Page 6 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
My breath hitched and I fought to swallow past the lump in my throat. Never in my life had that ridiculous saying sounded so wonderful.
“We’re ready for you,” the receptionist said, popping her head out into the entryway.
Nick held out an elbow and I looped my arm through his before he escorted me down the aisle. Step by step, we strolled together to Clover standing under the arch.
Ten minutes later, we were husband and wife. We had repeated traditional vows, promising to love and cherish one another until death parted us.
With permission to kiss his bride, a smile spread across Nick’s face as he hoisted me up into his arms.
“Hi, Wife.”
“Hi, Husband.”
The light in his eyes was dancing. I imagined that mine looked much the same.
I dropped my lips to his for a kiss that I would never forget. The moment our lips touched, the world around us melted away.
There was only us.
Leaving the chapel, we barely spoke as the receptionist handed us our marriage certificate and wedding photos. T
he smiles on our faces were so wide they couldn’t be broken for words. Never in my life had I been so deliriously happy.
“Do you believe in fate?” I asked Nick as we rode back to the Bellagio.
“Yeah.”
“Are we going to make this work?” I whispered.
“Fuck yes we are.”
Any lingering anxiety in my stomach vanished. “How?”
“We just are. We belong to each other. Tomorrow, we’ll figure it all out. Tonight, let’s just be us.”
“Okay. Let’s just be us,” I said, thanking all the angels in the heavens that I was lucky enough to have him as mine.
“Nick?” I called through the sitting room of the hotel suite.
I’d just woken up alone, and after searching the bedroom and bathroom, I’d walked out to the common area, hoping to find him with coffee. The shots from last night had given me a mild headache and I needed caffeine.
He wasn’t on either sofa or in the kitchenette. I turned back toward the bedroom for some clothes but stopped when a shiny object on the foyer table caught my eye.
The closer I got to the table, the heavier my steps fell on the polished marble floor. I knew that shiny object. It was the platinum band I had placed on Nick’s finger at The Clover Chapel last night.
I reached out and let my fingertips brush the cool metal. Sliding it to the side, I read the one-word note underneath.
Sorry
Nine years later . . .
“Emmeline?”
“Hi! Come on in, Rich,” I said, smiling at the school’s principal and my boss. Rich Garcia, a short Hispanic man in his forties, walked across the linoleum floor into my classroom.
“I just wanted to check in and see how your first day of parent meetings was going.”
