Page 52 of Cruel Kiss

"Yeah. Like, dress rehearsal. The whole thing. Where we stand, what we say. The…" She blushes. "… the kiss. All of it. I'm not walking into a courthouse and freezing up because I've never done it before. Think of it like a fire drill. So when the real thing happens, it's just muscle memory, and nobody watching sees two people who look like they'd rather be anywhere else."

I keep my face still. This is a very dangerous idea, and she knows it.A fire drill.That's a great word for what she's proposing. Because if we do it wrong,somethingis going to go up in flames.

"Alright," I say. "Alright. We practice."

She blinks, like she expected me to fight it. "Okay. Good. Now?"

"Now's as good a time as any."

She stands up too fast and knocks her hip into the table. The mugs jump. She steadies them, and she's got a flush going up her neck that she's pretending isn't there.

"Kids are at camp until three," she says. "So. Now."

We move into the living room. She stands in the middle of the rug and looks around like she's trying to find her mark on a stage. But if there's a director alive who knows how to choreograph this scene, they sure as fuck aren't in this room.

In here is nothing but tension, angst, and a lot of bad ideas.

"Where should the officiant go?" she asks.

"In front of us. We'll be side by side, facing them."

"So we stand—here?"

"Here." I move next to her. Not close. A foot of air between us. Safer that way. "Shoulders squared to the front. You'll have flowers or something to hold, so your hands stay busy. That helps."

"I don't want flowers."

"What would you prefer then? A gun? Can of mace?"

She rolls her eyes. "Not funny, Ronan."

I suppress a smile. "No flowers then. Fine. We'll figure something else out."

She turns her head. "I don't know why I feel so flustered. I'm the one who's done this before." Something occurs to her and she looks at me. "Have you?"

"Been married?" I bark out a laugh. "No, Ms. Meadows, I have not. I've stood up in a few. Not my own."

"Right. Yeah. Okay. That's, er… Yes." She faces front again, cheeks flaming. "Okay. So we stand here. And the officiant does the, like, the whereas and the hereby and all that."

"Most of it, yes. There's a part where we speak."

She winces like she just remembered that bit. "The vows."

"A version of them. At a courthouse, it's short. You'll repeat after the officiant. You take this person, you promise the things, you say I do." I watch her out of the corner of my eye. "Simple."

"Simple," she echoes, like she doesn't believe it. Nothing about us has been simple from the start.

"The hard part isn't the words," I say. "It's the standing there. People don't know what to do with their faces. They go stiff. That's what reads as fake on camera."

"So how do I not do that?"

"You look at me instead of the room."

She goes quiet for a second. Then, "Fine. I look at you. What about hands?"

"When we say the vows, I'll take yours. Both of them." I hold my own out, palms up, not reaching, just offering. "Like this."

She stares at my hands like they might bite.