I’ll always protect your heart.”
I squeeze her hands, and we both smile.
Alie sniffs behind us.
Liam mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, but it sounds suspiciously emotional.
The justice starts to speak, but I hold up my hand.
“I know we started this because life got complicated,” I say. “But you, Presley, are the most certain thing in my life.”
She presses her lips together, fighting tears.
“I’m yours,” I say. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Her whispered answer can barely be heard. “Always.”
For a second, I let myself believe this is more than just a pact, more than for legal reasons, more than a timeline waiting to expire. That it’s about us simply choosing each other.
The justice clears her throat, like she’s trying to move this along.
We exchange rings. They’re simple bands that we picked out the day we got our marriage license. She said she didn’t want a diamond because she couldn’t wear it when she was working.
I still plan to get her one anyway.
Presley slides mine on first, her hand steady.
I slide hers onto her finger, and for just a second, I stare at it.
That’s my ring on her finger.
My wife.
Presley Grant is my wife.
Or Presley St. Clair, if she wants.
I hope that’s what she wants.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the justice says. She waves a hand between us. “You may kiss.”
My lips are on Presley’s before she even finishes the sentence.
I cup her face and kiss her like the whole world has gone quiet, just to give us this moment.
It’s not wild or desperate. It’s soft and deep.
It’s a kiss that says we just crossed a line and burned the map behind us.
When I pull back, Presley looks at me like she’s trying to memorize the moment.
