Roger swallows hard. I can see some nervousness plastered on his face. “I won’t. I’m no fan of Jennifer either, so I’m definitely on team Sky-Luke. Hey, are you two big Star Wars fans, by the way? Seems like you should be.”
“It’s just a coincidence.”
“It all makes sense now. Why you were being so shady, why that wedding invitation was so janky, why your families aren’t here.”
I hear Ryan’s footsteps as he makes his way back, and I put a finger to my lips. “Not a word,” I grit out.
Roger imitates me in solidarity. “Not a word.”
Ryan pokes his head into the doorframe. “Ready to head out there and tie the knot?”
“I’ve never been more ready in my life.”
We head out to the altar. Skylar’s bridesmaids Janice and two other friends come down the aisle.
On my side it’s Ryan, Roger, and my cousin Jocko, probably the only other person here who knows about the charade aside from Sky and I. And Roger, now.
Then, Sky appears.
She looks outrageously gorgeous.
No, outrageously gorgeous is underselling her.
Skylar looks stunningly sexy, this jawdropping, head-turning combination of the girl I’d want to do dirty things with behind the bleachers and then spend the rest of the night laughing and having deep conversations with over a bottle of wine until the sun comes up.
Every eye in the church is on her as she walks toward me.
I heat up in my suit, and my heart rate speeds.
Now let’s be clear. I’ve been drawn to Sky since the first time I saw her, on an airplane going down to Buenos Aires at the beginning of junior year. She was wearing glasses, baggy pants, and a hoodie. Something drew me to her, even back then.
And right now I’m definitely being drawn to her.
“You look utterly stunning,” I whisper in her ear when she arrives to the top of the altar.
Her cheeks turn red.
“You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome.”
We go through a quick mass, as we’ve instructed the pastor to do.
Jesus, if my Grandmother were alive and knew we were doing this in a Catholic church she’d slap me for sacrilege.
Then we get to the meat of the ceremony when the “priest,” AKA a ship captain we’ve hired from out of town, asks Sky:
“Do you take this man to have and to hold, for the rest of your life?”
Sky bites her lip and looks at me. “I do.”
“And do you, Luke Rutledge, take this woman to be your wife?”
My palms sweat as we hold hands and look each other in the eye.
As insane as I am to be going through with this right now, she’s equally crazy.
If not more so. But it’s to save my best friend who’s throwing his life away. Sky knows Ryan yes, but she’s just doing this because she’s a kind person from the very bottom of her heart.
And damned if that doesn’t light my fire.
Like a corny movie montage, the events of the past few months play as a movie in my head as I stand next to her on the altar.
Cuddling on the couch the very first time. Our kiss. Crossing the line into much more than friends. Sky falling and breaking her leg. Me taking care of her in the hospital. Realizing that I actually enjoy being with one person.
I’m not religious, like I said, but damned if I don’t feel even more guilt creeping in here, like by not signing actual marriage papers we’re making a mockery out of those who take their life-long commitments seriously.
“I do,” I say, trying to put on the same ridiculous, ignorance-means-bliss smile that I imagine Ryan would have if he was up here and Jennifer was on the altar with him.
“I now pronounce these two husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Holy shit. Bride.
Even though this is fake, something shifts in my heart thinking of Sky like that.
And kiss the “bride,” I do.
I grab hold of Sky and kiss her like she’s really, really mine.
Fuck me, fuck my bad acting because there’s no way this is how Ryan is going to kiss Jennifer, which is how I should be kissing her: with extreme caution, wondering if this is how she wants to be kissed, because I’ve changed my entire personality just to be with her.
No. I kiss her how I want to kiss her, which is in a way that I know she likes to be kissed, and I love to kiss her like that. I love how her body responds to me.
When we’re done, she blinks her eyes open.
“Jesus,” she mutters so softly I can barely hear her.
She brings a finger to her eyelid and wipes something away.
“Sky, are you crying?”
“No,” she says. “I just have something in my eye.”
I swallow, and nod.
Sky’s crying, she’s giving me the oldest excuse in the book for wiping her eye, and I don’t know what to say to her.
So I just kiss her again.
Sky and I take off together for “pictures” for about an hour or so—which consists of driving around in my car, making out and taking the occasional selfie. Then we head to a nearby events venue where we’re hosting the wedding.
We put on smiles and go through the motions to make everything believable. When Roger gives his speech, we have to resist laughing with all the winks he’s shooting at us.
“I can’t believe you told him about Operation Romper,” I whisper to Sky, with a smile on my face. We’re sitting at our own island table with no one around us to hear what we say.
We managed to play it so that our families aren’t attending, which makes the day a little less nerve-wracking. My mom asked a question about it when she saw a social media post, and I told her not to worry, that of course I’d let her know if something important was going on.
We thought that would be too much to put them through, especially considering I’m keeping my family in the dark about this whole thing.
We’ve got a healthy crowd nonetheless. Many of my fraternity brothers and their dates fill out the tables, as well as the Amnesty International club that Sky belongs to.
“I had to tell him. He was basically giving me the drunk equivalent of waterboard torture last night.”
“He doesn’t like me?”
“Roger just thinks that twenty-two is too early to plan your whole future.”
“And with that, I agree totally.”
“Really? You don’t think we could make this work?” Sky says, baiting me.
She means it mostly as a joke, I think, but I feel a hint of truth to it. “This is the honeymoon period, Sky. It’s all downhill from here.”
She laughs. “True.”
“Can he keep his mouth shut…at least until the end of the school year?”
We both look at Roger. He likes to gossip. I don’t say that in a mean way, just as a matter-of-fact thing.
He continues his speech, and we tune in, stopping our whispered side conversation.
“And if it weren’t for Jennifer and Ryan, my God! I’m pretty sure my man Luke would still be in the bars hitting on girls on a Tuesday! And we all know how much the ladies love him! You two have inspired him with your own love! So let’s raise a glass for all the lovers in the room…”
I watch Ian raise a glass and I say a silent prayer that Roger didn’t tell Ian. I know he said he wouldn’t.