by Kaylee Ryan
“We could be,” he counters.
“But the fact remains we’re not. Don’t you have some fancy lawyer you can call to make this go away?”
“Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” he says, his voice flat. “We need to get to the airport. Our flight leaves in two hours.”
“Right. When we get home, we have to figure this mess out. I’ll hold on to these,” I say, holding the envelope up that I’m sure holds our marriage license. Standing, I drag my hungover, newly married ass to my room to shower and pack.
Thirty minutes later, I find Rhett in the main living area, his carryon beside him. “I called a car. It’s waiting to take us to the airport.” He hands me a bottle of water. “You hungry?”
“I’ll just grab something at the airport. The last thing we need is to miss our flight.”
He nods and reaches for my bag. “I got it,” I say a little more heated than necessary. This whole marriage thing is messing with me.
“Saylor,” he sighs. “Let me have your bag. We need to go,” he says, reaching out again.
This time I let him take it. I notice his wedding band when he does. Absentmindedly, I run my thumb over mine. I started to take it off, but it looks expensive, and I didn’t want to risk losing it. Surely, he can sell it or maybe return it. “Thanks,” I mumble.
The ride to the airport is quiet. I don’t know what to say, and I’m sure neither does he. I mean, we got drunk and got married, what do you say to that? We make it through security and to our gate with limited talking, just enough to get us to where we need to be.
“I’m going to run and get something to eat. What do you want?” he asks me.
“Anything, and coffee, please.”
He gives my knee a gentle squeeze before standing and walking away. I don’t take my eyes off of him until he disappears into the crowd of people.
“Your husband’s very handsome,” the little lady sitting next to me says. “You all are quite the pair.” She smiles warmly.
How do I explain he’s not really my husband, when technically he is? It’s not worth the stress of the conversation. “Thank you,” I say instead. Fuck it, can’t beat them, join them.
“You remind me a lot of my Harold and me when we were younger. He was the love of my life,” she says. “We have four children and nine grandchildren,” she boasts proudly. She continues to tell me about her grandson’s graduation, which is why she’s flying to West Virginia; he goes to college at Virginia Tech.
Rhett returns with two bagels and two piping hot cups of coffee. “Be careful, it’s really hot,” he tells me.
I want to smart off that I’m an adult and know how to drink a hot beverage, but he’s being sincere. I need to keep my bad attitude in check. He didn’t force me to marry him. Hell, from what I remember, I was all in on our impromptu nuptials.
“I was just telling your wife what a lovely couple you are,” my new friend tells Rhett.
“Thank you.” He gives her one of his panty-dropping smiles before taking his seat next to me and digging into his breakfast.
“How long have you been married?” she asks.
“Newlyweds,” Rhett says before I can form an answer.
“Oh, how wonderful. My Harold and I fell fast and hard. We married after courting just four weeks. My daddy was so angry, said we were too young, but I knew he was it for me. When you know, you know.” She sighs. “How long have you been together?” she asks. She’s oblivious or just doesn’t care that we really aren’t engaging her, just answering her questions. Normally, I would be, but the topic of conversation stresses me the hell out.
“A few months,” Rhett answers.
I want to give him the look, you know the one that tells him to shut his mouth, but I don’t have the energy. Besides, chances are we’ll never see this woman again.
“How romantic,” she gushes. “Words of wisdom, never go to bed angry, and never sleep alone. I mean, you don’t get married to sleep alone, right?” She wags her eyebrows.
I can’t help but laugh at her antics. Thankfully, we’re saved from further questioning when they call to board first class. It’s terrible of me, but I hold my breath, hoping she remains seated. She does, allowing me to breathe easy.
“It was nice meeting you.” Rhett stands and grabs our bags. I follow him to the line and onto the plane. “You want the window seat again?” he asks.
“I plan on sleeping, so it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I’ll take the aisle, that way you don’t have to worry about people bumping into you,” he says sweetly.
I take my seat; we’re in the very front row again. I immediately pull the shade closed on the window and buckle myself in. My thoughts wonder to the flight here and Rhett’s means of distraction. My anxiety spikes, not really knowing what to expect for takeoff. He had me too distracted to take notice.
Rhett settles in his seat and buckles up. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, just nervous about takeoff,” I admit.
Reaching over, he laces his fingers through mine. I can feel the metal of his wedding band against my palm. “You want me to distract you?” he whispers. He’s got his head resting against the seat, turned toward me. I do the same. It’s an intimate position, but I need him right now. I know my fear is irrational, but it’s there nonetheless.
“Maybe,” I answer, not taking my eyes off his.
The flight attendant takes down her microphone and gives us her speech about safety and seat belt signs and emergency procedures. I listen but never look away from him. “Just breath, Say,” he whispers as the plane begins to taxi down the runway.
As the plane starts to lift, I feel my panic grow. “K-kiss me, p-please,” I say, fighting through the fear.
With one hand holding tight to mine, the other lifts and cups my cheek. He leans in, and I meet him halfway. I close my eyes and get lost in him, in Rhett, my husband. When the plane levels out, he pulls away. He brushes my hair out of my eyes. “Better?” he asks. I nod, unable to speak. With his hand on my head, he guides me to rest against his shoulder. “Sleep,” he says softly.
