Chapter 6

6

LUCA

I park in front of Victoria’s house and stare at her door, hesitating. She told me to honk when I got here, but honking for the woman you’re about to marry feels wrong on a fundamental level.

I unlatch my seatbelt, get out of the car, then make my way to her door. If she thought my hands were sweaty at the hospital, she’s in for a real treat today. Not that we’ll be holding hands.

Part of me is nervous she’ll show up at the door in pajamas, look at me like I’m crazy, and tell me she was only joking about the whole marriage thing.

I’d basically accepted the NFL was off the table before I came to her house yesterday. She offered me a thread of hope, though, and I don’t know what I’ll do if it gets cut again.

Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. I feel like I’m back in high school, picking up my prom date. That night ended with my date making out with one of my teammates, so it’s not the best memory.

The door opens suddenly, and Victoria appears, bent over and pulling on her shoes. She’s wearing wide-leg pants and a pink crew-neck T-shirt that’s tucked in. Her thick, wavy hair covers her shoulders, not totally dry yet.

“Good morning.” She winces as she pulls on the heel of her shoe and stands straight. Her smile wavers at the sight of me, her gaze running from my head to my feet. “I’m underdressed.”

“No.” I silently curse my choice to wear a suit. I debated for a good ten minutes but figured it might seem strange to the courthouse employees if I showed up in sweats to get married. “You look perfect.”

She cocks a brow at me. “Again, terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” I say, but she’s already walking away. I wasn’t lying, though. Victoria’s a beautiful woman. It’s something I’d rather not notice, but I can’t help that I have fully functioning eyes.

Not that her being a sight for sore eyes changes anything. The last thing I need right now is distraction. Or to get attached to someone I have plans to divorce. The people I love never stick around, so the obvious solution is just not to love anyone. I’ve been doing really well at that since Grandma died.

“Come in,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m just gonna change real quick. Try to match your swagger.”

I step inside, close the door behind me, and look around the living room. I’ve been here a few times, but I haven’t let myself explore much. There are some pictures on the walls, and part of me wants to go check them out, but I keep my feet planted where they are, and in a flash, Victoria’s back.

She’s changed into a black skirt that hugs her hips and thighs, ending just above her knees. Her shirt is white and flowy, tucked carefully into her skirt. She’s holding a pair of black heels, which she slips on while walking.

“Shall we?” The words are garbled by the chopstick between her teeth. She scoops her mass of hair back, twists it, and secures it with a chopstick. Miraculously, it holds. “You have your ID?” I ask.

She grabs her purse and holds it up. “You?”

“In the car.”

“Great!” She opens the front door, and I pass through, ignoring Grandma’s voice telling me to hold the door open for her. This isn’t prom. It’s paperwork, as Victoria said.

“I called first thing this morning,” she says as we walk to the car, “so they’re expecting us. They said we should be able to get in for a ceremony right after we get the license. Apparently, Wednesdays aren’t too busy for them. Convenient, right?”

“Yeah.” This is the weirdest thing ever, talking about our wedding appointment like this. I don’t think I’ve ever really imagined getting married, but some basic part of me knows this is bizarre.

We get in the car, and Victoria keeps up a steady stream of conversation, which is good because I’m in my head, and if she didn’t talk, it’d be completely silent. Her chatter is strangely reassuring, like it’s just a normal day. Or maybe she’s a chatterbox because of nerves. It’s possible she’s terrified inside and just really good at masking it.

When we pull into the courthouse parking lot and I park the car, she opens her door. I put a hand on her arm to stop her.

She looks at me with a question in her eyes.

I’ve got a question of my own, but I’m scared to ask it because I’m afraid of the answer. I ask it anyway. “Are you sure about this?”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “I thought you were going to tell me I forgot to shave or something. Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”

Am I sure I should be letting her do this? Not at all.

Am I crazy grateful she seems to be on board with it? 100%.

Do I want to play in the NFL more than anything? Absolutely.

“If you’re sure you’re sure,” I say, “I’m sure.”

She smiles. “I’m sure I’m sure. Come on. Let’s go do something crazy.” She steps out of the car, and I scrub a hand over my smile.

There are two other couples in the clerk’s office where we wait our turn to get the marriage license. One is an older couple in their seventies. They’re holding hands, and her head’s on his shoulder, a contented smile on both of their faces.

I get a little knot in my throat as I picture Grandma in her place. My grandpa died not long after I came to live with them, and she was never interested in remarrying.

The other couple in the room is young. Late teens maybe? She’s got a distinct baby bump, and a middle-aged man is sitting next to the guy, wearing a deep frown.

So, we’ve got a widower and widow, a kid being forced to man up, and then Victoria and me. Interesting crowd.

Within a quarter of an hour, we’ve answered the clerk’s questions, paid the fee, and have our marriage license in hand.

