Gypsy king

“Do you have your IDs?” the clerk asked. She took them both along with the application, then pointed to the row of chairs behind us. “You can have a seat.”

I clenched the arms of the chair as I sat, taking a few long breaths to stop my head from spi

My mom wasn’t here to walk me down the aisle.

Blood pumped loud in my ears and the hammering in my chest hurt like crazy. I’d never had an anxiety attack before. Was that what this was? I’d gotten kidnapped just over a week ago and hadn’t flipped out then. If I could survive that experience, then this was a piece of cake.

It’s temporary. It’s only temporary. Eventually, we’d get a divorce and I’d be free to move home to Colorado. A few years here and then I’d get my life back. I could do this for Isaiah.

“We don’t have to do this,” he whispered.

“We do,” I insisted, finding the same determination I’d had when I’d suggested marriage in the first place. “We do.”

“Genevieve . . .” My name sounded so smooth in his deep voice. Each syllable was evenly spaced. He didn’t rush through it like a lot of people did.

I looked up at him, meeting that gorgeous gaze, and my heart softened. Isaiah was a nice man. A good man. He didn’t deserve to suffer because of my mother’s mistakes. “We’re doing this.”

“Isaiah and Genevieve?” The clerk waved us up, sliding a marriage license across the counter. “You’re all set. Just go right through there.”

We followed her finger through a door to our left, finding a man shuffling some papers on his oak desk. His glasses were perched on his nose. His head was bald except for the ring of gray hair that ran from ear to ear.

“The future Mr. and Mrs.”—he sca

Mrs. Reynolds. I gulped, then forced a smile. We were supposed to be in love—a couple who’d met and fallen in love on the same day—so I slipped my hand into Isaiah’s, tensing as the heat and callouses from his palm hit mine.

He didn’t flinch but his frame tightened.

“Shall we?” The judge motioned us to the middle of the room. We stood in front of him as he took up his position and gave us both a kind smile. If he could sense our fear, he didn’t comment.

“Do you have rings?”

Panic hit hard. In everything I’d done this past week, I hadn’t thought to get rings. “I, uh—”

“Here.” Isaiah fished two rings out of his jeans pocket. One was a simple band. Not gold or silver but a dark gray, like titanium. And the other was a thin platinum band with a halo of small diamonds in the center.

My mouth fell open.

“It’s not much.” Isaiah swallowed hard, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

“It’s beautiful.” I squeezed his hand, then took the ring. Beautiful was the truth. The diamonds weren’t huge, but I didn’t need huge. He’d already done enough. “Thank you.”

“Excellent.” The judge smiled. “Isaiah, Genevieve, please join hands.”

We did, facing one another. Direct eye contact was fleeting at best. Mostly, I focused on Isaiah’s nose and its wide bridge. It was an admirable nose, strong and straight, set perfectly between those haunted eyes.

“By joining hands, you are consenting to be bound together. Husband and wife. You are promising to honor, love and support each other. Do you, Isaiah, take Genevieve as your wife?”

His eyes found mine. “I do.”

“Do you, Genevieve, take Isaiah as your husband?”

“I do.”

Two words and it was done. I was married.

“Then by the authority vested in me by the great state of Montana, I pronounce you husband and wife. I wish you the best of luck in your marriage, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds.”

Marriage.

It was done.

Isaiah was safe. No one in the world could make me tell them what had happened at that cabin in the mountains. Because now, I was his wife.

I turned to the justice, ready to say thank you, then make my escape. But he opened his mouth for one last statement that made all the color drain from Isaiah’s face.

“Isaiah, you may now kiss your bride.”

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