Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  I rub my forehead.

  Wren opens the door, throwing a tiny bag across her body. She meets my stare and takes a deep breath. Her smile is wide, but her crystal-blue eyes are full of fear. “Are you ready to erase last night?”

  “I’ve been here for two minutes, so I’m ready when you are.”

  She ignores my little dig and steps out of her room, letting the door slam behind her. “Oh, I am so ready. Do you think it will take long?”

  I shrug. “Never done this before.”

  She bites her lip and releases it. “What if…?”

  “If?” I prompt.

  Her mind has a bad habit of running away with itself.

  When she was ten and we were locked in a self-storage container that her dad had rented, she lost it. Apparently, we were going to suffocate, as if it were airtight and Graham had suddenly forgotten he had two children, one being his daughter, with him.

  The door had slammed shut while he was in his van. He opened it a minute later.

  “What if they don’t let us? I’ve been doing some reading online and—”

  I grip hold of her upper arms, and a bolt of electricity rocks my body. She gripped my arms a lot last night. And my back, neck, hair, arse.

  “Stop getting ahead of yourself. Reading that shit is like using Google as a doctor—you’re always going to die. This isn’t going to be worst-case, Wren. We were in no state to consent to marriage, so they’ll annul it.”

  “You sound sure,” she whispers.

  Reluctantly, I let go. “I am sure.”

  She doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes search mine the way my mum used to when I told her my friends and I had never tried weed. There’s a whole lot of nonbelieving in her eyes, and she’s right to. I have no fucking clue what the criteria is for an annulment. If I had to take a guess, I’m going with too wasted to make a rational decision though. That’s got to be in the rulebook.

  Wren and I head out of the hotel and into the hotter-than-shit Nevada air. My first marriage has only lasted a day. I bet that’s not even a record for Vegas.

  Marriage has always seemed very final to me. I don’t like feeling trapped; that’s why I’ve never been in a long-term relationship. I think my longest was about two months. That probably can’t even be considered a relationship.

  Being married to Wren is an odd feeling.

  She wrings her hands as we prepare to beg for an annulment. It would be really nice if we could leave here with one. This little blip must go away. Even though it’ll always be there.

  “Will you chill out? We need to convince them that we’re sure we made a mistake. You look like you don’t want to do this,” I say. “Here’s our Uber.”

  Her eyes glare at me like she can smite me down on the spot. “I don’t want to have to do this,” she cries as we get into the car.

  I confirm the address with the driver and turn to Wren.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have said I do then.”

  Granted, it wasn’t the best thing to say. In my defence, it was amusing.

  Wren, however, doesn’t share my sense of humour.

  Her shoulders slump. “You’re a dickhead, Brody.”

  “I’m your husband, babe.”

  “Go to town with that one because in a few minutes you won’t be able to use it ever again.”

  She falls silent, chewing on her lip and watching the strip whiz past.

  And that right there is why I’m able to have a joke. This is erasable. Soon, it will be a memory with no lasting ramifications. I won’t have a wife.

  We get out of the Uber, and Wren folds her arms over her chest.

  “I’m so nervous,” she says, her fingertips drumming on the side of her Nirvana T-shirt like she’s Dave Grohl.

  “When we go in there, you’re going to have to not act like you’re on a comedown, okay? Drop your arms, stand still, and lose the frown.”

  The frown transforms into a scowl. “I don’t like you very much at all.”

  “You seemed to like me a lot last night. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me never to get out of you.”

  She rolls her eyes, but to my surprise and delight, she doesn’t blush. “You can’t hold something I said against me if it was during sex. Everyone knows that, Brody; it’s the come clause.”

  Laughing, I grab her arm as she tries to go into the building. Oh, we are not done yet. “The come clause? That’s what you’re calling it?” My cheeks ache from grinning.

  “Do you have a better name?”

  I shake my head. “No, that’s brilliant.”

  “Perfect. Super happy you agree. Now, can we go inside and get this over with?”

  Stepping back, I bow slightly and gesture to the door with my arm.

  She curtseys. “Why, thank you.” Turning, I’m about to go inside when she grabs me. “Wait!”

  I look back. “What?”

  Her eyes are wide. “We can’t tell them I was drunk.”

  Realisation drains the blood from my face. “You’re not legal to drink. Shit.”

  “What do we say now?”

  I blow out a breath. Shit.

  Fix this.

  “Okay, don’t worry. We can still tell them it was impulsive; we were with another couple and got carried away. We’ll tell them we’re not together and neither of us want to be married.”

  She nods, her eyes full of panic. “That will work?”

  “We weren’t thinking straight. Come on, it’ll be fine.”

  Inside, the place is rammed. My eyebrows shoot up. Fuck. This is madness.

  “Erm, are you sure we shouldn’t have made an appointment?” she asks.

  “We’re only here to pick up the paperwork. I assume we fill it in and hand it back. The annulment won’t be instant, but after this, we’ll just have to wait.”

  “Good. Okay, let’s queue then.”

  We’re going to be here all fucking day.