I settle against him and close my eyes. I can’t believe we got married; I’m leaning against my husband. My heart hurts that it’s not real. To be able to spend my life with him. To truly be a part of his family… they’re amazing, and it would be a privilege to be a part of it. Looking back, I’ll be able to say I was wild and crazy and got married in Vegas.
“Miss,” I hear Rhett asks. “Can I get a blanket for my wife?” he asks softly.
His wife.
My husband.
I fight to keep my eyes closed. Why is he referring to me as his wife? We’re married, but it isn’t real. I feel him drape the cover over me. “Sleep, baby,” he says, his lips brushing across my forehead.
I’m too tired to figure it out. We can do that when we get home. Right now, I just want to sleep off the aftereffect of Vegas and snuggle up to my husband. Might be the last time I have the chance.
When we make it back to the house, all I want to do is crash. I didn’t sleep on either flight. Saylor was able to rest on both, leaning against me. Each time I asked the flight attendant for a blanket for my wife, the word cemented with me. I should have dropped her off at her place. Instead, I convinced her to come home with me so we could discuss how to get out of this mess—her words not mine. I could never consider being married to Saylor as a mess. It’s impulsive and out of character for both of us with that level of commitment, but not a mess. After we boarded our connecting flight and she fell back asleep, all I thought about was how to get her to try this ruse of a marriage and see if we can make it work. Not something that I would have ever thought I’d hear myself say.
Things changed when I met Saylor.
“Come on in,” I say, opening the front door and letting her pass. I could have walked on in, but I’m a starving man when it comes to her. I’ll take any chance I can to touch her. Placing my hand on the small of her back, I lead her into
the living room.
“How do we do this, Rhett?” she says after getting settled on the couch.
I take the seat right next to her and rest my hand on her thigh. “I don’t know. I’ll call my family’s lawyer on Monday and see what he says. I don’t even know if he handles divorces.”
“I can’t believe we did this,” she says with a heavy sigh.
“What? You don’t like being married to me?” I ask her.
“We’re not really married,” she counters.
“I beg to differ. Those papers in that white envelope in your bag say otherwise.”
“You know what I mean. We’re not in love,” she says.
“Married?” a gruff voice says from the doorway.
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath. “He never comes downstairs unless we have company,” I tell Saylor.
“What am I?” she asks.
“My wife,” I say deadpan. The more I say it, the more I like the sound of it.
“You’re married?” Gramps asks, using his cane to enter the room.
I wait until he’s seated in his recliner to tell him the story. “Funny story,” I say before telling the tale, piece by piece. “I’m going to call the family attorney on Monday and see if he can start on the divorce process.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Gramps says sternly. “Where is your marriage license?”
“I have it,” Saylor jumps up and runs to her bag, digging around until she’s holding the white envelope. “Here.” She hands it to him.
“You both want this, right? You agree to end this marriage?” he asks.
“It’s not real, Grandpa Rhett,” Saylor says softly. “We were under the influence of alcohol. It’s not a union of love,” she explains.
“Saylor,” I say, not really sure how to say everything that’s running through my head. She turns to look at me, and all I want to do is kiss her until her smile reappears.
“We’ve talked about this,” she says.
“Yeah,” I mumble.
“All right then, I’ll take care of this. Be warned this isn’t something that will happen overnight. We can’t just call a judge and ask for this to be erased. There will be paperwork and a court hearing. It’s not an easy fix,” he tells us.
“Thank you so much,” Saylor says, bending to give him a hug.
“You’re still family here, sweet girl. No matter what, you’re always welcome.”
Tears glisten in her eyes. I stand and reach out for her. I can’t take her tears. “Come here.” I pull her into my arms, and she comes willingly. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight?”
“I really should go home,” she says.
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
“Yeah. Thank you.” She pulls away. “I’m ready to just go home and get some rest.”
I want to ask about all the sleep she got on the plane, but I keep quiet. “Come on then, I’ll take you home. Gramps, you sure you got this?”
“I’m sure. I’ve been laying in that bed too long. This will give me something to do since you took my job,” he quips.
“You know you’re not well enough to pull an all-day shift at the distillery.”
“I sure as hell can call a lawyer from my bed. Frank and I are old friends; we need to catch up anyway. Besides, maybe I can use the distillery as leverage to do what he can to clean this up?”
“What do you mean?” Saylor asks.
“It would be a shame if I had to find a new attorney, now wouldn’t it?” He winks at her.
“No, I don’t want that. Don’t let it affect your business. We can do this on our own.”
“Nonsense. Let me help you. It will do me some good to have something to do other than watch mindless television. Frank will be hearing from me daily until we get this issue resolved.”
“Thank you.” She kisses his cheek.
Suddenly, I’m jealous of my seventy-seven-year-old grandfather. “Let’s get you home,” I say. Standing, I grab her bag and wait until she’s slipping back into her coat. I lead her to my truck with my hand on the small of her back. I wish I could have convinced her to stay, but asking again would be more than pressing my luck.
