I was surprised to learn that the secretary from the elementary school, Lucy Novarty, was also an ordained minister à la the internet. Bishop had asked her to officiate the ceremony. Admittedly, I was uncomfortable with the school secretary, who used to make sure I had a barf bucket on my lap while I waited for my mom to pick me up, was now marrying me, but I understood why he asked her. This marriage would now be legit in the eyes of everyone in the school district. I made eyes at him, batting my lashes and smiling coyly while Lucy started her opening remarks. Since it was just the five of us in Bishop’s backyard on a Tuesday evening, we told her the bare minimum to join us legally was all that was necessary. It didn’t look like she was going to listen to us, though. She had already launched into a story about how she knew Hay-Hay and I would be something big in this community from the day we walked into kindergarten.
Bishop smiled and winked at me, clearly enjoying the story she was telling about the antics I used to participate in at the elementary school. He was unknown to everyone in this town still, but I was not. I was maybe a little too well-known, and it was showing.
My eyes drifted to the tripod, where Brady set up his iPad to record the ceremony for my parents and Athena. While we were eloping, he insisted we needed a video of the ceremony so our families could eventually see it. I wasn’t going to argue with him. If nothing else, it would lend credence to the union upon the return of my parental unit.
“So now, I ask, Bishop Halla is there any legal reason why you cannot be married to this woman?” Lucy asked, motioning at me.
“Absolutely not,” he said, his smile firmly in place.
She asked me the same question, and I shook my head, squeaking out a no at the last moment, too lost in the way his eyes were turning a dark forest green as the sun set lower in the sky. Tonight was the very definition of a romantic wedding in my book, real or not.
Once the legal questions were out of the way, Lucy launched into all the do you and I do’s that you expect to say at a simple civil ceremony. We promised to have and to hold from this day forward, to love, cherish, and honor all the days of our lives as we slipped those wedding bands on each other’s fingers. He held my gaze the entire ceremony, mine probably petrified in the face of what we were doing. He kept me calm and balanced by holding my forearms, so I didn’t have to have my crutches with me the whole time.
“With the power vested in me by the state of Minnesota and the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. Bishop, you may kiss your bride.”
It was honestly the most surreal thing when I remembered that I was now the official wife and the bride about to be kissed.
“It would be my pleasure,” he whispered, taking me in his arms and planting a kiss on my lips that was more rated R than PG-13. When he set me back on my feet, Haylee was clapping with her hands near her chin and tears in her eyes. I forced myself not to meet her eyes, or I’d be crying right along with her. I figured my cheeks had to be the color of tomatoes, which made me glad the sun had set, and the sky was filling with stars.
“Congratulations, you two,” Lucy said, hugging us both. “Let’s get that marriage license signed so you can enjoy your wedding night!”
I took my crutches from Brady, and Bishop helped me to the table where we had the official license ready to be signed by all. Once it was finished, we smiled for the camera, first with Lucy, then Brady and Haylee. Finally, Haylee insisted we have some pictures alone with the rising moon over the lake as our backdrop. Bishop snuck in a picture of him planting a kiss on my lips, taking me by surprise at the last minute. I swatted at him, laughter filling the yard and my heart.
Something told me marriage to Bishop Halla, whether real or fake, would be filled with more laughter than tears.
“THAT WAS A DAY, HUH?” he asked, standing in the doorway of the second bedroom.
I was brushing out my hair and stopped with my brush midway through the locks. “It sure was,” I agreed, offering him a smile. “If I didn’t say thank you, I should have.”
He stepped into the room and took the hairbrush from my hand, finishing the job for me. My moan was soft as he stroked the hair into long, straight lines. It felt so good to let someone else take care of me, even if it was something as simple as brushing my hair. “You don’t have to thank me, but you did, multiple times. I care about you, Amber, for real. That’s not the fake marriage talking.”
I smiled, and my heart was suddenly lighter to hear his words. “I care about you too, Bishop. I just don’t want you to get any backlash for this. I’m worried about that. Like really worried.”
He set the hairbrush down and turned me to face him. “I won’t. We’re together now, just relax, okay?”
“Okay,” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I guess I’m just trying to put everything straight in my mind. It’s hard to do that when you feel like a terrible person.”
He knelt and grasped my chin gently. “You aren’t a terrible person. We aren’t terrible people. I prefer to think of this as doing things backward.”
“Doing things
