Page 23 of Power Play

nine

. . .

Al

I take Riley’s hands in mine, staring into her baby blues. They’re wide and scared, and I squeeze her hand, trying to reassure her.

“Do you, Riley Anne Lucas, take Alberto Emilio Gonzales to be your lawful wedded spouse, to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love, honor, comfort, and keep him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?”

She swallows, the sound loud in the small room, and pulls her hands from mine.

“Riley—” I don’t know what to say. Did I push her too fast?

“Your middle name is Emilio?” she whispers.

Slowly, I nod. My kid’s name is Emilia. We’re matching.

Did Carter know? I never told her. It’s not on my Wikipedia page, but I’m sure it’s somewhere deep in the Internet.

Something shutters in her eyes, and her face falls. She looks over at Emmy, safe in Tony’s arms, and sniffles a few times, swiping beneath her lashes, before she lets out a gusty sigh and squares her shoulders. “Okay. I can do this.”

She takes my hands again, then nods at Judge McCall. “Say it again.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “If you’re being coerced…”

“Only by a ghost,” she says with a bitter chuckle. “But my sister’s already dead, so I can’t kill her for getting me into this mess.”

The judge chuckles awkwardly, then repeats the vows.

“I do,” she says, her voice steady and sure. She squeezes my fingers, staring me straight in the face. “For as long as we both shall live.”

My heartbeat thuds in the back of my ears. This is temporary. This is for Emmy.

But as Judge McCall says my part of the vows, I know deep in my bones this isn’t temporary. This may be fake, but it’s real life.

“I do,” I say, loud and clear.

“The rings, please,” the judge says, and Cari hands over a small box.

Riley looks alarmed. “I didn’t⁠—”

I open the velvet box, withdrawing two rings. Mine is a simple white-gold band, not too thick, with a flat finish. The other is more ornate, matching white gold with an eternity band of diamonds surrounding the entire thing. It’s understated, simple, not flashy. It won’t scratch Emmy’s delicate skin.

“It’s perfect,” she breathes.

“Repeat after me,” Judge McCall prompts.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” Riley says, and she slips the plain band onto my finger.

It feels heavy. Weighty. Right.

“With this ring, I thee wed,” I repeat, as I slide hers into place.

“Congratulations,” Judge McCall says. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.