  Wren and I shuffle up every few minutes. It’s hot, despite the cool air blowing from the ceiling. Half a step at a time. I don’t think the line is getting shorter; we’re all just getting closer together. We’ll eventually end up in one mass bundle on the floor.

  We reach the front of the queue after thirteen mini rants from Wren about how long it’s taking.

  “Surely, there can’t be that many people wanting annulments!”

  “We’re in Vegas, Wren. And this place isn’t only for that.”

  She clamps her mouth shut as we’re called forward.

  “How can I help?” the clerk asks.

  Wren’s eyes flit to me, and she lifts her eyebrow to say, I’m not telling her.

  Great.

  “We’d like the paperwork for an annulment, please,” I say politely, feeling a deep sting of embarrassment.

  Her hazel eyes look between us. She presses her lips together like she’s not at all surprised. Reaching to her side, she opens a cabinet and hands me a small stack of papers. “Fill these forms in and bring them back.”

  “Thanks,” I say, grabbing Wren’s hand and pulling her away.

  “We’ve got to join the queue again?” she asks, gripping my hand tight. I don’t entirely hate that.

  I stop and turn. “We can’t fill it out in front of her, can we?”

  Wren’s light eyes seem to darken the madder she gets. “Did you bring a pen?”

  I pull a shitty Biro out of my pocket, which I took from the hotel. Her eyes land on the pen, and then she looks at me like I’ve suddenly transformed into someone else—someone like Emma, for instance.

  “Yeah, I have a pen. You want an annulment or not?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Definitely.” Her answer is a little too quick to not take it personally. “Fill it in.”

  “For the record, I would make a great husband,” I tell her as we take a seat in the corner.

  Wren rolls her neck. “I’m not getting into that.”

  “Name?”

  “You know my name.”

>   “I don’t know your middle name.”

  Her head twists to face—glare at—me. “You don’t know my middle name?”

  “Why would I say that if I knew?”

  “You’ve been in my life all my life.”

  On a sigh, I mutter, “Just tell me the fucking name.”

  “Elsa.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “And why would I lie about that?”

  “That’s the name of that Disney princess with the ice. Though it fits.”

  She scowls. “Fuck off.”

  “Wren—”

  “Brody, that’s my middle name.”

  “You’re not named after a princess.”

  She deadpans. “Obviously not. I’m fairly certain that if my parents were psychic, they would use their powers for the lottery and not giving their daughter a future princess’s name!”

  “If the woman up there could see us now, she would give us the annulment without having us fill this shit in.”

  “Brody, write my name in the damn box, or I will.”

  I scribe her full name. “No, thanks. You have the handwriting of a three-year-old.”

  “Bad handwriting is actually a sign of creativity.”

  “Well, you’re not getting creative with our annulment forms. Sit quietly or go find some coffee. Before you do, what’s your date of birth?”

  Her jaw drops.

  “Kidding. I know your birthday.”

  “Write faster,” she growls.

  I do. Not because she told me to, but because I’m so desperate to put last night behind us. Not the sex part—that can stay. It was the best sex I have ever had. That much I remember… vividly.

  Chapter 15

  Wren

  Brody finishes the annulment forms and reads them back. Twice.

  My leg bounces as I wait. He has to be the slowest reader on the planet.

  We’ve cleared half of the day to do this, but neither of us expected it to take this long. This is insanity.

  Do they get paid for keeping people here for as long as possible, or do they just enjoy seeing our pain? I bet the woman who gave us the paperwork—who is no longer here—smiles all the way home, knowing she’s wasted someone’s day.

  “Brody …”

  “Shh,” he hushes.

  I curl my hands into fists. How can someone so good-looking—like, fuck, I’m going to come on the spot good-looking—be so annoying?

  Brody’s always looked like he belonged on the front of magazines. When we were all on holiday in New York about five years ago, he was approached by a modelling agency. He turned them down because he had no patience for photos or sitting still for long.

  He’s an engineer—not a cool one like Michael Scofield; he works on residential developments mostly—and he needs to use his brain on complicated maths shit. No, this building won’t fall down because of the distributed weight of… blah, blah, blah. My point is, he would go crazy if he wasn’t kept busy. I don’t think he would give the photographer longer than three seconds for a shot. He doesn’t have the patience.

  Pretty doesn’t mean not a dick, and Brody can be a bit of a dick.

  “Okay, let’s take this back.”

  I stand, stretching my back. Every muscle aches from doing nothing. My arse is numb.

  Brody and I join the queue, yet again, but thankfully, it’s not very long this time because everyone else has probably died of old age.

  “Are you sure you’ve read that enough?” I tease.

  “Don’t be a dick,” he says, not even looking at me.

  “What if you got something wrong on there? My middle name isn’t really Elsa.”

  His head whips to the side so fast that I startle. “What?”

  I smile. “Kidding.”

  His eyebrows pull together in a frown so big, I’m surprised it doesn’t eat his face. “What is wrong with you?”

