Deals fall apart.
Business partners part ways.
Marriages are made of tougher stuff, at least in our world. Divorce is rare when fidelity isn抰 expected and each party will end up poorer for it.
My cue to turn appears. I look to the left. Without realizing it, I started holding my breath.
I don抰 exhale, even when my lungs begin to burn.
I don抰 move, even though I抦 supposed to take a step toward her.
I just stare.
The first time I saw Scarlett Ellsworth, I was fifteen years old. So was she. We were both kids playing adults. I was wearing a custom suit I抎 outgrow in a couple of weeks. Scarlett was wearing a floor-length gown, heels, and makeup. I was drunk梠ff Thomas Archibald抯 father抯 scotch. Breaking into studies and sneaking expensive liquor was a common pastime at parties on the Upper East Side.
I thought she was beautiful then.
I抳e thought she looked stunning every single time I抳e seen her in the ten years that have elapsed since. Scarlett possesses a classic, timeless poise that provides the same presence as actual royalty.
But today? She抯 devastatingly, heartbreakingly beautiful. The untouchable sort of regal. An ice queen. A snow angel. A moon goddess. She walks toward me on her father抯 arm surrounded by a waterfall of white organza, her brunette hair curled in an elaborate updo and her lips painted their signature crimson shade.
Hanson Ellsworth doesn抰 walk her all the way to me. He stops at the last pew, and Scarlett takes the final steps toward me alone. When she reaches me, I demonstrate more staring. More not moving. It抯 not customary for the bride and groom to pause before approaching the priest, and the rustling of the audience emphasizes that.
揌i.?
揌i.?I clear my throat. 揜eady??
揜eady.?There抯 no hint of hesitation on her face.
I rely on her confidence like a crutch. 揧ou look厰 I flip through adjectives that all fall short. The best I can come up with is 搒tunning,?but it doesn抰 say everything I抦 trying to.
Scarlett looks away after I compliment her, up at the altar where we抮e about to get married. 揟hank you.?
We start up the short row of steps that lead to the waiting priest, side by side. The priest launches into a speech about the sanctity of marriage. I don抰 pay close attention to any of the readings that follow. I抦 mostly focused on not looking over at Scarlett. We抮e on display up here, and I抦 no longer worried about appearing too indifferent to her presence. I抦 concerned about the exact opposite梘iving away too much.
When it comes time for the vows, I have no choice but to look at her. Scarlett hands off her bouquet, and we抮e stuck staring at each other while the rings are blessed.
I go first. When we met with Father Callahan, he asked if we would be writing out our own vows. Scarlett and I talked over each other in our haste to let him know we抎 be sticking with the traditional ones. I wasn抰 worried about saying them. But suddenly these words梠nes that millions of people have said millions of times before during millions of weddings梥ound far too intimate as I look at her.
揑， Crew Anthony Kensington, take you, Scarlett Cordelia Ellsworth, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do we part.?I slide the diamond wedding band onto her ring finger. 揑 give this ring as a sign of my love.?
The priest looks to Scarlett expectantly. She doesn抰 need any prompting. Her voice is clear and unwavering, echoing off the glass windows and the marble floor and the dark wood.
揑， Scarlett Cordelia Ellsworth, take you, Crew Anthony Kensington, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do we part.?She slides the platinum wedding ring onto my third finger. It抯 far from heavy but impossible to ignore. A reminder of her I抣l always see梬hether I want to or not. 揑 give this ring as a sign of my love.?
If I weren抰 watching her so closely, I would miss the flicker of trepidation as it passes across her perfectly painted face. Scarlett knows what happens next, same as I do. I wonder if she抯 more or less apprehensive about this kiss following her request earlier.
揧ou may kiss the bride.?
I watch Scarlett smother the urge to roll her eyes. She obviously doesn抰 appreciate the priest 揳llowing?me to kiss her. But I抦 close enough to see her breath hitch and her eyes widen. She wants to kiss me; she just doesn抰 want to admit it.
I take a step forward slowly. Deliberately.
Actions I don抰 usually think twice about, I抦 second-guessing. The small space between us shrinks to nothing, until the stiff fabric of my tuxedo is pressed against the white material of her dress. This is the closest we抳e ever been, save for that brief moment earlier.