“Looks like you have a ceremony scheduled in”—the clerk checks the time—“fifteen minutes. You can go ahead and make your way there. It’s just down the hall.”

We leave the clerk’s office, which has since welcomed two other couples.

“Can you imagine forking over forty grand for a wedding when you could spend a hundred and fifteen bucks like us?” She puts out her fist, and I bump it, secretly marveling at her mood.

I’m waiting for her to get cold feet, but so far, they seem plenty warm.

We reach the room where the ceremonies are performed, and I stop in front of the door and face her. “Last chance.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You trying to get rid of me, Crusher?”

“Nope. But I’m worried you’ll regret this once you’ve had more time to think about it. It feels like…I’m taking advantage of you or something. You don’t owe me anything, you know. I didn’t help you the other day hoping for something in return.”

Her usual upbeat energy gives way to something a little more serious and sincere. “You’re not taking advantage of me, okay? And I know you don’t expect me to do this. If you did, I wouldn’t be standing in the courthouse with you; I’d be running the opposite direction. I’m here because I want to be—yes, I want to do whatever I can to help you, but I also need something like this in my life. Something to shake things up and help me feel more alive. And this is working like a charm. Okay?”

I’m tempted to ask her some follow-up questions. There’s got to be a story behind what she’s saying. But now’s not the time to delve into it, so I take in a breath and nod. “Okay.”

She smiles. “Now it’s my turn. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

My heart races as I think about what this marriage license in my hand means, about the doors it will open. And given that Victoria says she needs something like this? It’d be crazy to turn away.

“Positive,” I say.

Her smile grows bigger, and she puts a hand on the door, then stops. “Shoot.”

My heart drops. “What?”

“We forgot rings. Do we need rings?”

I open my mouth wordlessly because I have no idea.

She sighs with mock frustration. “You’re no help. It’s like you’ve never been married before or something. Oh well.” She starts to pull the door open.

“Hold on.”

She waits as I pull the chain I’m wearing over my head. I undo the clasp and let the two rings on it slide onto my palm.

She smiles incredulously. “Look at you, all prepared! Where’d you get those?”

I slip the chain into my pocket. “They’re my grandma and grandpa’s.”

Her wide-eyed gaze swings to mine. “Luca…I can’t wear your grandma’s ring. We can just get a cheap one off Amazon later. Or from a vending machine. Or no ring at all.”

“It’s just for the ceremony,” I say. It’s not like I really planned to use these in the future. They’re just a reminder of two people I love and miss—the only people who’ve really supported me in my dreams.

Until now, I guess. It’s pretty sobering that a near-stranger is willing to go this far to help me, while my mom and her boyfriend—the guy who was supposed to be a father figure to me—couldn’t even bring themselves to get me on a youth team. My real dad didn’t stick around long enough to know whether he had a baby boy or girl.

Victoria still looks unsure, but she nods and takes Grandpa’s ring. “Okay.”

They’re ready for us in the ceremony room—the officiant and a witness. We hand over our marriage license, and the officiant inspects it, then starts right into things. He’s got the air of a man who has this routine down pat and a list of brides and grooms to get through before lunch.

“We’re here today to witness the union of Luca and Victoria in marriage,” he says. “Marriage is a commitment founded in love, respect, and friendship. It is more than just a ceremony—it marks a lasting bond.”

Victoria clears her throat, and the officiant glances at her. She smiles reassuringly at him.

None of the things he said in that little opener apply to us. Well, I respect Victoria as much as I can after knowing her less than a week, but there’s definitely no love between us, and even friendship seems a generous term.

Regardless, the bond will not be a lasting one.

The officiant looks at me. “Luca Callahan, do you take Victoria Sheppard to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in joy and in sorrow, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

Oh, man. This is weirder than I thought it would be. I force myself to hold Victoria’s eyes while I answer. I try to be a man of my word, so looking someone in the eye and promising to do something I have no intention of doing isn’t exactly a walk in the park. “I do.”

He turns to her. “Victoria Sheppard, do you take Luca Callahan to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in joy and in sorrow, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?”

Silent, her gaze locks on mine, but her mind is clearly elsewhere. I stop breathing. She’s changing her mind. She’s about to say no.

But she doesn’t say anything at all. She just stares at me, her eyes glazed over.

“Miss Sheppard?” the officiant prods.

She blinks rapidly, like she’s coming out of a trance, then quickly says, “Yeah, I do.”

I release my breath, and she mouths sorry to me as the officiant proceeds with the ceremony.

“Do you have rings?” he asks.

I nod, and we both pull them out.

“The rings you are about to exchange are a symbol of your unending love and commitment. May these rings remind you always of the vows you have taken here today. Luca, please place the ring on Victoria’s finger and repeat after me: I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment. With this ring, I marry you.”

Is it hot in here? It definitely is. It seems like the amount of tax money I pay, even as a non-citizen, should cover some air conditioning in a city building.