“He’ll take care of it,” I say when we pull into her driveway. The drive here was quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts. “I’ll keep on him.”
“It’s fine, Rhett. It’s not like I have any pending offers that I’m rushing out to accept. I just don’t want to be the reason you’re held back,” she confesses.
My chest tightens at her confession. “You’re not holding me back, Saylor. I know it’s just a piece of paper, but you don’t have to worry about me being with anyone else. We have to file with the courts, so word is going to get out.”
“Shit, your parents,” she says, burying her face in her hands. “They’re going to hate me.”
“Hey.” I grab her hand and pull it away from her face. “You’re impossible to hate. I’ll call them later and explain what’s going on. Don’t worry. It will all work out like it’s supposed to.” I fight the urge to lean in and kiss her. The pull is there like a current in the ocean. Pulling away, I climb out of the truck and retrieve her bag.
She doesn’t bother to tell me she can get it this time; she’s learned her lesson. I follow her up the stairs, dreading saying goodbye.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome. I’ll call you tomorrow? We should keep in touch; you know, until this is all cleared up.”
“We’re still friends, Rhett. This doesn’t have to be awkward.”
“I don’t want it to be, but I can’t stop thinking about being inside of you, and now you’re my wife. That fucks with my head, Saylor,” I say, leaning into her.
“We’re both adults. We can manage,” she says with mock confidence. I can see the desire in her eyes.
“Can I kiss my wife goodnight?” I ask her, my lips now hovering over hers.
“We shouldn’t,” she says, gripping my coat.
I eliminate the distance and press my mouth to hers. I nip at her bottom lip until she opens for me. Sliding my tongue past her lips, I get lost in the taste of her. My cock is hard as steel, remembering how she feels. Is it possible that this kiss is better than all the others? That it’s sweeter knowing she’s my wife? I know she’s not really mine, but the thought of it somehow changes things. Sweeter, softer, more electrifying. I never would have thought it could have been possible, not with us. Every time my lips touch hers, it’s explosive. Slowly, I pull away from her. “Goodnight, Say,” I whisper. Before I release my hold on her, I drop a chaste kiss to her forehead. I motion for her to go inside, handing her her bag.
“Night, Whiskey,” she whispers before closing the door.
I stand there on her step, fists clenched. I want to beat the fucking door down until she lets me in, inside her house and inside of her. I need to get my head on straight where she’s concerned. She’s made her position clear. I just need to figure out why it bothers me so much.
Grabbing my cane as soon as the door shuts, I’m on my feet and headed toward the window. I need to make sure they’re gone before I make the call. I watch until I can no longer see his truck before making my way to my office upstairs. I may be an old man, but I know a spark when I see it. Those kids have it in spades. That Saylor is a special person, and my Rhett just as much. I’m hard on him, but he needs to see there is more to life than your title and your money. I can tell that being here is doing that for him. It’s been hard on me, not falling back into our old ways, laughing and joking all the time, but I’m teaching him a lesson. Like his father, he let the outside world change his rhythm of life, alter what he views as important. I think our girl Saylor is just what he needs to come back down to earth. No doubt in my mind, she’ll keep him grounded just as my sweet Mary did for me, and the same as Valerie has done for my son. Behind every good man is a strong woman.
Easing myself down into my chair, I don’t have to look up the number I’ve calle
d numerous times over the years. I dial the phone and wait for him to pick up. “Frank,” I say in greeting.
“Rhett, how you been? I heard you’ve been under the weather and your grandson has been filling in for you,” he says.
“Dorothy gossips too much.” I laugh.
“She’s a keeper that one. What can I do for you?”
“I need your help with something. I’ll make it worth your while,” I tell him.
“I’m listening.”
“First let me ask, in your scope of practice, are you able to handle a simple basic divorce? A quickie wedding that happened in Vegas?”
“I can. It’s not my specialty, but if it’s what your describing, just some basic paperwork and some signatures. Could have it completed and through the courts in a few weeks, month tops.”
“Great. Now, what I’m about to tell you stays between us. It’s not illegal, so you don’t have to worry. This is where I make it worth your while. My grandson got married this weekend. The girl, well, they’re perfect for each other. However, they feel as though since alcohol was involved it was a mistake. I disagree. I told them I would handle everything, and that’s where you come in. I need a draft in a week or so, something that looks official, but I don’t want it to be filed. If either Rhett or Saylor contacts you, you are to tell them that it’s in the works and these things take time. I want to give them time to change their minds.”
“Baxter, you’re playing with lives here,” he warns me.
“Nothing too extreme. If in three months, they have not figured out that a divorce is not what they want, then you can file the damn papers. But I’m going to need you to field questions and concerns. Make up some legal mumbo jumbo that they won’t bother checking into. They just need a little time.”
“Baxter, you sure about this?”
“What’s a few more weeks of marriage in the grand scheme of things. You said a month, I say three. It’s eight more weeks. I’ll double your hourly rate.” He whistles, and I know I’ve got him. He’s a great guy, but lives for the money and expensive things. He’s a great attorney, but everything I don’t want my grandson to be.