  “This is the day we get an annulment. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” I feel much better knowing we’re here.

  “The mood isn’t dark. Stop talking. You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

  “You say the F-word a lot.”

  We take a step forward, people in front and behind locked in their own conversations.

  “Yeah, well, you make me say it a lot,” he replies, glancing at the paperwork for the third time.

  “Do you need to eat?”

  It’s past lunch now. I’m starving, but I still can’t face eating anything.

  “No, I need you to be quiet. I’ve already fucked up enough this holiday. I have a banging headache still, and you’re irritating as fuck.”

  He used the F-word twice in that delightful little speech. I think he does need to eat.

  “Next!” the clerk calls.

  I slap his shoulder. “Ooh, that’s us.”

  Brody shakes his head and steps up to the desk. “Here are our forms for an annulment.”

  The lady—a middle-aged woman with a short bob and thin red lips—takes the paperwork.

  “One moment,” she says, reading it over.

  My God, this thing has been read more than Shakespeare.

  I lean against the wall and watch her through the little hatch. Hurry up.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t qualify for an annulment based on the information you have given.”

  What? Wait, what did she just say?

  “Why not?” Brody asks, his voice low and face pale.

  My heart hammers against my chest like it’s desperate to break out and run away.

  “You cannot just change your mind, sir.”

  I open my mouth and nothing comes out. Why can’t we change our mind? The wedding was a mistake.

  “We didn’t want to get married,” Brody says.

  “And yet you went to get your marriage licence, and then you went to a chapel. I’m sorry, but mistakes can’t be erased like that.”

  I grip hold of Brody’s arm because my head is swimming. Tiny red dots dance in front of my eyes, taunting, ready to make me fall. “We can’t stay married,” I whisper, my lungs tight.

  “There are other avenues,” she says.

  “No, this is the avenue we’re taking,” Brody says sternly.

  She sits higher in her seat, her gaze breaking for a second to look over my shoulder before she’s back. “I’m afraid I cannot process your annulment. There are leaflets on divorce by the entrance.”

  “No!” Brody snaps, slamming his fist on the narrow counter. “We came here for—”

  “I don’t care what you came here for. You do not qualify for an annulment. You will have to get a divorce. The world won’t erase every bad decision you make for you. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to live with this one.”

  “This is bullshit!” Brody shouts.

  “Calm down, sir.”

  “I won’t fucking calm down! I bet if I were rich or fucking famous, you would have stamped that fucker instantly, and we wouldn’t be married right now.”

  “This has nothing to do with who you are.”

  “Like fuck it doesn’t! I need you to look over the paperwork again.”

  “Brody,” I say, tugging on his arm. His frustration is growing at about the same rate as she’s losing patience.

  “And I’ll come to the same conclusion again, sir,” she says tightly, her eyes hard.

  “That’s fucking unacceptable. I want to speak to your manager.”

  “Okay, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” says a mountain of a man appearing at the side of us. He’s wearing black, and he has a gun.

  Time to go.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Brody says, frowning defiantly.

  “Either you leave now, or I’ll have you arrested,” the security giant warns.

  I tug the arm I’m still gripping. “Brody, come on.”

  “Wren, we can’t—”

  “Just follow me. We’ll figure it out.” I manage to pull him a few steps. “I’m sorry. We’re going,” I tell Th
e Hulk.

  “Wren!” Brody snaps as I tug him outside, my whole body leaning forward to get him to move.

  We burst through the door, and the scorching heat slams into my face.

  “We need to go back and explain,” he says, his eyes wide and face red with anger.

  Letting go of him, I throw my hands up. “Explain what? We can’t tell them we were drunk because I’m not old enough to drink. And what the hell was that back there? You could be in a cell right now!”

  “She wasn’t listening.”

  “She’s a miserable old bitch, but a miserable old bitch with the power to have us locked up. How would we explain that one?”

  Brody closes his eyes and looks up to the sky as if the answers are up there.

  “We can’t make this disappear.” His words jab me in the side like a knife wound.

  I swallow bile and lean against the wall with boneless legs. “My parents will kill me.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes still closed like he’s in pain. “No, Wren. Everyone will hate me.”

  Chapter 16

  Wren

  I think I’m going to throw up.

  Bile stings the back of my throat as we stand outside the courthouse in the blistering heat. My skin is prickling, and I’m not sure if it’s the sun or the fact that we can’t get an annulment.

  We have to get a divorce.

  How can I keep that one quiet?

  Won’t I have to declare that on forms and shit like that?

  “Wren,” Brody says softly after silent minutes stretched out in front of us. “We should go.”

  I don’t know why I’m still standing here. It’s not like they’re going to change their mind.

  “What do we do?” I ask weakly.

  “Let’s go and get a drink someplace with air-conditioning.” He takes my hands in his. “You’re boiling hot and standing here isn’t solving anything.”

  I want to squeeze his hands and hold on to something real. This all feels like a dream. A shockingly bad one.

  “I’m scared,” I whisper.

  And when did he turn his logical head back on? About the time I lost mine?