I haven’t voiced my love to anyone since I was a kid. I love you was the last thing I said to my mom, and what happened after hurt so badly, I swore I’d never say the words again. She didn’t even say anything back. She just sent me to the airport with her boyfriend, and I flew to California alone to live with Grandma and Grandpa.

I never even told Grandma I loved her, and I loved her more than anyone in my entire life.

She knew, though. She’d tell me she loved me all the time, and when I sat there, trying to choke out the words that have terrified me for so long, she’d just smile at me and say, “I know, sweetie.”

Now it’s me the officiant is waiting on.

“Sorry,” I say. “Can you repeat the words?”

He says them quickly, like the amount of hesitation in our ceremony is going to mess up his schedule.

“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment,” I say. “With this ring, I marry you.” I slide the ring onto Victoria’s finger, my hand shaking and sweaty.

The ring hangs loose on her dainty finger. We probably should have tried them on, but the officiant isn’t even watching. He’s trying to discreetly look at the watch on his wrist.

Victoria squeezes my fingers, and I avoid her eyes. She does it again, and I look up.

Her brow is pulled together, her gaze intent. She’s quiet, but I know what she’s asking. Are you okay? Do you still want to do this?

I give a subtle nod. I do want to do this, weird as it is.

“Victoria,” the officiant continues, “please place the ring on Luke’s finger and repeat after me: I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and commitment. With this ring, I marry you.”

I don’t bother correcting my name.

Victoria’s much calmer than I was as she repeats his words—with the correct name—and slides Grandpa’s ring onto my finger. It fits decently.

She lets go of my hand, and we both adjust our rings.

“By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

I freeze, and my gaze flies to Victoria. How did neither of us think about this part? In my head, we were just signing papers.

But the officiant and the witness are waiting. He did say may , though. It’s not like they won’t sign our license if we don’t kiss. Right?

But what couple wouldn’t want to kiss at the end of their wedding?

Victoria gives me a nod so small and subtle, the officiant doesn’t seem to notice.

Heart racing like it does on the first kickoff of the season, I take a step toward her. I wish I knew whether she wanted me to give her a quick peck or to sell this a bit more for our audience.

It’s been a while since I kissed anyone, and right now, my biggest question is what to do with my hands. Do I leave them hanging at my sides? It feels sort of primate. Do I wrap them around her waist? That feels too forward.

The officiant glances not-so-subtly at his watch, then back to us. Quick peck it is.

I place my hand on Victoria’s cheek and move in.

I close my eyes as our lips touch. It’s a fraction of a second, yet long enough to note the softness of her lips and the hint of her perfume. There’s no spark, no magic. Just the awkwardness of two strangers pretending to be something more.

I pull back, and our eyes meet, full of…uncertainty, like we’re both trying to figure out how this is supposed to go.

The officiant gathers up his papers. “Congratulations, Luke and Victoria. You are now officially married. If you’ll follow me, we’ll sign the license.”

The license gets signed—with my correct name, thankfully—and the officiant tells us when we can expect our marriage certificate.

“A few weeks?” I repeat in horror as he puts out a hand to remind us of the way to the door. “Is there any way to expedite that?” Zach will need some sort of proof for the teams who’ve been scouting me.

“No,” the officiant says, opening the door. “But if you’d like, you can get a Certificate of Record from the clerk. Congratulations again.” He welcomes in the next couple, signaling it’s time for us to vacate the room.

As a married couple.

I wait for Victoria to go out ahead of me, and she lets out a long, slow breath as I close the door behind us. “Well, that was interesting.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought you were about to back out on me at the altar.”

She laughs. “No. I just...my brain had a moment, that’s all. I’m sorry for scaring you. Should we go get that certificate of record?”

“Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve got it in hand, and we make our way out of the courthouse and to the car. I can’t believe I’m a married man—or that my future is officially back on the table.

And I owe it all to Victoria.

“Hey,” I say as we reach the car.

She stops and faces me with her hand on the handle. “What’s up?”

It takes me a second to say anything. How do you express gratitude to someone for marrying you? That’s not normal. But it still needs to be said. “Thank you. For doing this.”

She smiles. “What are wives for, right?”

“I’m serious. I know it’s been a weird few days, but…it means a lot to me. Playing in the NFL is the only thing I’ve wanted since I can remember. So, thanks for making it possible.”

The teasing glint in her eye dissipates. “You’re welcome. I’m just glad one of us knows what we want with our lives because I sure don’t. So”—she heads for the car door—“you gonna take me out for a celebratory lunch or what, husband?”

“Name the place. Is it cool if we go talk to my agent afterward?” Zach will be floored when he finds out we’re back in business.

“I called in sick, so I’ve got all day.” She ducks into the car.

I smile bemusedly as I open my door and climb in. She called in sick to get married.

I don’t think this day could get any weirder.